Phelan Gault showed teeth, his polished mask stretching thin across sharp cheekbones. “It’s a shame, really. Such promise, Neva. But the board, in their infinite wisdom, felt you weren’t… quite up to the task of leading Dassein Global. Not after the recent, shall we say, *incidents*.” He gestured vaguely at her bandaged spine. “Health concerns, you understand. A temporary measure, of course. Until you’ve fully recovered.” Kasen stepped forward, squaring his shoulders to block Neva from the armed sentries. “There are legal challenges to this vote, Phelan. A patient’s health cannot be weaponized to dismiss a CEO.” His voice was low, laced with a steel that Neva rarely heard from him. “Ah, but it can when it affects leadership capacity,” Phelan countered, unperturbed. “Especially when the company’s very stability is at stake.” He flicked two fingers toward the sentries. “Our… security detail will escort Ms. Dassein to a more comfortable recovery suite. Off Apex grounds, naturally. For her peace of mind.” Neva pushed herself upright, a flicker of raw fury in her gaze before the mask of bright, unyielding cheerfulness snapped back into place. “Oh, Phelan! You’re just too thoughtful! I always did say Apex’s recovery rooms were a bit… stifling.” She offered a saccharine smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “But don’t you worry your dear head. I’m quite resilient. You’ll be seeing me around.” Her words were a veiled threat, delivered with the airy grace of a socialite discussing weather. “I’m sure I will,” Phelan replied, his own smile never wavering, though a hint of irritation tightened the corners of his mouth. He watched as Kasen carefully transferred Neva from the bed to a sleek, chrome-plated wheelchair the orderlies had brought in. Her legs, still weak and aching from the nerve grafts, protested with a dull throb. As they were escorted through the pristine corridors of Apex, Neva’s eyes scanned every detail, committing them to memory. The tailored kevlar weave of the private patrol uniforms, the matte-black retinal scanners bolted above previously open junctions, the averted stares from junior residents. Phelan was tightening his grip, and fast. Meanwhile, Gerrick Trask, his own body wracked by tremors, had heard the commotion. He stumbled out of his private suite, gripping the doorframe for support, staring with hollow intensity. “Phelan! Neva… you have to help her! You have to fix her!” His voice was a strained whisper, his face pale and slick with sweat. “Gerrick,” Phelan said, turning, his expression a theatrical blend of sympathy and regret. “My dear boy. I’m afraid Neva’s… indisposition, as well as her recent departure, means we’ll have to re-evaluate our priorities. The Dassein proprietaries, you see, are no longer under her purview. And without her unique touch…” He trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air like a guillotine blade. Gerrick’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t. You promised! My surgery… I’m dying, Phelan!” He lurched forward, reaching out with an unsteady hand, but a heavy shoulder blocked his path. “A regrettable consequence, Gerrick,” Phelan said, his voice devoid of any genuine compassion. “But business is business. Perhaps you should have valued the diamond when you had it.” He glanced pointedly at Neva’s retreating figure, then back at Gerrick, a chilling satisfaction in his gaze. He enjoyed twisting the knife. Olenna Trask, having heard her son’s panicked cries, emerged from her own suite, a frantic look on her face. She saw Neva being wheeled away, then Phelan standing over Gerrick, whose face was a mask of utter despair. “Phelan! What is the meaning of this? You cannot do this to my son!” Her voice, usually imperious, was edged with genuine terror. “Ah, Olenna,” Phelan said, turning to her, a cold smile spreading across his lips. “Just the person. I believe we have an outstanding debt to settle.” He pulled out a sleek data slate, tapping a few commands. “Valerion Dynamics. Its market capitalization is now… negligible. The patents are gone. Your family’s fortune, I’m afraid, has evaporated.” Olenna gasped, her face draining of color. “No! That’s impossible! I transferred assets, I… I paid you for your guidance!” “Guidance?” Phelan chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. “You were a convenient tool, Olenna. A distraction. A useful-idiot to keep Neva occupied while I secured what truly mattered. The Dassein legacy was always my target, not your son’s failing nerves. You and your pathetic boy were simply disposable pawns in a much grander game.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper that carried through the stunned silence. “And now, you are utterly ruined.” The last word was a poison dart, and Olenna staggered back as if physically struck, her tyrannical facade shattering into a million pieces. Hours later, from the sweeping, panoramic windows of Kasen Yarrow’s penthouse high above the glittering spires of Prynth, Neva watched the city below. Her wheelchair was positioned near a holographic display showing a live feed of Apex Surgical Institute’s main auditorium. Phelan Gault, standing at a podium, was addressing a press conference, the newly installed Dassein Global CEO. Kasen stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair, his presence a comforting anchor. “He’s gloating,” Neva observed, her voice flat, the cheerfulness momentarily absent. “Look at him, basking in the stolen limelight.” “He won’t gloat for long,” Kasen said, his fingers flying across a sleek, transparent console. “I’ve found the backdoor access points in Apex’s transmission network. Standard proprietary firewall, but my team wrote the original code. Consider it… a home advantage.” A smirk touched his lips. “Good,” Neva said, her eyes narrowing. “Because I believe Prynth needs to hear a little bedtime story about its new medical savior.” She retrieved a small, encrypted data chip from a hidden compartment in her wheelchair armrest. “This little gem contains Phelan’s lovely confession to Olenna. Every single callous word.” Kasen nodded, taking the chip. “Audio injection initiated. Standby for system override.” On the holographic display, Phelan Gault was mid-sentence, pontificating about his grand vision for Dassein Global. Suddenly, his voice was overlaid by another, familiar one – Phelan’s own, but colder, sharper, stripped of all pretense. *“You were a convenient tool, Olenna. A distraction. A useful-idiot to keep Neva occupied while I secured what truly mattered. The Dassein legacy was always my target, not your son’s failing nerves. You and your pathetic boy were simply disposable pawns in a much grander game. And now, you are utterly ruined.”* The words reverberated through the auditorium, then across all of Prynth, streamed live across every municipal screen. A collective gasp rippled through the press conference audience. Phelan’s face, on the holographic display, contorted into a mask of pure, incandescent rage. He slammed his fist down on the podium, his eyes darting frantically to the technicians behind the cameras. “Cut the feed!” he roared, his cultivated composure utterly shattered. “Cut it now!” The projection flickered, then collapsed into static. A small, victorious smile played on Neva’s lips. “Well done, Kasen,” she murmured, leaning back, a new energy coursing through her. “That should buy us some breathing room.” “Indeed,” Kasen replied, his fingers still dancing over the console. “But while he’s distracted with damage control, I’ve been digging deeper into Apex’s internal network. There’s something else. A hidden manifest, encrypted with a bespoke algorithm Phelan must have designed himself.” He bypassed another layer of security. “It’s tied to the proprietary neuro-tech vault. He’s not just taking over the company, Neva. He’s selling it. To the Cerulean Accord military. And the shipment leaves tonight.”

The Boardroom Coup