Shadows of the Boardroom

The penthouse air tasted of ozone and expensive, dying ambition. Elena stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass, watching the city grid pulse with the rhythmic indifference of a machine. Below, the streets were already beginning to churn with the morning rush, but up here, the silence was absolute. It was a tomb of glass, yet for the first time, she felt like the architect of its resurrection.

In her hand, the heavy stock paper of her father’s final testament felt less like a document and more like a blade. The ink was precise, the legal language absolute: the proxy voting rights for the Vance holdings had never belonged to Marcus. They had been hers since the day her father died, buried beneath a laby

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