The elevator doors slid open to the 47th floor of Maddox Holdings. Lex stepped out, dressed in the same paints black shirt and windbraker he had wore to the gallery.
He turned left heading down the long glass-paneled corridor toward his executive suite. Walking the familiar stretch toward his corner suite to his side. The hallway remind the same way it had since he was a kid tagging along behind his father. The door still bore his father's name.
"Good morning, Mr. Latham," said Eleanor with her usual composed grace.
Eleanor was seventy-two years old and still dressed with the kind of precision that made the entire floor look underdressed. She held a leather portfolio in one hand and a stack of manila folders in the other. Her heels barely made a sound as she stepped aside.
"Morning, Eleanor," Lex said, offering her a tired half-smile.
"Roman was on the 14th floor this morning. He's been checking the asset burn from the real estate portfolio. He hasn't requested a meeting—yet." She handed over the top folder. "Also, the internal audit team sent another summary. No anomalies they're willing to put in writing, but there's some unusual positioning around the Talbot account. I flagged it."
Lex accepted the file, flipping through the first page without stopping. "Good call. Anything else?"
"The press reached out. Again. They're sniffing around Margaret's departure. Also—"
She paused.
"Charlotte Maddox is on her way here."
Lex didn't look up. "Of course she is."
Eleanor gave the faintest of nods. "I took the liberty of preparing a fresh suit. You're technically on the meeting calendar with the board at noon."
She gestured to a garment bag hanging by the door—navy wool, crisp lines, pure Maddox tradition.
Lex glanced at it, respectful, but untempted. "Not today."
He unzipped the windbreaker he'd worn from the gallery and slipped it off. Moving to the coat rack beside his glass desk, he pulled on a slim leather suit jacket—a tailored, dark burgundy piece stitched with sharp Italian lines. Understated, but commanding. A gift from his mother.
Eleanor didn't approve, but she didn't say a word.
Lex turned, just in time to see the door burst open.
Charlotte Maddox stormed in, heels clicking like gunshots across the floor. Her dark hair was twisted into a tight bun, her blazer immaculate, and her fury barely restrained.
"Out," she snapped at Eleanor.
Eleanor gave Lex a questioning look. He nodded once.
She left without a sound.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Charlotte wasted no time.
"You're making this worse," she hissed, stepping close to the desk. "Do you have any idea what this looks like from the outside? Margaret's on a plane to Italy, and the press is frothing at the mouth. You've drawn blood, Lex. Congratulations."
Lex leaned against the edge of his desk, folding his arms. "Don't blame me. I'm just claiming the part that was always mine."
Charlotte's jaw clenched. "This is a Maddox company—"
"No," Lex cut in calmly. "This was a Maddox company. Then it became a Latham legacy. And now it's a battlefield."
She stepped back slightly, crossing her arms.
"You forced Margaret away," she accused.
"I didn't force anyone. Margaret ran because Barnie's house of cards is falling. I'm not the one lighting fires. I'm the one pointing them out."
"You escalated it."
Lex met her glare evenly. "I responded. There's a difference."
Charlotte let out a frustrated breath. "What do you want, Lex?"
"You have four options," Lex said smoothly, holding up a hand and counting them off. "One—you side with Barnie and go down with him. Two—you step aside sitting behind and let me run the board cleanup. Three—you fight me for a share and bleed publicly. Four—you walk away rich and intact before the ship sinks."
Charlotte scoffed. "There are no good options."
Lex's smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's because this isn't a good situation."
She walked to the windows, staring down at the city below. "You act like you're above all this. But Maddox. We fight. We play dirty."
Lex stepped forward, voice quiet, sharp.
"No. That's your father's legacy. Great-grandfather—Burnard Maddox—built this company with precision and integrity. My father Roger Latham expanded it with vision and grace. Neither of them played dirty."
He closed the space between them.
"I'm not Barnie. I don't need to break things to win. I just need to make sure the world sees what he already broke while keeping my integrity and image prestige."
Charlotte's breath out slowly calming down no longer angry.
Lex backed off, returning to the desk and flipping open the Talbot folder.
"You're smart, Charlotte. Smarter than Margaret. You know how this ends."
She didn't speak for a long moment.
Then, finally—
"I want the estates untouched," she said.
Lex nodded without looking up. "Done."
"And I want dividens from the family trust protected. Even if you take the company."
Lex glanced up, sharp and cool. "That's reasonable. I'll see what I can do. But you'll need to make sure Roman works with me."
Charlotte smirked faintly. "He's more afraid of you than he lets on."
Lex said nothing, just slipped the last document into its folder, straightened it, and stood.
They walked together down the hallway. Charlotte's heels clicked steadily on the marble, Lex's pace smooth and quiet beside her.
The walls were lined with black-and-white photos of old Maddox projects, each a gleaming monument to the family legacy.
Outside the boardroom doors, the murmur of thirty seated powerbrokers rolled like low thunder. CFOs. Division heads. Legal. Acquisitions. Three of them Lex knew would vote against him no matter what. The rest were waiting to see which direction the fire would spread.
The doors opened without ceremony.
Thirty heads turned.
Lex entered like he owned the floor, even if technically, he only owned a slice.
Charlotte peeled off to her seat beside Roman D'Angelo near the center. Lex didn't sit. He stood at the head of the glass table, hands braced lightly on the edge, eyes calm, unreadable.
Barnie was already seated, sleeves rolled, tie loose, a bottle of water sweating condensation beside his hand. He looked tired, but he was performing confidence like a stage actor playing king.
Elias Marr sat further down, briefcase open, pen in hand, already prepared.
Barnie spoke first.
"Well," he said, smiling like this was just another quarterly update, "thank you all for coming. I know the last two weeks have been… tense. But I want to reassure everyone—this correction is temporary."
He tapped the screen behind him. Charts flickered to life.
"The real estate arm is sound. Yes, share prices dipped. But our portfolio—ninety-nine office towers across North America and Asia—was acquired with discounted pricing. Independent appraisals show current valuation up nearly fifty percent."
He let that settle.
"All we need is patience. Confidence."
Lex's voice cut clean across the table. "Or new leadership."
Absolutely. Here's your rewritten section with the added details, keeping the tone sharp, controlled, and dangerous:
Lex's voice cut clean across the table.
"Or new leadership."
The room stilled.
Barnie's half-smile wavered, and a few executives shifted in their seats like they'd just felt the temperature drop.
Lex didn't sit. He stayed standing at the head of the table, fingers resting lightly on the edge of the glass, his voice cool and unshaken.
"We're not here to talk about stock dips or market psychology," Lex said. "We're here because this company doesn't trust its CEO. And it shouldn't."
A murmur rippled down the line. Barnie opened his mouth, but Lex cut him off with a raised hand.
"I've seen the numbers. On paper, yes—valuation's up. Buildings look great. But none of it means anything if we can't service debt. We don't have the liquidity to survive another quarter of tightening markets, let alone the full collapse that's coming."
He let that hang just long enough before continuing.
"And that's not the real issue."
Lex's voice dropped, slow and precise.
"The real issue is that the man sitting at the head of this company stole from his own family. This art scandal?" He gestured lazily toward the folder in his hand. "That's just the tip. A forgeries, fake valuations and shuffled paintings are nothing compared to what's coming when the press starts digging."
He looked around the table, locking eyes with the younger analysts and the old-guard board members alike.
"Ask yourselves this—what happens when this story breaks wide? When Maddox Holdings becomes synonymous with fraud and backroom laundering? When our name ends up in the same sentence as Enron?"
A few heads turned toward Barnie, whose jaw had tightened visibly.
"I'm not willing to let the Maddox legacy get dragged down in flames to protect one man's ego."
Barnie stood, bracing his hands on the table. "This is a stunt. You're grandstanding, Lex—"
Lex didn't flinch. He tilted his head, voice as smooth as glass.
"No, Barnie. This is your reckoning."
He turned slightly, addressing the board without raising his voice—because he didn't need to.
"You all know the numbers. You've seen the projections. You've read the press leaks. What we're looking at is a leadership crisis, not a market one."
Barnie scoffed, but Lex kept going.
"This company can't function with a man at the helm who's spent a decade bleeding it for ego and vanity. You can either vote him out—today—or I take my stand."
He let the pause hang, then leaned forward just slightly.
"By the end of today, I will begin selling every MADX share I personally own. That's fifteen percent of Maddox stock—on the open market. Publicly. Loudly."
Someone at the end of the table cursed under their breath.
"After selling I'd still be majority shareholder with Maddox Trust." he let the implication land like a punch, "And if I decide to add insult to injury?"
He gave Barnie a look like he was already burying him.
"I short this company from the inside. Publicly."
A stunned silence settled across the room.
Lex slowly straightened, his tone calm but carrying the weight of a verdict.
"I don't want to do that. But I will. Because I'm here to protect the legacy my father help built. And I won't let it rot under your watch."
He looked at each board member one by one. "This isn't about family anymore. It's about accountability. Vote him out—or watch me set the floor on fire and walk away while this place burns."
No one spoke. The line had been drawn. And the next move belonged to the board.