Chapter 8 - The Boardroom Trap
At 1:00 AM, the top floor of the Whitmore Medical Technologies skyscraper in downtown Chicago was ablaze with light.
Daniel Whitmore stood at the head of the mahogany boardroom table, wearing a fresh suit, sipping scotch, and smiling broadly at the six primary board members who had been summoned for the emergency session. Vanessa Cole stood beside him, holding a thick leather bound portfolio containing the genomic patent applications.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Daniel announced, his voice booming with fake enthusiasm. “Tonight, Whitmore Medical changes history. We have successfully mapped and synthesized the cellular regeneration sequence known as Project Phoenix.”
An elderly board member frowned. “Daniel, three days ago you said the company was facing liquidation. Where did this data come from?”
“Our internal research division,” Vanessa lied smoothly, stepping forward to hand out the files. “We secured exclusive biological samples from a rare genetic carrier. Preliminary tests show a one-hundred percent success rate in neuro-repair.”
“This patent alone is worth four billion dollars,” Daniel added, slamming his fist gently on the table. “We file with the federal patent office at 8:00 AM tomorrow. Whitmore Medical is saved.”
The board members began murmuring in excitement, flipping through the pages of data.
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the boardroom swung open.
Every head turned.
Claire Whitmore walked into the room.
She was not in a wheelchair. She was wearing an elegant black trench coat, her head held high, her posture regal and unyielding. Beside her walked Arthur Vance, flanked by four uniformed agents from the Federal Bureau of Investigation and two Assistant United States Attorneys.
Daniel’s scotch glass slipped from his fingers, crashing onto the hardwood floor and shattering into a hundred pieces.
Vanessa went entirely rigid, her face draining of all color.
May you like
“Claire?” Daniel stammered, taking a step backward. “What... what are you doing here? You should be in bed! You’re sick—”
“I was never sick, Daniel,” Claire said, her voice echoing through the silent boardroom with absolute authority. “I was just waiting for you to finish digging your own grave.”
