The Final Hour of Reed Medical
The Final Hour of Reed Medical
Exactly one week after the initial arrest, the emergency shareholder convention of Reed Medical Holdings was called on the penthouse floor overlooking Central Park. This room had once been Julian’s personal kingdom, the stage where he delivered fundraising pitches to thunderous applause from the city's billionaires.
Today, the executive chair sat empty.
Patricia and her elite legal team were nowhere to be seen. Instead, I walked through the double doors in a sharp, custom-tailored black wool suit, flanked by Harrison and six armed security details. The shareholders watched me with a quiet, paralyzed terror; they understood the raw capability of the woman holding their ledger.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, setting my black crocodile leather briefcase onto the mahogany table. "The name 'Reed Medical' is being terminated today. Wren Capital has finalized the administrative restructuring to convert this entire hospital network into a non-profit medical institution named the 'Eleanor Foundation'—in honor of Claire’s late grandmother."
"But Mrs. Wren," a senior institutional shareholder stammered, his hands shaking as he stood up. "Our equity valuations... our stocks..."
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"You have two options," I cut him off smoothly, my gaze entirely devoid of mercy. "Either sell your remaining shares back to my acquisition group at their baseline value from ten years ago, or keep them and prepare to stand trial alongside Julian next month as named co-conspirators in a federal medical fraud indictment. You have exactly fifteen minutes to sign."
The room went dead silent. The only sound was the frantic scratching of pens against legal paper, sounding like dry autumn leaves being crushed under a boot.
