Inside, the air was thick with the smell of stale coffee and expensive cologne.

Twelve board members sat around the mahogany table, their faces grim and expectant.

At the far end of the room sat Courtney Briggs, her hands clasped tightly over her pregnant belly.

Her face was pale, devoid of the heavy makeup she usually wore for her social media videos.

“This meeting is now in session,” the board chairman said, tapping his pen on the table. “We are here to discuss the emergency transition of leadership.”

I took my seat at the head of the table, opposite Courtney.

“Before we vote,” I said, my voice steady, “I want to present the final audit of Harlan Media’s offshore holdings.”

I slid the brass key across the polished wood toward the chairman.

“That key opens the private safe deposit box at the bank on Fourth Street,” I said.

Marcus handed a printed document to the chairman, who squinted at the text.

“This is the private vault Jared maintained under his mother’s maiden name,” I said.

“What is inside?” the chairman asked, looking up.