Chapter 3 - Wolves in Bespoke Suits
The board room on the thirty-fifth floor was a tomb of frosted glass and brushed aluminum.
By 8:45 AM the next morning, eleven men in charcoal and black suits were seated around an oval table carved from black marble. At the head of the table sat Arthur Sterling—a man with slicked-back white hair, a gold signet ring on his pinky, and the cold, hooded eyes of a predator that had never known hunger.
I stood beside Eleanor at the double doors, wearing a dark grey suit that her team had delivered to my apartment at midnight. It fit like a second skin, but I felt like an imposter.
"They are going to try to tear you apart the second you step through that door," I whispered to her.
"Let them try," Eleanor said smoothly. Her posture was erect, her presence towering despite her small frame. "Remember your role, Sal. You are not a guest. You are my sword."
The double doors clicked open.
As Eleanor walked in, the conversation around the table died instantly. Eleven pairs of eyes locked onto her, filled with a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and calculated contempt.
"Eleanor," Arthur Sterling said, leaning back in his leather executive chair without rising. "We were beginning to think you were indisposed. The press has been asking very uncomfortable questions about your... health."
"My health is pristine, Arthur," Eleanor said, taking her seat at the opposite end of the table. I took my place directly behind her shoulder, standing tall, my hands clasped in front of me. "Though I cannot say the same for your ethics."
Arthur’s eyes flicked to me. His brows pulled together in disgust. "And who is this? Security? I thought we agreed that internal personnel updates were barred during emergency governance meetings."
"This is Salvatore Mancuso," Eleanor declared, her voice echoing clearly across the stone walls. "The new Chief Operations Officer of Sterling & Vance Infrastructure."
A burst of mocking laughter erupted from the middle of the table. A younger board member—Julian Vance, Eleanor’s estranged nephew—shook his head in disbelief.
"A COO?" Julian sneered. "Aunt Eleanor, the man was working as a mid-level site supervisor for a second-tier contractor until he was fired last month for refusing to sign off on cut-rate rebar! We ran a background check the second his name hit the portal this morning. He's a nobody!"
My jaw clenched, but I didn't flinch. I kept my eyes fixed on Julian. He ran a check on me. They knew my life. They knew my poverty.
"He is a man who understands integrity, Julian," Eleanor said coldly. "Something this board hasn't seen since my brother’s heart stopped."
Arthur Sterling slammed his palm onto the marble table. "Enough of this circus! We have a quorum. The motion to strip Eleanor Vance of executive oversight due to reckless administrative behavior is officially on the floor."
Arthur pulled a tablet toward him. "We have the votes, Eleanor. Eight of eleven board members have already signed the proxy agreements. You are done. You can keep your dividends, take your retirement to Florida, and let real businessmen run this company."
"Is that so?" Eleanor asked calmly. She didn't look panicked. She looked almost bored. "And what about the six hundred million dollars in toxic liability currently hidden in your Cayman subsidiary, Arthur?"
The room went dead silent.
Arthur’s face flushed a deep, mottled purple. "What are you talking about?"
"Sal," Eleanor said softly.
I stepped forward, pulling a heavy leather binder from my leather portfolio. I opened it and laid twelve identical copies of financial audits across the black marble table, sliding them directly toward the board members.
"Three weeks ago," I said, my voice steady, carrying the rough, unyielding authority of a man who had spent fifteen years managing loud, dangerous construction sites, "Ms. Vance asked me to review the structural supply chain logs for the new Lakefront Tower project. I'm a builder. I know what steel costs. I know what concrete costs."
I leaned over the table, placing my palms flat, looking Arthur Sterling dead in the eye.
"You’ve been billing the firm for high-grade German steel while installing cheap, recycled alloys imported through an unregistered shell company in Panama," I said clearly. "You pocketed forty million on the materials alone. And if that building takes a ninety-mile-an-hour wind off Lake Michigan next winter, the upper ten floors are going to shear off."
Several board members gasped, frantically grabbing the binders and flipping through the blue-stamped metallurgical reports.
Arthur sat frozen, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "This... this is fabrication! Slander!"
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"Those are certified lab tests from the State Department of Transportation, Mr. Sterling," I replied. "Stamped yesterday afternoon."
Eleanor folded her hands over her lap. "The vote is no longer about my competence, gentlemen. It is about whether Arthur Sterling leaves this building in a limousine... or in handcuffs."
