Ron Donaldo: Rise Of The Apex Don

Chapter 5: The Corporate Guillotine

The sun rose over the city of Oakhaven, but inside the glass walls of Sterling Tech, it felt like the middle of a dark, stormy night.

On the 90th floor, in the main conference room, a giant television screen was turned on. It showed the news. The headline was bright red and flashing.

FRAUD AT STERLING TECH? STOCK PLUMMETS 40%.

The graph on the screen looked like a cliff. The line, which used to be high and green, was falling straight down. Every second, millions of dollars were disappearing into thin air.

The room smelled of cold coffee and fear.

Ten people sat around the long, polished mahogany table. These were the Board of Directors. Usually, they were calm, arrogant men and women in expensive suits. Today, they looked like passengers on a sinking ship. Their ties were loosened. Their faces were pale. They were shouting over each other.

"Who leaked the blueprint?" shouted Mr. Henderson, a fat man with a red face. He slammed his fist on the table. "My portfolio is down ten million dollars since breakfast! The news says Theresa stole the design from a prisoner!"

At the head of the table, Marcus Thorne was pacing back and forth. He looked like a trapped animal. His hair was messy, and he was sweating through his shirt.

"It is a lie!" Marcus screamed. He pointed at the screen. "It is a fabrication! Ron Donaldo is a nobody! He hacked the system at the gala. That’s all!"

Theresa Sterling sat next to Marcus’s empty chair. She was not shouting. She was staring at her hands. Her fingers were trembling. She remembered the look in Ron’s eyes the night before. The cooling intake, he had said. The engine explodes.

"We need to issue a statement," said a woman named Mrs. Lee. She looked terrified. "We need to stop the bleeding. The investors are selling everything. If the stock drops another ten percent, the bank will seize our assets. We will be bankrupt by noon."

"I am trying!" Marcus yelled. He grabbed his phone. "I’m calling the brokers. They aren't answering!"

Suddenly, the heavy oak doors of the boardroom rattled. The intercom on the center of the table buzzed. It was a harsh, loud sound that made everyone jump.

"Mr. Thorne," the secretary’s voice came through. She sounded like she was crying. "I have a call. It’s… it’s the majority shareholder."

The room went silent.

"What?" Marcus frowned. "I am the majority shareholder. Theresa and I own fifty-one percent."

"Not anymore, Sir," the secretary sobbed. "While the stock was crashing this morning… someone was buying. They bought every share that was sold. They now control the controlling interest. They want to speak to the Board."

Marcus looked at Theresa. Theresa looked at the phone.

"Put him on," Mr. Henderson demanded. "Whoever he is, if he has money, maybe he can save us."

Click.

The connection opened. The screen on the wall turned black. There was no video. Only a waveform that moved when the voice spoke.

"Gentlemen. Ladies."

The voice was distorted. It was deep, robotic, and cold. It sounded like a machine judging them.

"Who is this?" Marcus demanded. "Identify yourself! You can't just buy my company!"

"I just did," the voice replied calmly. "You are currently trading at twelve dollars a share. I bought in at ten. I own you, Marcus."

The Board members exchanged nervous glances. Mrs. Lee leaned toward the microphone. "Sir, please. We are in a crisis. What do you want?"

"I want a seat," the voice said. "I want an immediate appointment to the Board of Directors with full veto power. Right now."

"That’s impossible!" Marcus spat. "We have to vote! We have to vet you! We don't even know who you are!"

"Then I sell," the voice said. "I will dump all fifty-one percent of the stock onto the market in the next sixty seconds. The price will go to zero. Sterling Tech will cease to exist. You will all leave this room penniless."

There was a pause. A heavy, suffocating silence.

Mr. Henderson looked at his tablet. The stock was ticking down. $11.50... $11.00...

"I vote yes!" Henderson shouted. "Give him the seat!"

"I vote yes too!" Mrs. Lee cried.

"You can't do this!" Marcus roared.

"Yes, we can!" Henderson yelled back. "I’m not losing my retirement because of your pride, Marcus! We accept!"

Henderson leaned into the speaker. "We accept! You have the seat. Please, don't sell."

"Wise choice," the robotic voice said. "I am in the lobby. I will take my seat now."

The line went dead.

The Board members slumped in their chairs, wiping sweat from their foreheads. They had saved the company, but they had sold their souls to a stranger.

"Who is it?" Theresa whispered. She felt cold. "Who has that kind of money?"

They didn't have to wait long.

The double doors to the boardroom didn't open. They were pushed open.

Two security guards—the same ones from the gala—held the doors wide.

A man walked in.

He carried a leather briefcase. His footsteps on the expensive carpet were soft but heavy. He walked to the empty chair at the opposite end of the table from Marcus.

He placed the briefcase on the table. He unbuttoned his jacket and sat down.

The Board members gasped. Mr. Henderson’s mouth fell open. Mrs. Lee dropped her pen.

It was Ron.

He looked fresh, rested, and sharp. His suit was grey today, the color of a storm cloud. He looked at the faces around the table, one by one. Finally, his eyes landed on Marcus.

"Good morning," Ron said. His voice wasn't distorted anymore. It was the same calm, terrifying voice from the gala. "I believe this is my chair."

Marcus stared. His brain couldn't process it. Ron was a prisoner. Ron was broke. This was impossible.

Then, the shock turned to rage.

"YOU?" Marcus screamed. He stood up so fast his chair fell backward with a crash. "This is a joke! You don't have money! You’re a convict! You have nothing!"

Marcus lunged forward, slamming his hands on the table. "Security! Get this trash out of here! He’s lying!"

The security guards at the door didn't move. They looked at Ron, then looked at the floor. They worked for the majority shareholder now.

Ron didn't flinch. He didn't blink. He watched Marcus scream with a look of mild amusement.

"Are you finished?" Ron asked.

"I will have you arrested!" Marcus shouted, his face purple. "I will bury you! You have nothing on me!"

Ron sighed. He reached for his leather briefcase. He clicked the gold latches. Snap. Snap.

He pulled out a thick blue folder. He didn't open it. He simply slid it across the long polished table.

The folder spun smoothly. It stopped right in front of Marcus.

"Read it," Ron said.

Marcus looked at the folder. His hands shook as he opened it.

The first page was a bank statement.

BANK OF THE CAYMAN ISLANDS

ACCOUNT HOLDER: MARCUS THORNE

Below it was a list of transactions. Millions of dollars. Money siphoned from Sterling Tech. Money paid to judges. Money paid to the police to frame a man named Ron Donaldo five years ago.

Marcus stopped breathing. He felt like the floor had opened up beneath him.

"I don't have nothing, Marcus," Ron said softly. The room was so quiet you could hear the air conditioning humming. "I have everything. I have the account numbers. I have the wire transfers. I have the emails where you discussed how to frame me."

Marcus looked up. His eyes were wide with terror.

Ron leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers.

"The FBI is currently sitting in the lobby," Ron said. "They are drinking coffee. They are waiting for my signal to come up here and put you in handcuffs for corporate embezzlement and fraud."

Theresa covered her mouth to stop a scream. She looked at the folder, then at Ron. She realized the trap hadn't just sprung; it had crushed them.

Marcus looked at the door, then back at Ron. He looked like he was going to vomit.

"What... what do you want?" Marcus whispered.

Ron pointed a single finger at the chair Marcus had knocked over.

"Sit down," Ron commanded. "And be quiet. The meeting is just beginning."