Chapter 6 - The War for Sterling Construction
At 8:30 a.m., the rain had stopped, leaving the glass skyscrapers of downtown Dallas shimmering under a cold, bright morning sun.
I stood in the lobby of the Sterling Construction Tower—a forty-story glass monolith my father had designed and built twenty years ago.
I was wearing a tailored navy-blue pantsuit, my hair pulled back into a slick, professional bun, holding my black aluminum briefcase. Beside me walked Prosecutor Evelyn Reed and two forensic accountants I had flown in from Chicago.
The elevator climbed steadily toward the 40th-floor executive boardsuite.
When the silver doors slid open, the floor was buzzing with nervous energy. Executive assistants were running around with folders, security guards looked confused, and through the frosted glass doors of the main boardroom, I could see twelve members of the board of directors sitting around a thirty-foot mahogany table.
Sitting at the head of the table was Vivian Sterling.
She had somehow managed to change into an expensive black Chanel suit, her hair perfectly styled, though no amount of makeup could hide the dark, exhaustion-filled circles under her eyes or the trembling of her hands.
Sitting beside her was Thomas Prescott—her high-priced corporate defense attorney—who was frantically whispering in her ear while shuffling through legal papers.
Vivian slammed her hand on the mahogany table. “I don't care about the police searching my house! My husband is incapacitated, and under the signed health proxy of 2024, I hold his voting shares! This board meeting will proceed!”
“I wouldn't be so sure about that, Mrs. Sterling,” I said, pushing the double glass doors open and stepping into the boardroom.
Every head at the table spun toward me.
“Charlotte?” one of the older board members—Arthur Pendelton, my father’s oldest business partner—exclaimed, standing up from his leather chair. “My god, girl! We heard Richard was in the hospital! What is going on here?!”
“What’s going on, Arthur,” Vivian spat, glaring at me with raw, unfiltered venom, “is that my stepdaughter is attempting a hostile, illegal takeover of this company while my husband is lying sick in a hospital bed!”
Attorney Prescott stood up, adjusting his golden tie. “Ms. Sterling, as counsel for Mrs. Sterling, I must warn you that you have no legal standing in this boardroom. You hold no executive position, and you own zero voting shares in Sterling Construction.”
“That was true as of five p.m. yesterday, Mr. Prescott,” I replied calmly, walking over to the opposite end of the thirty-foot table and setting my briefcase down.
I clicked the brass locks open.
“However,” I continued, pulling out a thick set of blue-bound legal documents and sliding them across the polished mahogany table toward Arthur Pendelton, “at six a.m. this morning, the United States Bankruptcy Court for the Northern District of Texas approved the restructuring of Sterling Construction’s ninety-million-dollar credit facility.”
Arthur picked up the documents, his eyes scanning the first page. His mouth fell open. “This... this is a debt-to-equity conversion notice!”
“Precisely,” I said, folding my arms. “My firm—Vanguard Forensic Capital—purchased all ninety million dollars of Sterling Construction’s distressed debt from Texas First Bank last week. Under the terms of the original loan covenant, a default in corporate governance—such as the Chief Executive Officer being illegally incapacitated by his spouse—triggers an immediate conversion of debt into voting equity.”
May you like
I looked directly at Vivian, whose face was rapidly turning the color of chalk.
“Which means, Vivian,” I delivered the final blow, “Vanguard Capital now owns fifty-one percent of the voting shares of this company. And as Managing Principal of Vanguard... I am officially firing you, your son, and your attorney from this corporation.”
