The CEO's Runaway Surrogate

Chapter 7: The Boardroom Hostage

The atmosphere inside the eighth-floor boardroom of the Vance Tower was dense enough to choke a man.

Twenty senior board members and billionaire institutional investors sat around the thirty-foot mahogany conference table. At the far end stood Arthur Sterling—the powerful chairman of the Sterling Banking Trust, his face mottled red with fury, his knuckles white as he gripped the marble lectern.

"This is an unmitigated corporate disaster!" Sterling shouted, slamming a stack of printouts onto the table. "Dominic Vance has detained my daughter Vivian without legal warrant! The society tabloids are already printing rumors of an internal family feud! If this reaches the financial markets, our stock valuation will crater by thirty percent by the closing bell!"

The heavy double doors of the boardroom swung open with an authoritative crash.

Every head in the room snapped toward the entrance.

Dominic entered, exuding a lethal, imperial calm that silenced the shouting in an instant. He wore a bespoke midnight-blue suit, his silver eyes flashing with icy dominance.

And on his arm, dressed in an impeccably tailored cream blazer and matching pencil skirt, her auburn hair swept up with diamond pins, walked Clara Montgomery.

A collective gasp rippled through the older board members. Several executives who remembered the private surrogacy records five years ago stared at Clara as if the dead had walked into the room.

"Take your seat, Chairman Sterling," Dominic said, his voice quiet yet carrying the absolute authority of an emperor. "You are speaking out of turn in my boardroom."

"Who is this woman, Dominic?" Sterling demanded, glaring at me with venomous contempt. "You drag an unknown cellist into an executive shareholders' assembly while my daughter languishes in a security holding suite? I demand Vivian's immediate release, or my syndicate withdraws twelve billion dollars in capital backing before the opening bell!"

"Your syndicate doesn't have twelve billion dollars, Arthur," Clara spoke up, her voice clear, poised, and utterly devoid of fear.

The entire boardroom turned to look at her in astonishment.

Clara stepped forward, laying a slim tablet on the glass projector dais. She tapped the screen, and the main display wall lit up with high-resolution financial audit reports and encrypted wire transfer receipts.

"Over the past eighteen months, Vivian Sterling used three shell corporations registered in Delaware to siphon eighty-two million dollars from the Vance-Sterling joint charitable foundation," Clara stated with icy precision, looking Chairman Sterling dead in the eye. "And three days ago, five million dollars of that stolen capital was wired to a private account in the Cayman Islands belonging to Dr. Harold Keller—to falsify medical records and contract a contract killing."

Arthur Sterling's face turned completely grey, his hands trembling as he stared at the financial forensic logs on the wall.

"This... this is an outrageous fabrication!" Sterling choked out, his arrogance crumbling into panicked sweat.

"The FBI Financial Crimes Division and the Manhattan District Attorney received these verified server logs twenty minutes ago, Arthur," Dominic said coldly, taking his seat at the head of the conference table. He interlaced his fingers, looking at the disgraced chairman with predatory disdain. "Vivian was not detained for personal reasons. She was arrested for grand larceny, wire fraud, and attempted premeditated murder. And by noon today, your banking syndicate will be under federal receivership."

Dominic turned his gaze toward the rest of the board. "All those in favor of removing Arthur Sterling from the board of directors, raise your hands."

Eighteen hands went into the air without a single second of hesitation.

"Motion carried," Dominic stated with finality. "Security, escort Mr. Sterling from the building."

Two armed officers marched the trembling, broken banker out of the boardroom into the corridor.

Ten minutes later, the private executive elevator doors closed behind Dominic and Clara, shutting out the applause and frantic congratulations of the board.

The moment the elevator began its ascent toward the penthouse, Dominic grabbed Clara's waist, pulling her flush against his broad chest and pressing her against the mirrored glass wall.

"Where did you learn financial forensic auditing, little cellist?" Dominic murmured, his voice husky, his silver eyes burning with breathtaking pride and dark desire.

"My father was a forensic accountant before he died," Clara whispered, her breath hitching as his lips brushed along the sensitive curve of her jawline. "I told you, Dominic... I am not a helpless damsel in distress."

"No," Dominic groaned, his mouth claiming hers in a deep, bruising, utterly possessive kiss that left them both breathless. "You are an absolute queen. And you are mine."