Chapter 7 - THE TRIBUNAL
Nathaniel walked down the grand staircase carrying Lily in his left arm.
A quiet murmur washed over the crowded ballroom. The sight of Nathaniel Cross—the famously cold, uncompromising titan of corporate finance—descending into a room of fifty billionaire investors holding a crying baby was so completely out of character that several people stopped drinking mid-sip.
Julian Vance stood near the center stage that had been set up for the speeches. He held a microphone in his hand, a smug, triumphant smile spread across his face.
“Ladies and gentlemen, shareholders, and distinguished guests,” Julian’s voice boomed over the speakers. “Thank you for joining us tonight at CrossAtlas’s annual autumn gala.”
Julian paused, his eyes sliding over to Nathaniel with predatory satisfaction.
“As many of you know,” Julian continued, his tone shifting into one of practiced sorrow, “this past year has been... exceptionally challenging for our leadership. The tragedy that struck the Cross family ten months ago left a void in this company that none of us could have anticipated.”
A soft, sympathetic silence fell over the room. Nathaniel stood at the bottom of the stairs, holding Lily tightly, his face unreadable.
“However,” Julian raised his voice, his posture straightening. “A chairman’s duty is to the shareholders, to the truth, and to the stability of the enterprise. It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you all tonight that CrossAtlas is facing an unprecedented internal crisis.”
Gasps echoed through the ballroom.
“An internal investigation has revealed that over forty million dollars in capital from Project Avalon has vanished over the last six months,” Julian declared, pointing a finger directly toward Nathaniel. “Mismanaged funds, unauthorized transfers, and severe emotional negligence at the executive level have put this entire firm in jeopardy. Therefore, as senior board member, I am officially calling for an immediate vote of no confidence to remove Nathaniel Cross as CEO!”
The room exploded into loud chatter. Photographers’ flashes began stroking rapidly, casting blinding white light across the walls.
Julian smiled, waiting for Nathaniel to panic, to yell, or to break down.
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Instead, Nathaniel simply stepped toward the microphone stage. He didn't look flustered. He didn't look angry.
He looked like a man who had just watched a fly walk into a web.
