Chapter 3 - The Boardroom and the Beast
The thirty-eighth floor of Sinclair Tower was designed to intimidate.
The walls were paneled in rare, dark Brazilian rosewood, and the table was a single slab of green marble that looked like cold sea water. Twelve men and women in various shades of blue and gray sat around it, their faces stiff with the kind of ancestral panic that only occurs when wealth is about to be stripped from its owners.
At the center sat Madison Sinclair’s father, Richard.
He was sixty-two, with a face that had been softened by too many years of golf and too much scotch, but his eyes were sharp with a mean, desperate cunning. Madison sat behind him, wearing a dark blue suit that was meant to look professional, though she could not hide the angry, red blotches on her neck where the coffee had stained her skin.
When Grace walked in behind Dojin, the room went dead cold.
"What is the meaning of this, Seo?" Richard Sinclair demanded, slamming his hand onto the green marble. "This is a private meeting of the Sinclair board. We have a signed letter of intent from the Chicago Union Trust. You have no standing here."
Dojin did not sit. He walked to the window, his back to the room, looking out at the gray Manhattan sky.
"My standing," Dojin said, "is thirty percent."
Richard’s face paled slightly. "What?"
"Over the last forty-eight hours, my firm has purchased the debt of Sinclair Tower's primary mortgage holder," Dojin said, his voice carrying the calm, mechanical certainty of an executioner. "The mortgage is in default due to the lease violations on the third floor. I have the right to foreclose on this entire structure within seventy-two hours."
"That's a lie!" Madison snapped, her voice high and trembling as she stared at Grace. "You’re bluffing! And why is she here? The girl from the lobby? Is this some kind of cheap street theater?"
Grace did not look at Madison. She walked to the empty chair at the end of the table, opened her leather folder, and pulled out three sheets of paper. She laid them down on the marble, sliding them toward Richard.
"These are the Delaware bankruptcy filings for GPC Logistics, Mr. Sinclair," Grace said, her voice clear, even, and entirely devoid of fear. "And these are the corresponding catering invoices for your daughter’s engagement party last June. Three hundred thousand dollars in champagne and caviar, billed directly to the building's maintenance fund under 'structural repairs.'"
The silence in the boardroom was absolute.
Richard Sinclair looked at the papers, his lips turning white. One of the lawyers at the far end of the table leaned forward, took one look at the invoices, and immediately sat back, his hands clasped over his briefcase.
"In New York State," Grace continued, "using corporate maintenance funds for private entertainment without declaring it as taxable income is considered grand larceny in the second degree. It carries a minimum sentence of three to nine years in state prison."
"You... you little—" Richard began, his hand shaking as he pointed at Grace.
"Do not finish that sentence, Richard," Dojin said, turning around from the window. He walked slowly toward the table, stopping behind Grace’s chair. He placed one hand on the back of her seat—a simple, protective gesture that made the entire board of Sinclair Holdings hold its collective breath. "Miss Holloway is my lead financial analyst. Her calculations have been verified by my legal team in Seoul and New York."
He looked down at Richard, his dark eyes flat and empty of mercy.
"You will sign the transfer agreement to Sinclair Tower Holdings," Dojin said. "For eighty cents on the dollar. Or I will call the district attorney before the markets open."
Richard’s eyes darted from Dojin to Grace, then to his own lawyers, who were silently shaking their heads.
Ten minutes later, the pen hit the green marble.
As they walked out into the executive lobby, Grace felt her knees tremble for the first time. The adrenaline was leaving her system, leaving her cold and slightly lightheaded.
"You did well, Grace," Dojin said, using her first name for the first time.
"I did my job," she said, looking down at her white silk shirt. "But Madison Sinclair was right about one thing."
"What?"
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"I am still the girl from the lobby," she said. "The world is going to look at that video and think I’m just a prop in your war."
"Then we will have to change the script," Dojin said.
