Todos los capítulos de I Built His Empire & Destroyed it Later: Rebirth of "V" Vane: Capítulo 41 - Capítulo 50

The massive auditorium of the Grand Financial Center was packed to absolute capacity. Over four hundred institutional investors, retail shareholders, and market analysts sat in tense, suffocating silence, their eyes fixed on the main stage.Behind the center podium, Julian Vance stood under the harsh spotlight, clutching the edges of the microphone stand with his shaking left hand. His right arm, still suspended in its dirty, cracked plaster cast, hung uselessly against his rumpled blazer. Sweat dripped down his pale, hollow face, soaking through his collar as he slammed his palm against the wood.Members of the assembly! Shareholders of Vance Global! Julian screamed into the microphone, his voice echoing frantically through the loudspeakers. This emergency vote is an orchestrated takeover! I am telling you as your Founder and Chief Executive Officer that the Aegis Sovereign Trust acquisitions are completely fraudulent! The board was compromised! The market drop was artificially engin

Stop! What do you think you are doing with my property?! Put that down right now! Julian screamed, his voice cracking as he stumbled out of a yellow street taxi at the main gates of the Vance Estate.The taxi driver hastily dumped Julian's single leather bag onto the gravel driveway and drove away without waiting for a tip.Julian limped up the long winding driveway, his fractured right arm in its filthy plaster cast clutched tightly against his ribs. Sweat dripped down his pale, gaunt face, soaking through the unbuttoned collar of his wrinkled suit jacket.Four massive black moving vans were parked directly across the manicured front lawn. Men in heavy work boots dragged antique mahogany tables, six-foot gold framed mirrors, and Italian leather couches across the marble porch, shoving them into the back of the open trucks.Are you all deaf?! Julian yelled, taking three erratic steps forward and grabbing a worker by the shoulder with his left hand. I am Julian Vance! This is my privat

The deafening roar of camera shutters and flashing strobe lights consumed the grand press room of the World Financial Exchange. Over two hundred financial journalists, hedge fund managers, and international correspondents shoved against the velvet barricades, thrusting their microphones toward the elevated obsidian podium. Chairwoman Vane! Chairwoman Vane! a senior correspondent from the Financial Times shouted, waving a red folder in the air. Are the rumors true?! Did the SEC just approve the restructuring of Vance Global?! Vivienne Vane leaned forward into the cluster of silver microphones. She wore a flawless, midnight-blue tailored blazer, her dark eyes piercing through the sea of flashing lights with the calm, absolute authority of an apex predator. The rumors are outdated by three hours, Vivienne stated, her voice slicing through the chaotic room and silencing the journalists instantly. As of eight o'clock this morning, the federal government officially dissolved the corpora

The sky above the city broke open into a fierce, violent downpour, drowning the sixty story glass facade of Vane Thorne Tower in curtain after curtain of cold gray water. Julian Vance stumbled off the curb, his soaked, ruined leather shoes splashing heavily into a muddy puddle at the edge of the plaza. His hair was matted to his forehead, his face gray and hollow. The dirty, water logged plaster cast on his broken right arm weighed on his ribs like a block of wet concrete. He dragged his feet across the open plaza toward the grand glass entrance, clutching a wet, crumpled federal document in his shaking left hand. Stop right there! You cannot cross the perimeter line, Mr. Vance! Captain Towers shouted through a bullhorn, standing under the wide glass overhang of the lobby doors alongside six heavily armed security guards. Towers! Please! Julian screamed above the roar of the rain, his voice hoarse and breaking into a pathetic wail. Let me through! I need to see Vivienne! Just five

The heavy oak doors of Federal Courtroom 402 slammed shut, sealing out the roaring crowd of international news reporters gathered in the marble hallway.Inside, the cold air felt heavy with absolute judgment.At the defense table, Cynthia sat with her hands trembling violently against the polished wood. Her expensive silk dress was wrinkled, her face pale, and her dark circles hung heavy under her bloodshot eyes.Arthur, tell me this is a formality, Cynthia whispered frantically, grabbing her defense attorney by his jacket sleeve. Tell me the judge is just playing to the cameras! You promised me the plea deal was secure!Be quiet, Cynthia, Arthur Pendelton muttered, sweeping his hand away from her grip. The plea deal was cancelled forty five minutes ago.Cancelled?! Cynthia shrieked, her voice echoing off the tall plaster walls. What do you mean cancelled?!Order in the court! the bailiff shouted, slamming his hand against the barrier. The honorable Judge Marcus Harrison presiding.Th