THE LAST WILL OF WALTER MARTIN

The room descended into a chaotic storm of shouting, scraping chairs, and frantic phone calls. Board members scrambled to pull out their encrypted devices, desperately trying to contact their private brokers and legal teams.

"This is a coup!" one of the senior board members screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Clara. "This document is fraudulent! Walter Martin was declared non-compos mentis three weeks ago by our panel of doctors!"

"Your panel of doctors was paid off through a shell company in the Cayman Islands," Arthur countered calmly, sliding a second stack of papers across the table. "A shell company that Miss Vance seized control of twenty minutes ago. Furthermore, we have obtained the full medical forensics report detailing the synthetic neurotoxin found in Walter Martin’s blood—a toxin purchased through a pharmaceutical subsidiary controlled directly by Marcus Sterling."

Marcus backed away from the table, his breath coming in ragged, terrified hitches. He looked toward the door, calculating his escape route, but two tactical guards stepped sideways, completely blocking the exit.

Clara walked slowly around the oval table. The heels of her boots clicked rhythmically against the marble floor, sounding like the ticking of an executioner's clock.

"You thought you were wolves," Clara said softly, stopping behind Marcus's chair. "You sat in this warm room, drinking fifty-year-old scotch, deciding who lived and who starved on the streets below. You looked at people like my father—people who built the world you parasite off of—and you decided they were disposable."

She reached out and picked up Marcus’s scotch glass, swirling the dark liquid just as he had done minutes prior.

"Effective immediately," Clara declared, looking at the terrified faces of the seven men around the table, "all board compensation is frozen. All executive access tokens are revoked. And the corporate files detailing your offshore tax fraud, illegal land seizures, and private hits have been transmitted directly to the Federal Prosecutor's Office."

"You can't do this!" Marcus shrieked, his voice breaking into a pathetic whine. "You're a nobody! You're a damn waitress!"