The boardroom held its breath. The weight of Lex's words hung in the air like a guillotine.
It was the oldest member, Harold Greaves—gray-bearded, sharp-eyed, and a friend of Lex's grandfather William—who finally leaned forward, hands folded atop his cane.
"I've sat in this room for thirty-seven years," Harold said, his voice gravelled but firm. "Your grandfather Barnard. He built this company on strategy, not stunts. He also believed in giving people a way out before pushing them off the ledge."
He turned his gaze to Barnie.
"Lex offered you a solution last meeting. You refused it. You said cash flow wasn't the problem. Now look where we are. Asset-rich and liquidity-poor. This company is an over-leveraged dam about to crack. It's time you fixed it."
Charlotte stood next. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor as she stepped forward, her tone cool and clipped.
"You may have our grandfather's name, Barnard," she said, folding her arms, "but let's not pretend the First and the Third are cut from the same cloth. You've dragged this name through bad press, debt, and criminal allegation. Just step down."
She turned to the board. "I propose I take over as interim CEO. Just until Lex is twenty-one or graduates. He can have the CEO seat when he's ready."
Lex's brow arched as he stood, hands in his pockets, voice low but steady.
"You want to be CEO, Charlotte? I don't think so. You can take Vice President. That's fair. But I'll be taking the top seat now."
Gasps. Shifts in posture. Lex ignored them.
"I'm seventeen, yes. But the only person in this room who knows how to keep this company above water is me. And if anyone here wants to argue the point—go ahead. But my track record in the last months has outperformed this board's entire portfolio."
Barnie slammed his hand against the table. "That's enough!"
Everyone turned.
Barnie's hands tightened on the edge of the table. His eyes scanned the room once, then locked directly onto Lex.
"This is absurd," he said, voice controlled but cracking under the surface. "You think I'd risk everything on a few second-rate paintings? You want the truth? Fine."
He straightened his tie, let out a breath.
"My ex-wife, Genevieve Sinclair. She painted those pieces. All of them. I didn't even know she slipped them into the portfolio until after the divorce finalized. She was bitter. Had nothing else to leverage, so she left me with her vanity project."
He raised his hands, as if pleading with the room. "You want to crucify me over that? Over some hobby paintings? I didn't try to pass them off as family heirlooms. That was her stunt."
Barnie paused, sweeping his gaze across the table. "I'm not a thief. I've served this company for thirty years. Brought it through recession. This—" he gestured to Lex, "—this is a power grab from a boy with a grudge."
The room was quiet. Heavy. A few board members shifted in their seats, uncertain.
"I've been honest," Barnie added. "Maybe too honest."
Lex leaned forward, hands folded. Calm. Unimpressed.
"You were so honest, you didn't notice ten million dollars in fake paintings landed in the family home?" His tone was ice. "That's not honesty, Barnie. That's either criminal incompetence… or lying."
"Enough," snapped one of the older board members—Mr. Cunningham, a silver-haired man who had once sat beside Lex's grandfather on the original investment board.
"We've heard the accusations. Now let's vote."
One by one, hands began to rise. Lex counted. He didn't need a tally. He could feel the shift.
Seven for Barnie.
Five abstained.
Only four supported Lex outright.
Barnie exhaled in relief, but Lex didn't move. He didn't look angry. He looked entertained.
He stood slowly, smoothing the sleeves of his jacket, then looked across the table.
"Congratulations," Lex said, voice low but cutting. "You just voted to keep a scandal-ridden CEO with collapsing cash flow, falling asset liquidity, and no market confidence in charge."
The board memebers looked at him indifferently.
"You know," Lucas said, voice calm but coiled with disgust, "I find it hard to believe that a man with your experience didn't know what was being filed under his own watch."
His eyes cut into Barnie like glass.
"I don't think I have the stomach to watch this trainwreck twice."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Lex, who had been quietly watching, slowly straightened his posture. His hands smoothed the leather of his jacket. The look in his eyes had changed—no longer the patient strategist. Now, he looked like a man ready to close the door and walk away from the fire he started.
"You all have ten minutes," Lucas added, slipping his hand into his coat pocket for his phone. "Make a move before I call and liquidate my entire position."
A beat passed. Several chairs shifted uneasily.
"Lex," one of the younger directors said, his voice a little too hopeful. "Surely that's… extreme."
Lex paused mid-step. Then turned slowly, gaze cutting across the table with surgical precision.
"Not as extreme as keeping a liar in charge," Lucas replied before Lex could. "Or watching someone destroy my legacy because none of you had the spine to vote him out."
Lex's eyes landed back on Barnie.
"You just bought yourself a public spectacle," Lex said evenly. "When the market opens this afternoon, I will be selling."
He let the words hang in the air.
"By the end of this," Lex added, his voice dropping to a velvet-dagger whisper, "I'll probably own more than sixty percent of MADX—at a discount."
A few directors turned pale.
Lex reached for the handle, then glanced back over his shoulder.
"See you all again in two weeks," he said, voice casual, dangerous. "Annual meeting. Wear something black."
He turned, unhurried, and walked toward the door. Every eye at the table followed him, but no one dared to speak.
The click of the door closing behind him sounded like a verdict.
Outside the boardroom, Lex's phone buzzed in his pocket. He answered without breaking stride.
"Elias," he said smoothly.
"Just checking," Elias's voice came steady over the line. "You're going through with it? You want me to begin the sell-off?"
Lex didn't hesitate. His tone was cool, resolute. "Yes. All of it in ten minutes."
"Understood. I'll have the orders placed in small batches first and we double down every ten minutes."
Lex slipped the phone back into his coat. His reflection flickered in the polished elevator doors ahead—unbothered, unreadable.