“We need to be at the corporate headquarters by two,” Lena said, checking her watch.

“The board is waiting.”

“Let’s go,” I said.

***

The glass tower in midtown Manhattan was quiet.

The brass letters in the lobby still read “Mercer Hospitality Group.”

A workman in blue overalls was standing on a ladder near the reception desk.

He had a chisel and a hammer.

“Remove them today,” I told him as I passed.

He nodded and went to work.

The metallic pinging of his hammer echoed through the lobby.

Upstairs, the boardroom was filled with the remaining members of the board.

Philip Mercer sat at the far end of the long table.

His collar was open, and his eyes were bloodshot.

His attorney sat next to him, whispering in his ear.

Daniel sat on the opposite side, representing Grant in absentia.

Grant was not there.

He was in his lawyer’s office downtown, preparing his surrender to the federal marshals.

I took my seat at the head of the table.

Lena sat to my right, spreading her papers across the polished wood.