Chapter 17 - Whispers on the Exchange
By dawn, Wall Street was in an uproar.
Someone had leaked the photos of the excavation pit to the financial blogs. By 7:00 AM, the *Wall Street Journal* ran the headline: **"Archeological Scandal or Historical Homicide? Unmarked Vault Discovered at Montgomery Grand Plaza Site."**
Montgomery Holdings stock plunged twelve percent in pre-market trading.
When my town car pulled up to the headquarters of Vance & Sterling Architects, the sidewalk was swarming with television cameras, paparazzi, and aggressive reporters thrusting microphones through the crowd.
"Ms. Vance! Did Arthur Montgomery murder your grandmother?"
"Is the Grand Plaza project facing a permanent stop-work order?"
"Are you still romantically involved with Julian Montgomery, or is the partnership dissolved?"
Security guards formed a flying wedge to escort me through the revolving doors. Inside the soaring glass lobby, the atmosphere was frantic. My staff was huddled around monitors, phones were ringing off their hooks, and standing near the private elevator bay was a man I didn't want to see: Richard Montgomery, Julian’s uncle and the vice-chairman of Montgomery Holdings.
Richard was accompanied by three corporate lawyers carrying thick black binders.
"Claire," Richard said, his tone dripping with condescending patronization. "We need to talk in private. Right now."
"My boardroom is on the forty-second floor, Richard," I said without slowing down. "If you want five minutes of my time, you can walk with me."
Upstairs, the moment the boardroom doors clicked shut, Richard dropped the polite facade. He threw a legal document onto the polished mahogany conference table.
"This is an emergency buy-out offer," Richard said, his teeth clenched. "Montgomery Holdings is exercising its clause to purchase your architectural shares and the ground-lease options for eighty million dollars. Cash. Wired to any offshore account of your choosing within the hour. In exchange, you sign a total non-disclosure agreement regarding the basement discovery, and you hand over all physical archives found in the vault."
I didn't even pick up the paper. "And if I refuse?"
"If you refuse, we crush you," Richard sneered. "We will tie this project up in zoning litigation for twenty years. You’ll be bankrupt before you ever lay a single girder. Arthur is eighty-two years old, Claire. He will die in a hospital bed before a prosecutor ever sits him in front of a grand jury. Take the eighty million and walk away with your dignity."
Before I could answer, the frosted glass doors swung open with such force that they rattled in their frames.
Julian stood in the doorway. His suit was rumpled, his hair unkempt, his eyes dark with fury.
"Get your hands off that contract, Richard," Julian said, his voice deadly low.
Richard turned, frowning. "Julian, stay out of this. The executive committee authorized this measure. We are protecting the family legacy."
"The family legacy is built on a lie," Julian roared, walking straight toward his uncle. He pulled an official board resolution from his coat and slammed it down over Richard’s buyout contract. "And as of forty minutes ago, you no longer speak for Montgomery Holdings."
Richard laughed nervously. "What are you talking about? Arthur holds fifty-one percent of the voting shares!"
"Arthur suffered a massive ischemic stroke at four this morning," Julian said, his voice steady, though I saw the muscle twitching in his jaw. "He is currently comatose at Presbyterian Hospital. Under the corporate bylaws of 2012, in the event of the Chairman’s incapacitation, all emergency voting proxy transfers directly to the designated CEO."
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Julian leaned down until he was inches from his uncle’s face.
"I am the CEO, Richard. You’re fired. Clear your office by noon."