Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Eviction
Julian did not come home to our Beacon Hill townhouse that night. He didn’t dare.
Instead, he spent the night in Camilla’s luxury high-rise condominium in the Seaport—an apartment leased under an obscure subsidiary called Apex Media, which, as my forensic accountants had verified three days prior, had billed Aurelia Systems over $600,000 for nonexistent “rebranding consultations.”
At seven-thirty the following morning, I sat at the head of the forty-foot mahogany conference table on the thirty-second floor of Aurelia’s headquarters. Beside me sat Evelyn Cross, Boston’s most formidable corporate litigation attorney, and David Vance, my late mother’s primary financial auditor.
The frosted glass doors of the executive suite banged open at seven-forty-five.
Julian stormed in, his tie loosened, his eyes bloodshot, clutching a leather briefcase like a shield. Camilla followed right behind him, her designer sunglasses pushed onto her head, her face pale beneath heavy foundation. She was still wearing the same tailored cream blazer she had worn to the office the day before, clearly having scrambled into it after an sleepless night.
“What is the meaning of this?” Julian slammed his briefcase onto the table. “Security downstairs tried to demand my badge! I am the Chief Strategy Officer of this firm! You cannot lock me out of my own office!”
“Sit down, Julian,” Evelyn Cross said, not even looking up from her tablet. “And Camilla, you can take a seat as well. Standing will only make what comes next more physically exhausting.”
“I don’t take orders from Nora’s personal divorce shark,” Camilla hissed, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage. “I report to the board of directors. Nora is abusing corporate resources to stage a petty domestic vendetta because she’s insecure about her marriage!”
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the polished wood. “Let’s talk about corporate resources, Camilla.”
David slid a heavy, two-inch-thick black binder across the table. It slid to a halt right in front of her.
“Page twelve,” I said. “An expense voucher for twenty-four thousand dollars at the Four Seasons George V in Paris last May. Julian signed off on it as a ‘European client acquisition summit.’ Curiously, the hotel ledger lists only one suite, booked under your name, with round-the-clock room service and two tickets to the opera.”
Camilla’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
“Page forty-eight,” I continued, turning my attention to Julian. “Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars wired from Aurelia’s operating reserves to Apex Media LLC. The registered owner of Apex Media is one Thomas Price—Camilla’s younger brother. There are no deliverables. No campaign reports. No marketing materials. Just wire transfers directly into an account that paid the down payment on the condo you spent the night in.”
Julian’s face went from blotchy red to an ash-gray pallor. He swallowed hard, reaching out to steady himself against the back of a leather chair.
“That was... that was legitimate strategic restructuring,” Julian stammered, his usual smooth corporate cadence breaking into jagged pieces. “Thomas provided digital outreach infrastructure! We were preparing the European rollout!”
“Thomas Price works as an assistant manager at a ski rental shop in Vermont, Julian,” Evelyn Cross said coldly. “We took his sworn deposition via video link at six o’clock this morning. He was remarkably cooperative once federal wire fraud statutes were explained to him.”
Camilla let out a strangled sob. She dropped into a chair, burying her face in her hands.
“You set us up,” Julian whispered, staring at me with pure hatred burning through his shock. “You knew for months. You sat across from me at breakfast, you poured my coffee, you let me talk about the promotion—while you were digging through our lives like a rat!”
“You struck me last night, Julian,” I said softly, every word razor-sharp. “You told me to go home because another woman belonged beside you. You wore my late mother’s anniversary cufflinks while you funneled company money into your mistress’s brother’s bank account. You didn't just dig your own grave; you handed me the shovel.”
Evelyn slid a single sheet of paper toward Julian.
May you like
“Notice of immediate termination for cause,” Evelyn said. “All stock grants are forfeited under the gross misconduct clause of your employment agreement. Your corporate indemnification is revoked. And you have fifteen minutes to empty your personal effects from your office under armed guard.”
Julian stared at the document, his hands shaking so violently the paper fluttered against the desk.
