Chapter 8
Monday morning at Wagner Capital was a religious experience for the finance world. The lobby was a cathedral of money.
King's Maybach pulled up to the curb. Flashbulbs erupted like strobe lights.
King stepped out, buttoning his jacket. He reached back in and helped Adeline out.
She wasn't wearing Chanel today. She was wearing a deep navy suit King had commissioned for her over the weekend. It was sharp, aggressive, and screamed authority.
Reporters shouted questions. "Mr. Wagner! Is the hostile takeover rumor true?"
King ignored them. He kept his hand firmly on the small of Adeline's back, guiding her through the glass doors. The physical contact was a statement louder than any press release.
They rode the private elevator to the top floor. The boardroom doors opened.
Preston was sitting at the head of the table, laughing with a board member. He looked comfortable. Safe.
When he saw Adeline, his laugh died.
"Adeline?" He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "This is a closed board meeting. Security!"
"Sit down, Preston," King said. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the room like a whip. "She is my Special Advisor."
Adeline walked past Preston. She didn't look at him. She sat in the chair to the right of the head of the table-King's right hand.
King took his seat. He didn't waste time with pleasantries. He slid a thick binder across the polished mahogany table.
"Before we discuss the acquisition," King said, "we need to address a compliance issue."
The screen on the wall flickered to life. Spreadsheets appeared. Red numbers highlighted in neon.
"These are the financials for the Macau project," King said. "There is a twenty-million-dollar discrepancy."
The board members murmured. Preston began to sweat.
"That's... that's a clerical error!" Preston stammered. "Uncle King, you can't bring this up here..."
"I gave you a chance, Preston," King said coldly. "Friday night."
Adeline cleared her throat. Every eye in the room turned to her.
She opened her folder. "I have a supplementary document regarding the cash flow," she said, her voice cool and practiced. They had rehearsed this for hours in the Hamptons.
She slid a paper toward the center of the table. "These are wire transfers from the Macau shell company to a private account held by the Venetian Casino. The account was opened using a passport under the name Preston Wagner. I acquired these through a contact I made in Utah-someone who specializes in asset recovery from offshore gambling havens."
Preston slammed his hands on the table. "You bitch! You're lying! You hacked me!"
"Watch your tone," King snapped. The menace in his voice made a board member flinch.
"In light of this gross misconduct," King addressed the board, "I move to suspend Preston Wagner from all duties pending an internal investigation."
"Seconded," said the CFO immediately.
"All in favor?"
Every hand went up.
Security guards stepped forward. "Mr. Wagner, please come with us."
Preston looked at Adeline as they dragged him out. His eyes were wide with shock and hatred. "You'll regret this! Carmella will destroy you!"
The doors closed. Silence returned.
Adeline felt a rush of dizziness. It was the adrenaline. It was the first time she had ever tasted blood.
King leaned toward her, his voice a low murmur only she could hear. "How does it feel?"
"Like flying," she whispered.
"Don't get high yet," King said, opening the next file. "That was the appetizer. Carmella is the main course."
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