Page 72 of Cameron's Contract
THE COMPUTER STILL worked.
Which was a small miracle. After rescuing it from the floor, I plugged it back in and fired it up.
Having only slipped on my pants, too excited to dress, I felt the chill of this place. Mia was brewing coffee and the delicious aroma filled my nostrils.
A rush of adrenaline drove me on as I clicked through the emails of my father’s late attorney, Dan Stork. I used the keyboard’s control and F-key to search for keywords in each one to speed up the process.
My heart thundered.
I found it.
The world around me disappeared as the last remnants of my focus took in the small print.
The members of the board’s days were numbered.
Dan Stork had placed a link to an addendum within the contract, thus leaving out the jargon that defined the terms of the board. He’d sent the details via email and masterfully camouflaged it from every member. These men received hundreds of emails a day and therefore left their assistants to troll through the minutia.
Everyone had missed the fine print tucked in-between the minutes taken during a meeting they’d attended, and thus thought nothing of signing what they had already read. They’d signed the email electronically, sealing their fate.
I re-read Dan’s legal spiel, cunningly designed to bore the reader and throw them off the scent of what they were actually signing:
Should sole means of operational status be obtained by any single member of the board, all members will be held accountable for such action. The resulting consequence shall be immediate and resolute dissolution of their heretofore granted right to function and proceed as a member of said board.
Stork had hidden the content between the number of charity functions planned out for the year. My dad had always told us to read the small print, and even he hadn’t taken his own advice. Luckily for Dad, Stork had been his loyal attorney and friend, and even from the grave he’d proven that.
Stork had inserted an ingenious defensive tactic. A paradox of power. The definitive poison pill. One that gave Dad the power to swing the axe or choose leniency.
And they’d signed off on it. I forwarded what I’d found in an email to Dad, and then left a voicemail for his assistant to schedule another meeting.
This document had bought us time.
Half in a daze, I slid my mouse over to the Dow and then went in search of the current state of my stock.
It didn’t make any sense.
My personal shares were decimated.
“Destiny-Horizon. It’s skyrocketing,”Richard had told me.
But the numbers reflected the shares had taken a hit and were now worthless.
I rose to my feet—
Reaching for the mouse again, I refreshed the screen.
Staggering back—
Disbelief.
My legs went weak, and my gait was unsteady as I knocked into the chair and tipped it over.
I barely made it to the restroom. There, I leaned over the sink and retched into it. Bile rose as my stomach twisted and convulsed.
The dreadful taste.
My reflection in the mirror revealed a man who’d pushed himself to the edge and beyond. Dark circles wreathed beneath my eyes and my face was pallid.
My money was gone. All of it. The funds once entrusted to me by my father, and earned with pride over generations who’d gone before me, was no more.
