Chapter 3 - The Venom of the Mercer Board
The fragile peace inside the Magnolia Hill estate lasted less than forty-eight hours.
By Thursday morning, the corporate world struck back.
Grant walked into the headquarters of Mercer Urban Properties in downtown Seattle at eight o'clock sharply. The modern glass-and-steel skyscraper was a testament to his ambition, but today, the atmosphere inside the executive floor was thick with tension.
As soon as Grant stepped out of the private elevator, his long-time legal counsel and vice-president, Richard Sterling, intercepted him. Sterling was a fifty-year-old man in a bespoke three-piece suit with silver hair and eyes as cold as silver coins. He had been an investor in Grant's early projects, but over the years, as Grant’s power grew, Sterling’s envy had grown alongside it.
"Grant," Sterling said sharply, falling into step beside him as Grant walked toward his corner office. "We have a catastrophic problem."
"Good morning to you too, Richard," Grant said coldly, opening his office door.
"Don't give me your arrogance today!" Sterling snapped, slamming the office door shut behind them. "You skipped the Westside Development board meeting on Tuesday! Do you have any idea what that did to our stock price? The rumor mill is saying you're losing your mind!"
Grant walked behind his massive executive desk, setting his leather briefcase down. "I had a personal matter to attend to. The Westside project is on schedule. We reschedule the meeting for next week."
"It's not just the meeting, Grant!" Sterling yelled, tossing a folder onto Grant's desk. "Pictures are circulating!"
Grant frowned, opening the folder.
Inside were high-resolution photographs taken through the ground-floor windows of his Magnolia Hill estate on Tuesday evening. The photos clearly showed Grant Mercer—the formidable real estate mogul—sitting on the floor surrounded by paint jars, laughing with his housekeeper and a dirty, paint-covered toddler.
Another photo showed Grant through the bathroom door, looking at the bluebird painted on his face.
Grant’s eyes turned into liquid fire. "Who took these?"
"A private investigator hired by the Westside minority shareholders," Sterling sneered, leaning over the desk. "They're preparing to launch a vote of no confidence against you at the annual shareholder meeting next month! They are going to claim you are mentally unfit to lead a four-billion-dollar corporation! Look at you, Grant! You're letting a low-class, gold-digging housekeeper turn you into a laughingstock!"
BANG!
Grant’s fist slammed onto the heavy oak desk with such tremendous force that the marble paperweight jumped.
Grant stood up slowly. His massive frame towered over Sterling. The terrifying, lethal aura that had made him the most feared developer in the state flared to life, filling every corner of the vast office.
"Choose your next words very carefully, Richard," Grant said, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl. "You will not speak about Clara Bellamy or her daughter in that manner in my presence ever again."
Sterling flinched, taking an involuntary step back, but he forced a bitter laugh. "Oh, please! Don't tell me you've fallen for her? A desperate, penniless divorcee who washed up on your doorstep? She’s using you, Grant! She saw a broken, grieving billionaire and she used her kid to worm her way into your life!"
"Clara didn't know who I was when she took the job," Grant said, his voice deadly steady. "She works sixteen hours a day to build a life for her child. She has more honor in her little finger than you have in your entire body."
"The board won't see it that way," Sterling warned, his eyes narrowing with venom. "If you don't fire her today and issue a public statement reassuring the board that you are fully focused on business, I will personally back the minority shareholders' motion to remove you as CEO."
Grant stared at Sterling for five long seconds. The silence in the office was deafening.
Then, Grant did something that made Sterling’s blood run cold.
Grant smiled. It wasn't a warm smile. It was the terrifying, predatory smile of a man who had built an empire by destroying anyone who stood in his way.
"Richard," Grant said softly. "You've been wanting my chair for five years, haven't you?"
"I am protecting this company!" Sterling insisted, though his voice cracked slightly.
"You are protecting your own margins," Grant corrected smoothly. He walked around his desk, stopping inches away from Sterling. "Go ahead. Call the board. Launch the vote of no confidence. Bring those photos to the press. Do whatever you think you need to do."
"You're bluffing," Sterling gasped.
"Try me," Grant whispered. "Because if you touch Clara Bellamy, if you leak a single photo of that little girl to the media, I won't just fire you, Richard. I will buy out your entire stock portfolio, ruin your reputation in every financial market from San Francisco to New York, and leave you with so little money you'll be applying for a job as my driver."
Sterling stood paralyzed, sweating under his expensive collar. He saw no bluff in Grant Mercer's eyes—only an absolute, uncompromising fury.
"Get out of my office," Grant commanded quietly.
Sterling turned on his heel and fled, slamming the door behind him.
Grant stood alone in his massive, quiet office, looking out over the misty skyline of Seattle. His hands were clenched into tight fists. He pulled out his private cell phone and tapped a speed dial number.
"Arthur," Grant said as soon as his personal attorney answered. "I need you to draft three documents immediately."
"What kind of documents, Grant?" Arthur asked.
"First, a full background check on Richard Sterling’s offshore shell accounts," Grant ordered, his eyes cold as ice. "Second, an immediate stock buyback authorization for twenty percent of Mercer Urban Properties."
Grant paused, looking down at his desk where a small, colorful piece of paper sat. It was a drawing Kira had slipped into his coat pocket that morning—a blue bird sitting inside a green tree.
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"And third?" Arthur asked over the line.
"Third," Grant said softly, "I need you to draft a personal trust fund under the name of Kira Bellamy. Deposit ten million dollars into it by five o'clock today."
