Chapter 37 - Unanimous Consent
The silence in the Zurich boardroom became suffocating. Twelve powerful men—leaders of cartels, smuggling rings, and international freight conglomerates—realized in real-time that a quiet, unassuming former corporate auditor had just checkmated their entire global council without firing a single shot.
Heinrich Voss slowly lowered the document, his hands trembling slightly as he folded the corners. He looked from me to Ronan, whose stormy gray eyes remained locked on him like the crosshairs of a sniper rifle.
“The... the terms are legally sound,” Voss muttered, his voice defeated, looking down at his blotter. “We cannot execute a asset liquidation without destroying our own distribution networks in Rotterdam and Hamburg.”
“Exactly,” Ronan said smoothly, resting his elbows on the quartz table and interlocking his fingers. “Which is why the council is going to vote unanimously right now to ratify my wife’s co-chairmanship, grant her full voting parity on all maritime logistics decisions, and officially transition our primary freight contracts into fully compliant, legally transparent corporate entities.”
No one raised a hand in opposition. No one dared to clear their throat.
The senior director—an aging Italian patriarch who had survived three separate syndicate wars—slowly raised his hand. “All in favor of ratification?”
Eleven other hands drifted upward into the air, one by one, until the vote was absolute and unanimous.
“The motion carries,” the Italian patriarch nodded respectfully toward me. “Welcome to the council, Mrs. Cain.”
Thirty minutes later, as we stepped out of the subterranean boardroom into the crisp Swiss air, Ronan pulled me close against his chest, wrapping his arms around my waist in the quiet privacy of the bank's private courtyard.
“You just legally conquered the international underworld before lunch,” Ronan murmured, a proud, adoring smile breaking across his harsh features. “How does it feel to be a global syndicate queen?”
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“It feels efficient,” I smiled, resting my hands against his lapels. “Though I think we still need to audit the catering budget for these Zurich meetings. They’re overcharging for the coffee.”
Ronan threw his head back and laughed—a rich, booming sound that echoed off the stone courtyard walls, sweeping away the last lingering shadows of our violent past.
