Chapter 13 - The Boardroom Ambush
At 8:30 a.m. the following morning, the top-floor executive boardroom of Global Airways Headquarters on K Street in Washington, D.C., was packed with forty senior institutional lenders, Wall Street analysts, and aviation lobbyists.
Fifty-six-year-old CEO Harrison Sterling stood at the head of the sixty-foot mahogany conference table, dressed in a bespoke Tom Ford pinstripe suit, adjusting his platinum watch as he poured himself a glass of sparkling mineral water.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the financial committee," Harrison announced with smooth, manufactured solemnity. "The tragic near-disaster of Flight 418 was an operational anomaly caused by an unauthorized passenger breaching the cockpit and overriding our automated fly-by-wire protocols. Our legal team has secured an emergency federal restraining order against this rogue civilian, Laura Vanceâ"
BOOM!
The towering double frosted-glass doors of the boardroom were thrown open with concussive, explosive force.
Marching down the central carpeted aisle were four armed federal compliance marshals from the United States Department of Justice, led by Special Agent Marcus Cole.
Walking between them, her six-foot-tall frame radiating undisputed, terrifying majesty, her eyes burning like twin searchlights, was Commander Laura Vance.
Walking proudly at her right side was eighty-year-old Arthur Vance Senior, holding the red-wax-sealed master charter of the United States Air Force Special Intelligence Division.
The entire boardroom stood up in synchronized, paralyzed shock.
Harrison Sterlingâs crystal glass slipped from his fingers, shattering across the polished table, splashing cold water across his financial reports.
"L-Laura Vance...?! Arthur?!" Harrison stammered, his face draining of all color until his skin matched the white conference blotters. "What is the meaning of this armed intrusion?! This is a private corporate meeting!"
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Laura walked straight to the head of the table, resting her large, strong palms flat against the mahogany surface, looking down at Harrison with eyes colder than deep space.
"Take your hands off that microphone, Harrison," Lauraâs voice boomed across the boardroom through the central sound system, clear and unyielding as iron. "Flight 418 is officially under sovereign military audit."
