Chapter 8 - The Handcuffs in the Executive Suite
Gertrude let out a strangled, animalistic shriek, backing away toward the panoramic windows, clutching her pearl necklace as if it were a noose.
“It’s a lie!” Gertrude screamed, her voice cracking in hysterical panic. “He’s delusional! The head trauma from the accident destroyed his mind! Security, grab him!”
Garrett did not raise his voice. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a sleek wireless presentation remote, and pointed it at the ninety-inch high-definition monitors lining the boardroom walls.
“Let us review the clinical data, Gertrude,” Garrett commanded smoothly.
He clicked the button.
The lights in the boardroom dimmed automatically. The massive displays illuminated with crystal-clear, uncompressed 4K video and synchronized digital audio.
The entire boardroom watched in frozen, horrified revulsion:
The Tea Preparation: High-definition video from the kitchen camera showing Gertrude pulling the unlabelled amber bottle from her robe pocket, tapping the Succinylcholine powder into the teapot, and whispering to herself: ‘Just three more weeks and the estate is ours.’
The Forensic Toxicological Certificate: The Emory University Department of Forensic Pathology chemical breakdown, signed by Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Sarah Lin, detailing the exact nerve-blocking mechanism of the poison.
The Midnight Study Recording: The video from the previous night showing Douglas, Christopher Miller, and Brenda Thorne clinking glasses of Scotch, laughing about dividing the $13 million offshore kickback and leaving Garrett in a nursing home.
The audio boomed through the ceiling surround sound with terrifying fidelity:
Douglas: ‘To progress. And to knowing when to push an old dog out of the race.’
Christopher: ‘Rebecca was an anchor around my neck... She has no money, no connections, and zero future. She will die alone in a rented room.’
The board members leaped to their feet in volcanic, unified outrage.
Arthur Montgomery slammed his gavel down so violently the wooden block split in half.
“Treacherous, murderous parasites!” Montgomery roared, pointing a shaking finger at Douglas and Gertrude. “You attempted to chemically assassinate the founder of this corporation! This is grand corporate treason!”
The heavy double boardroom doors swung wide open for the second time that morning.
Senior Special Agent Marcus Vance of the Federal Bureau of Investigation entered, accompanied by eight armed federal marshals and four detectives from the Atlanta Police Department Major Crimes Division.
“Douglas Corbin, Gertrude Corbin, Dr. Harold Vance,” Agent Vance announced, stepping forward with an unsealed federal indictment bearing the gold seal of the United States District Court. “You are under arrest for Attempted Premeditated Capital Murder, Distribution of Banned Chemical Substances, Grand Fiduciary Embezzlement, and Corporate Racketeering.”
Two female marshals stepped behind Gertrude, twisted her manicured arms behind her back, and snapped heavy steel handcuffs around her wrists.
Click. Snap.
Gertrude began hyperventilating, her designer dress tearing at the sleeve as she collapsed to her knees, sobbing and screaming curses into the carpet.
Douglas offered no resistance. He slumped forward onto the mahogany table, weeping like a broken coward as marshals secured the transport chains around his waist and ankles.
Evelyn Corbin sat frozen in her chair, clutching her handbag, tears of bitter, irreversible disgrace streaming down her wrinkled cheeks as federal agents presented her with an asset freezing injunction that seized every home, vehicle, and bank account in her name.
As the traitors were dragged down the center aisle in chains, Garrett turned his gaze toward the visitor’s table.
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Christopher Miller and Brenda Thorne were backed against the glass wall, trembling violently, their faces the color of wet limestone.
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