Chapter 5 - Faces in the Gallery
“Court will take a thirty-minute recess,” Judge Calder declared, slamming his gavel down with a sharp, echoing crack. “In chambers, counsel only—and that includes you, Mrs. Lane.”
The moment the judge disappeared behind the velvet curtain, the gallery erupted into a hive of whispered conversations. Several junior associates from corporate firms who had been waiting for subsequent hearings were already on their phones, sensing a seismic shift in the regional transport market. Hollis Transit was currently bidding on a fifty-million-dollar municipal electric-bus contract; the news that its celebrity CEO owned nothing would shatter the board by nightfall.
Adrian rounded on me before I could step away from the table.
“You vindictive bitch,” he snarled, his voice low and vibrating with venom. “You think you can humiliate me in front of my peers? You think you can steal my life’s work?”
“Your life’s work?” I asked, keeping my voice utterly level as I shielded Samuel and Owen behind me. “Which part did you build, Adrian? The algorithmic routing logic that saved the fleet from bankruptcy in 2016? I wrote that code in our nursery while nursing Owen. The municipal bond financing that secured the northern terminals? I structured that through my father’s old banking connections in Boston. You took the meetings, Adrian. You drank the scotch and shook the hands. You were a hood ornament on an engine you never understood.”
“I’m the face of this company!” he shouted, drawing stares from the bailiff, who immediately stepped forward, resting a hand on his duty belt.
“Step back, sir,” the bailiff ordered firmly.
Adrian ignored him, his eyes wild with terror and fury. “The board will back me! The directors are my friends! They won’t let an unemployed housewife walk in and take over!”
“The board,” I said quietly, leaning in so only he and Elena could hear, “consists of five seats. Three of those seats belong to Vesper Capital. One belongs to Marcus Thorne, my family’s estate attorney for thirty years. The fifth belongs to you. You are outnumbered four to one, Adrian. You have been outnumbered since the day we launched.”
Elena stepped forward then, her expensive perfume suddenly cloying and pathetic. “Mrs. Hollis—or Mrs. Lane—this is absurd. Adrian has executive rights under corporate governance standards. You can’t just erase twelve years of leadership.”
I looked at Elena for the first time. She was twenty-six, ambitious, and utterly transactional. She had attached herself to Adrian because she wanted wealth, influence, and an easy elevation into high-society legal circles.
“Miss Vance,” I said smoothly, “I suggest you check your firm’s billing records. Your senior partner, who also happens to be your uncle, accepted a two-hundred-thousand-dollar retainer from Adrian last month. That retainer was paid from Hollis Transit’s primary operational account. An account belonging exclusively to my trust. Under state bar ethics rules, using corporate funds to finance personal divorce litigation against the majority owner constitutes an immediate, disqualifying conflict of interest. If you and your uncle don't withdraw as counsel within the next fifteen minutes, my first filing will be a formal grievance with the state disciplinary board.”
Elena’s mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out. She turned to look at her uncle, Richard Vance, who had just stepped out of the judge’s chambers with a face as white as printer paper.
He didn't look at Adrian. He didn't look at Elena. He simply began packing his leather briefcase with hurried, frantic motions.
“Richard?” Adrian said, panic threading through his voice. “Richard, what did Calder say?”
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“He said,” Vance muttered without looking up, “that unless we can prove Mrs. Lane forged three separate municipal filings, a federal tax identification document, and twelve years of board minutes, we have no legal standing. We are withdrawing, Adrian. We have to.”
***
