Chapter 7 7

Claire found her uncle Heber in the executive dining room, holding court with two junior board members.

She didn't lunge. She didn't shout. She approached the table with a serene smile.

"Uncle Heber," she said sweetly. "May I have a word?"

Heber, flushed from his two-martini lunch, beamed at her. He assumed she was there to apologize for her earlier behavior at the manor. "Of course, my dear! Join us!"

"In the hallway, if you don't mind," Claire said, her smile never wavering.

Heber excused himself, dabbing his mouth with a napkin. The moment they were out of earshot, his face hardened. "What is this about, Claire? I hope you're not planning another scene."

Claire didn't flinch. "I just had the most interesting chat with Kaia."

Heber's jovial mask slipped. "And?"

"She told me everything," Claire lied, her voice a soft, conspiratorial whisper. "About your side deals. The construction contracts for the new shipping warehouse. The ones you've been skimming from."

Heber began to sweat. Profusely. "My daughter would never-"

"She would to save herself," Claire cut in smoothly. "I have the account numbers, Uncle. The ones in the Caymans. She gave them to me in exchange for my silence about her own little schemes." She was pitting them against each other, using the truth of their greed as the blade.

Heber looked like he had been slapped. The betrayal, even a fabricated one, hit him harder than any financial threat.

Claire stepped forward, adjusting his crooked tie.

"So here is the deal," she whispered. "At the next board meeting, when I make a motion, you will second it. Whatever it is. You will vote with me, always. Or Kaia's confession, along with those account numbers, finds its way to the IRS."

Heber opened his mouth, then closed it. The fight drained out of him. He was a bully, and bullies crumbled when you punched back.

"Fine," he croaked.

"Good. Now go finish your lunch. And smile. We wouldn't want anyone to think there's trouble in the family."

She patted his cheek and walked away, leaving him pale and trembling in the corridor.

She went straight to the CEO's office.

Robert was behind his desk. He looked tired.

"The auditors found something," Robert said, his voice grim. "A shell corporation. Funds are being diverted from our joint marketing account for the merger."

"I know," Claire said. She sat down. "Dad, we need a defense plan. When this blows up tonight, the stock will wobble. We need to be ready to fight off a hostile takeover."

"We don't have the liquid assets for a massive share buyback," Robert admitted. "Not without selling off a subsidiary."

"I found a partner."

"Who? The banks won't touch us with this uncertainty."

"Branch Brewer."

Robert frowned. "The playboy? He's all flash, no substance."

"Call him."

Claire dialed Branch's number and put it on speaker.

"Brewer," the voice answered.

"Branch, I'm with my father. Tell him."

Branch's voice changed. The lazy drawl vanished. It was replaced by the crisp, authoritative tone of a man who moved markets.

"Mr. Avila," Branch said. "I've established a discretionary fund dedicated to shorting Osborn Industries and its political affiliates. Any instability in their camp tonight will trigger a cascade. My fund is prepared to acquire a significant, non-controlling stake in Avila Corp post-dip, acting as a friendly anchor against external threats."

Robert's jaw dropped. He looked at the phone, then at Claire.

This wasn't a loan. It was a strategic alliance. Branch wasn't giving them money; he was weaponizing his own to protect their flank.

"What are the terms?" Robert asked.

"No terms. It's my own play. I just want a front-row seat. And I want first right of refusal on any future stock issuance."

It was a brilliant deal. A predator's deal.

"Why are you doing this, son?" Robert asked.

There was a pause on the line.

"Because," Branch said, his voice softening slightly. "Your daughter is the only person in this city who sees things clearly. And I bet on winners."

Robert looked at Claire with new respect. "Done. My team will coordinate with yours."

"They're already in your inbox."

Claire hung up.

"You're full of surprises," Robert said.

The intercom buzzed.

"Mr. Avila? Derrick Osborn is in the lobby. And... he brought the press."