"You’re three minutes late, Miss Vance," the lead guard grunted, his hand resting heavy on his leather belt as his frame blocked the heavy double doors of the Grand Meridian Suite. "This is a closed-door executive voting session. No guests."
"I’m not a guest." My voice fell into a cold, lethal register as I held up the silver-embossed leather dossier, forcing him to meet my eyes. "I am the designated proxy executor for the Vance Legacy Trust under Mandate 404-B. Denying me entry doesn't just breach corporate protocol it places you personally in contempt of a preemptive judicial stay."
The guard glanced at the red notary stamp on the front of the folder. He hesitated, his thumb hovering over his radio collar.
That half-second of doubt was all I needed.
I shoved past his shoulder, hittin
