Chapter 23
The boardroom lights glared across polished mahogany, while Riley’s face filled the large conference screen from halfway across the world, the Guardian secure feed streaming her image in crisp clarity.
Behind her, the Burundu SRF stood like sentinels of their government’s resolve to claim jurisdiction of the illegal actions.
Her posture was straight, her expression calm.
God, the men with her, Talon included, had no idea how fast her heart was beating.
Talon looked at her from the other side of the camera. “You're still muted. The FBI is in the building. Are you ready?”
She nodded.
“You’ve got this. Lay it on them, babe.”
She smiled at him. He held up three fingers and counted down before pointing to her. “Good morning, members of the board,” she began, her voice level, steady. “I appreciate you making time for this briefing on such short notice.”
A dozen faces looked back at her from around the long table.
These were the men and women who controlled the company’s future.
She could almost guarantee that most of them had never looked twice at her ESG reports before now.
Her father glared at her, but she’d been assured there was no way he could stop the feed.
She clicked the first slide on her laptop. A logistics manifest appeared on their screen, clean columns of numbers and shipping routes.
“This is the shipment log for Drum Series C-42, routed to processing in Johannesburg last night,” she said. “The manifest shows fifty sealed drums of chemical solvents, declared weight in compliance with export documentation.”
Another click. The manifest shifted to a photo of the convoy, which was taken from Guardian’s op.
“This is the actual shipment. What our investigation found was not fifty drums. It was thirty-five genuine drums of solvent. The remaining fifteen were barrels that were modified with shielded casings. For the most part, they were weighted and sealed to pass casual inspection.”
A ripple moved through the boardroom. Harlan Shoemaker stood up.
“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ll have to forgive my daughter.
She was involved in a horrid incident a little over a year ago.
She’s been acting crazy since then, citing conspiracy theories.
I had no idea she’d break and make up these ludicrous lies. ”
“I assure you, I am fully in control of my faculties, and I have evidence to provide,” Riley said as she watched the door to the boardroom open.
“FBI,” an agent said as he moved into the room. “I believe Ms. Shoemaker has more information to provide. Mr. Shoemaker, please sit down and be quiet.”
Her father glared at her. “I will not let this lunatic ruin my good name.”
“Thanks, Dad,” Riley said, almost choking up as she clicked again. The screen shifted to a breakdown of financial ledgers, followed by a simpler slide that showed how dates aligned with shipments.
She continued, “These diversions have been occurring intermittently for at least the past year,” she continued.
“Destinations have been falsified. The yellowcake inside these barrels was primarily routed to Bolivia and Indonesia under legitimate processing contracts. In reality, those diverted drums were redirected through shell transport companies to secondary buyers outside regulatory oversight.”
Her voice stayed even, but each slide landed like a hammer. The men and women spoke all at once. She lifted her hand. Click. A global map populated with red and gold lines.
“Based on recovered manifests, falsified bills of lading, and direct physical inspection, we estimate one hundred and forty drums of yellowcake have been diverted since the start of this year.”
Click. She brought up a valuation report.
“Current market value for this year and this site alone is just under eighty million U.S. dollars. That is eighty million in material that should have been declared, transported, and processed under full regulatory compliance. Instead, it was siphoned off into unauthorized channels. The price for this on the black market is exponentially more. The potential for international sanctions and loss of operating licenses is not just theoretical. It’s imminent if we fail to act. ”
The next slide appeared. It was a screenshot of encrypted email traffic between senior logistics officials and an external corporate address. Her father’s name was on the CC line. She used her mouse to highlight each of the names.
“This diversion was executed with the knowledge and facilitation of senior executives of SMH, including the current CEO, Mr. Harlan Shoemaker.”
She didn’t flinch at saying her father’s name.
“Communications recovered from secure servers link the diversions to accounts controlled by shell entities tied directly to the CEO and others identified in this memo’s portfolio.
This includes transactions processed through subsidiaries in Venezuela, the UAE, and the Cayman Islands.
There wasn’t enough time to search further. ”
She let that hang for a breath, then changed the slide to a single sentence in bold black text.
Immediate Corrective Action Required.
“This convoy was intercepted by Guardian Security, supported by the Burundu SRF team you see behind me. The diverted drums have been recovered. All evidence has been documented and secured. I am submitting the full data packet to the board for independent verification. You have the opportunity to demonstrate to shareholders, regulators, and the international market that this company takes immediate and decisive action when faced with internal corruption. As you can see, the FBI was alerted, and I am being told they are in the process of arresting all the personnel involved who are located in the United States.”
Her gaze swept the faces staring back at her on the screen before landing on her father.
Her heart broke at the hatred she saw on his face.
She swallowed hard. “I recommend the immediate removal of the current CEO and the implementation of an emergency compliance review of all executive-level approvals tied to international shipments.”
Her father flew from his chair, screaming at her. The FBI was faster than her dad. They slammed him on the conference room table and handcuffed him in seconds. One of the agent’s pulled him off and turned him toward the door. “Harlan Shoemaker, you have the right to remain silent.”
Her father twisted toward her and screamed obscenities as he was led from the boardroom. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the shuffle of papers, then the chairwoman of the board looked up.
“Motion to remove the CEO from his position,” she said. “Effective immediately.”
Hands went up around the table. One by one. There were no dissenting votes.
“Motion carries,” the chairwoman confirmed then turned back to Riley’s image. “Miss Shoemaker, the board is prepared to offer you the role of interim CEO until a permanent appointment is made.”
Riley took a steady breath. “I appreciate the confidence, but I have to decline. My work as ESG officer allows me to operate where the environmental and human impact is most immediate. That is where I am most effective and where I choose to remain.”
The chairwoman studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Your choice is noted. We thank you for your work.”
The feed cut.
The hum of the connection died, leaving only the faint static of the desert wind outside. Riley closed the laptop, exhaling slowly.
Talon leaned on the table she’d been using as the SRF filed out of the room. When the door closed behind the last one, he smiled sadly. “You just took down your father on live video.”
“I didn’t take him down,” she said, rubbing the tension from her neck. “The evidence did. I just … delivered it.”