Chapter 43: Boardroom Rebellion

The Shoreditch safehouse was a world away from the forty-seventh-floor boardroom of Rogers Industries, but the video call window on Sabe’s laptop brought the battlefield directly to them. Anton, dressed in the same dark sweater from the day before, his hair slightly disheveled, sat on a dusty crate before the screen. He looked every inch the renegade, a far cry from the impeccably tailored CEO they were used to. Sabe stood just outside the camera’s view, a silent, watchful presence in the shadows, his arms crossed, his expression grim.

The faces arrayed in the grid on the screen were a gallery of corporate judgment. Some were pale with anxiety, others flushed with indignation. At the center of it all, appearing flawlessly composed on a monitor in her own office, was Evelyn Voss. She was the calm eye of the hurricane, the only one who seemed in control.

“Anton, we are speaking to you as a courtesy,” began Gerald Fitzwilliam, the head of the audit committee, his voice thin and reedy over the speakers. “The situation has become untenable. Your disappearance, your association with a known fugitive, the… the fiasco at the Horizons gala. The press is having a field day. Our stock has lost forty percent of its value in a week.”

“The ‘fiasco’ at the gala was an attempted assassination, Gerald,” Anton replied, his voice cool and steady, though Sabe could see the tightness in his shoulders. “And my association with Mr. Stalker is the only reason I’m alive to have this conversation.”

“Alleged assassination,” corrected Sarah Chen, the legal counsel. “The police report is inconclusive. What is not alleged are the financial transfers from company funds to shell companies linked to this Stalker, with your signature on the authorization forms.”

“Forms that were forged,” Anton shot back, his eyes flicking to Evelyn. She met his gaze with a look of polite, concerned attention.

“We have no proof of that,” said another board member, a man named Davies. “What we have is a pattern of increasingly erratic decisions. The unauthorized server hack that triggered a full-scale lockdown, the public spectacle, the… the psychiatric evaluation from two independent specialists suggesting a period of rest and treatment is advisable.”

The words hung in the safehouse, more damaging than any bullet. The psychiatric frame was being deployed. Sabe’s hand, hidden from the camera, curled into a fist.

“A evaluation commissioned by whom?” Anton asked, his voice dangerously quiet.

“It was a proactive measure from the governance committee, Anton,” Evelyn said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was a soothing balm, a stark contrast to the others’ accusatory tones. “Given the immense stress you’ve been under since the theft. We are all concerned for your well-being. The company’s well-being is tied to yours.”

She was brilliant. She was positioning herself as the reasonable, compassionate one, the only one still on his side, while simultaneously holding the knife of the psychiatric report.

“My well-being is fine, Evelyn,” Anton said, his gaze locking with hers. “What concerns me is the health of a company being systematically dismantled by a conspiracy from within.”

A ripple of uncomfortable shifting went through the other board members.

“Conspiracy theories are exactly what the evaluation warned us about, Anton,” Fitzwilliam said, his voice gaining a patronizing edge. “Paranoia. A break from reality.”

“It’s not a theory!” Anton’s control finally snapped, his voice rising. “Evelyn and my brother are working with a faction of this board to steal Aegis and stage a hostile takeover. They call it ‘Aegis Zero.’ They framed Sabatine Stalker, and they are now trying to have me declared mentally incompetent to complete the process.”

The outburst was met with a stunned silence. Then, a chorus of dismayed and angry voices erupted.

“This is precisely what we’re talking about!”

“Outrageous!”

“Anton,you need to step back and get help.”

Evelyn let the chaos reign for a moment, a master conductor allowing the dissonance to build before silencing it. She held up a slender hand.

“Please, everyone. Please.” The voices quieted. She turned her compassionate gaze back to Anton. “Anton, no one here believes you are part of a conspiracy. We believe you are a brilliant man pushed to the brink by a terrible series of events. The loss of the prototype, the betrayal of someone you trusted… it would break anyone.”

She was validating his pain while invalidating his facts. It was a surgical strike.

“The board is prepared to vote on a motion for temporary medical leave and the appointment of an interim CEO,” Fitzwilliam stated, his tone final. “The vote is scheduled for 5 p.m. tomorrow. We strongly advise you to acquiesce gracefully. It will be better for the company, and for you.”

Graceful surrender. A quiet, private breakdown. It was the neat, clean ending they all wanted.

“And if I don’t?” Anton challenged.

“Then we will be forced to proceed with the vote without your cooperation,” Fitzwilliam said. “The outcome, I assure you, will be the same. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

Anton looked from one face to another on the screen. He saw fear, ambition, and a weary desire for the problem to just go away. He saw no allies. His empire, built over a lifetime, was voting him off the island.

It was then that Evelyn played her masterstroke. She leaned forward, her expression one of fierce, loyal defiance.

“I won’t support it,” she said, her voice clear and firm.

The board members stared at her, shocked.

“Evelyn, we discussed this—” Fitzwilliam began.

“I know what we discussed,” she interrupted, her gaze never leaving Anton. “But I will not be part of forcing Anton out. He built this company. He is Rogers Industries. I moved to table the vote for forty-eight hours. Give him two days to present his side of the story, to provide any evidence he may have. If he cannot, then… then I will reluctantly support the motion.”

She was buying time. But for whom?

To the board, it looked like stunning, risky loyalty. To Anton and Sabe, watching from the shadows, it was the most terrifying move she could have made. She wasn't just defeating him; she was controlling the timeline of his destruction. She was giving him just enough rope to hang himself, ensuring that when he fell, there would be no question of her own hands being clean. She was making his final, desperate play happen on her schedule.

The board, mollified by her apparent reasonableness and wanting to avoid a messy public fight, quickly agreed. The vote was tabled for forty-eight hours.

When the call ended, the screen went black, reflecting Anton’s ashen face back at him. The silence in the safehouse was deafening.

Sabe stepped into the light. “She’s herding us.”

“I know,” Anton whispered, his shoulders slumping. He looked utterly drained. “She knows we have something. The gala proved we’re not just hiding. She’s forcing our hand. She’s giving us a deadline to make our move, so she can be ready for it.”

“She’s using the board’s pressure to make us panic, to force a mistake,” Sabe said, his mind already racing through the implications. “She knows we’re close. The forty-eight hours isn’t for you to prove your innocence. It’s for her to set the final trap.”

Anton stood up, pacing the dusty floor. The weight of his isolation was crushing. His company, his legacy, his own name, had been turned against him. The rebellion was complete. He was a king without a country.

“We have to move faster,” Anton said, his voice hardening with resolve. “We have to find Vale Holdings. It’s the only thread we have left.”

Sabe nodded, turning back to his laptops. The quiet intensity was back, but it was different now. It was sharper, more desperate. The boardroom rebellion hadn’t just been a corporate maneuver; it had been a declaration of war. Evelyn had pretended to defend him, but her defense was the tightening of the noose.

They had forty-eight hours. Forty-eight hours to find a ghost company, expose a global conspiracy, and clear Anton’s name. Forty-eight hours before the empire he built voted him into oblivion.

As Sabe’s fingers began flying across the keyboard, hunting for the digital ghost of Vale Holdings AG, Anton stared at the blank screen. The faces of his board members were burned into his mind. They saw a broken man. A liability.

He turned and looked at Sabe, the one person who saw something else. The one person who, against all odds and evidence, still saw a king worth fighting for.

The rebellion had failed to break him. It had only succeeded in making him more dangerous. The clock was ticking, and Anton Rogers had nothing left to lose.

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