Chapter 14
The board members leaned forward in their leather chairs, their eyes darting from the financial disclosures on the screen to the pale, sweating face of the regional director. One of the senior vice presidents, an elderly man who had served alongside Eleanor's father in the early days of the company, adjusted his glasses and stared hard at the image of the young soldiers projected against the wall. "Good God," the old man murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "That's Arthur Vance... I thought he went down with the firebase in '72." Marcus gripped the edge of the walnut table so hard his knuckles turned translucent, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate a defense that no longer existed. "It's a forgery," Marcus stammered, his voice rising in panic as he looked around the room for an ally among the silent executives. "A coordinated smear campaign by a disgruntled vagrant and a bitter ex-spouse trying to execute a hostile takeover of the trust." Eleanor turned away from the screen and walked slowly toward him, stopping just a few feet from his chair. She reached into her pocket, pulled out the original photograph in its protective sleeve, and laid it gently on the walnut table right in front of him. The charred edges were plain for everyone to see, a silent, irrefutable piece of physical evidence that no amount of corporate accounting could erase. "The auditors have already frozen your personal accounts, Marcus," Eleanor said quietly, her voice devoid of anger, carrying only the weight of absolute finality. "The district attorney has the wire transfers, and the federal marshals are waiting downstairs to take you down to the federal courthouse as soon as this meeting is adjourned." Marcus stared down at the burned photograph, his elaborate facade of power and prestige completely dissolving into dust. He didn't say another word; he simply sank back down into his leather chair, his shoulders slumping as the reality of his prison sentence settled over him like a shroud.
