Married To My Ex-Fiancé's Silent Uncle

The boardroom of Maxwell Industries was a shark tank in expensive suits.

The air conditioning was set to arctic. Twelve men sat around the oval table, waiting for the meeting to start.

The double doors swung open.

Darcie walked in.

She was wearing a white power suit that she had tailored to fit like armor. Her hair was pulled back in a severe, sleek ponytail.

Gwendolyn, sitting at the head of the table, stood up. "What are you doing here? This is a closed session."

Darcie didn't answer. She walked straight to the empty chair at the head of the table-Fleet's chair.

She pulled it out and sat down.

"As Fleet Maxwell's legal proxy and power of attorney," she said, placing her leather folder on the table, "I am representing his vote."

Mr. Sterling, sitting to her right, nodded. "It is in accordance with the bylaws."

Hugh, sitting at the far end, scoffed. He was playing with a pen. "Go back to the hospital, Darcie. You don't know the difference between a balance sheet and a bedsheet."

She thought of the encrypted call she'd had at 3 a.m. with her brother. Garey, a ghost on Wall Street, his face obscured by code on the screen. "The shell company is called Blue Ridge Transport," he'd said, his voice a calm whisper. "It's sloppy, Darcie. He's siphoning money through inflated logistics contracts. But don't use this yet. It's your nuke. For today, use the scandal. They understand humiliation better than fraud."

Darcie opened her folder.

"I might not have an MBA, Hugh," she said, her voice projecting clearly. "But I know math. Numbers don't lie. People do."

She pulled out a single sheet of paper and slid it down the polished table until it stopped directly in front of him. It wasn't a spreadsheet. It was a high-resolution still from the Plaza's hallway security camera, showing his naked, slime-covered escape.

"Your recent... extracurricular activities have made you a liability to this company's shareholders," she stated. "Your judgment is compromised."

"This is a personal matter!" Hugh blustered, his face turning red.

"It wiped three billion dollars off the company's value in a single day," Darcie countered coldly. "It's a fiscal matter now." She leaned forward slightly, lowering her voice so only he and the people next to him could hear. "And this is just the appetizer. We can discuss Blue Ridge Transport later. In private."

Hugh's face went from red to white. The mention of the shell company, Darcie's ace in the hole, landed like a punch to the gut. He knew she had him.

Darcie looked at the board. "I move to suspend Hugh Maxwell's executive privileges pending a full internal review of his conduct. All in favor?"

Hands went up. One by one. Sterling raised his. Then the CFO. Then the others.

Capitalism has no loyalty to family. Only to profit.

"Motion carried," Sterling announced.

Hugh's face was purple. He stood up, shaking. "I am the heir! You can't do this!"

Darcie leaned forward, resting her chin on her steepled fingers.

"Sit down, Hugh," she said softly. "And show some respect to your elders."

"You're twenty-four!" he shouted.

"I'm your uncle's wife," Darcie said. "That makes me your aunt. Say it."

Hugh looked around the room. Everyone was watching. He was cornered.

He gritted his teeth so hard Darcie thought they would crack.

"Aunt... Darcie."

"Good boy," Darcie smiled. "Now go to your office and pack your things. Security will escort you out."

Hugh stormed out of the room.

Darcie held her composure until the elevator doors closed behind her in the lobby. Then, she leaned against the metal wall, her knees shaking. She hyperventilated for ten seconds.

Ten. Nine. Eight.

She pulled it together.

Darcie ran back to the East Wing.

She burst into the room. "Fleet! You won't believe it!"

She grabbed his hand-the one that had twitched.

"I got him! I suspended Hugh! We won!"

She was grinning like an idiot. She squeezed his hand, swinging it slightly.

'We won.' (She thought.)

The vibration of her excitement, the triumph in her voice, it was another clear signal to him. She wasn't just surviving. She was fighting. For the company. For him. My wife is a killer, Fleet thought with a grim, fierce admiration. Attagirl.

Darcie realized what she was doing. She dropped his hand gently.

"God, I'm talking to a wall," she laughed nervously. "Okay. Reward time. I'll use the expensive oil tonight."