Chapter 8 - The Desperate Offer
Thirty minutes later, the main auditorium had been forcibly evacuated by campus police to prevent a full-scale riot by the press corps. The corridors were swarming with reporters shouting through the glass doors, their camera flashes strobing like distant lightning against the dark windows.
Inside the private, soundproof boardroom of the dean’s suite, the air was suffocatingly cold.
Elena Morales sat at the head of the heavy oak conference table. Julian and Leo stood flanking her, their arms crossed, looking down at the broken man pacing frantically on the other side of the room.
Richard had ripped off his silk tie. His top button was undone, his hair disheveled, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He stopped pacing, gripped the edge of the table, and looked at Elena.
“Elena,” Richard began, his voice cracking with a horrifying mixture of panic and desperate charm. “Elena, please. Look at me. We... we made mistakes. Sixteen years ago, things were chaotic. The pressure from the venture funds, the fear of failing—I panicked! You have to understand the immense stress I was under!”
Elena didn't move a muscle. She looked at him with an expression of such profound, quiet pity that it cut Richard deeper than any scream could have.
“You didn't panic, Richard,” Elena said softly. Her voice was steady, calm, and carrying the unshakable weight of the truth. “You looked at me holding our newborn babies in the pouring rain, and you threw five thousand dollars into the mud. You told me you would take them away from me if I ever spoke your name.”
“I was wrong!” Richard shouted, tears of pure self-preservation spilling down his cheeks. He reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a platinum fountain pen and a leather-bound checkbook with shaking hands. “I’ll fix it. I can fix this right now! Elena, name your number. Fifty million? A hundred million? I’ll establish an irrevocable trust for the boys tonight! Fifty million dollars each! They will never have to work a day in their lives! They can attend any Ivy League school in the world on a private jet!”
He slammed the checkbook onto the oak table, sliding it toward the twins.
“Look at this!” Richard pleaded, turning his desperate eyes to Julian and Leo. “I am your father! We share the same blood! Think about what we could do together! Vance Global has the manufacturing plants, the global distribution, the lobbying power in Washington! With your new neural transceiver and my infrastructure, we can build a fifty-billion-dollar empire! A family dynasty! We can rule the tech sector together!”
Julian looked down at the blank check.
Slowly, deliberately, Julian reached out, picked up the slip of paper, and held it between two fingers.
Richard’s eyes lit up with a spark of hope. “Yes, son! That’s it. Be smart. Be pragmatic. That’s the Vance blood in you!”
Julian didn't look at the numbers. He looked Richard dead in the eye.
*Rrrriiiip.*
Julian tore the check in half.
*Rrrriiiip.*
He tore it into quarters, then eighths. He opened his hand, letting the white scraps of paper flutter down into Richard’s untouched cup of cold coffee.
“Our name isn't Vance,” Julian said with absolute, unyielding disgust. “Our name is Morales. And we would rather starve in a gutter than take a single cent of your blood money.”
Leo leaned over the table, his muscular frame casting a dark shadow over the terrified billionaire. “You told us in the lobby that boys like us never win here,” Leo whispered, his voice like grinding stones. “You were wrong, Dad. Boys like us don't need to steal someone else's work to build a future. We build our own.”
The boardroom door clicked open.
Dr. Harrison Hayes stepped inside, accompanied by two men in tailored suits holding federal badges, and an elderly gentleman with silver hair who leaned heavily on a gold-headed cane.
The elderly man was Arthur Sterling—Victoria’s father, the primary financial architect behind Vance Global Systems.
Richard turned, his voice catching in his throat. “Arthur... Arthur, thank God you’re here. Let me explain—”
Arthur Sterling didn't even look at him. His cold, patrician eyes were locked onto Elena and her sons.
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“Save it, Vance,” Sterling said, his voice like dry leaves scraping over gravel. “The board of directors met fifteen minutes ago via emergency video conference. By unanimous vote, your executive powers have been stripped. The board has invoked the morality and fraud clauses of your contract. As of right now, you are terminated as CEO of Vance Global.”
***
