Chapter 5 - The Velvet Guillotine
Sloane hesitated, her confidence suddenly cracking under the weight of Madison’s icy composure. She looked around the boardroom, hoping to catch the eye of Marcus Webb, the senior investment director who had praised her marketing presentation three weeks ago. Webb looked steadfastly at his water glass.
“I don't need to sit,” Sloane said, crossing her arms defensively. “My department’s budget was approved by the board six months ago. The lifestyle division is the future of Mercer Development. We’re targeting a younger, high-net-worth demographic.”
Madison picked up the thick dossier in front of her. She opened it to a section marked with yellow tabs.
“The lifestyle division,” Madison read, her voice clinical and precise, “was established twenty-four months ago. During that period, your division has generated exactly zero dollars in operational revenue.”
“We are in the brand development phase!” Sloane protested. “In luxury real estate, brand development precedes sales!”
“Indeed,” Madison continued, turning a page. “And during this ‘brand development phase,’ Miss Whitaker, your corporate card registered three hundred and fourteen thousand dollars in travel and entertainment expenses. Including twelve stays at the St. Regis in Aspen, four trips to Paris for ‘aesthetic research,’ and eighty-six dinners at Michelin-starred restaurants in Manhattan.”
Grant stepped between Madison and Sloane. “I authorized those expenses! They were necessary for courting foreign investors!”
“You authorized them from the Narragansett Harbor Contingency Reserve,” Arthur Sterling interjected, sliding an audited bank transcript down the table toward the directors. “A reserve fund specifically restricted by the Rhode Island Port Authority for environmental remediation and union wage guarantees. Using those funds for luxury personal travel is not merely a breach of contract, Mr. Mercer. It is a class-two felony under state banking statutes.”
The color drained from Grant’s face. He turned a horrified look toward Sterling.
“You... you audited the contingency reserve?”
“Every single receipt,” Madison said. She looked at Sloane. “Including the charge for an eight-thousand-dollar ivory silk dressing gown purchased at the Christian Dior boutique on Avenue Montaigne last November. Billed to corporate expense line 402: *Site Safety and Protective Gear.*”
Two of the board members shook their heads in disbelief. Marcus Webb muttered an oath under his breath.
Sloane’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She looked at Grant, her eyes pleading for a defense, for an excuse, for anything that could stop the relentless crushing of the legal machinery.
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“Miss Whitaker,” Madison said, closing the dossier with a soft thud. “As of 8:15 this morning, the lifestyle division has been dissolved. Your employment with this company is terminated for cause.”
“For cause?” Sloane gasped, tears of rage finally breaking through her composed
