If you walk out of Apex Media to play live-in nurse to that washed-up recluse, you are dead to this family and blacklisted from Hollywood, my uncle Victor Cross told me five years ago.
My voice, when I spoke into the microphone, was calm, almost conversational. It didn’t boom like Victor’s; it simply cut through the lingering echoes of his triumphant speech.
“Good morning, Mr. Cross,” I began, my gaze unwavering. “My name is Leo Bennett.”
Victor’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. His face had gone ashen. Damon Reyes, in the front row, shifted uncomfortably, his eyes darting between Victor and me.
“I have a technical question regarding Apex Media’s corporate filings,” I continued. “Specifically, SEC file tracking number 333-278901. It was updated this morning at 8:00 AM.”
A ripple went through the room. Reporters exchanged confused glances. Damon Reyes pulled out his phone, his thumb already flying across the screen.
“My question, Mr. Cross,” I pressed, keeping my voice even, “is whether Apex’s $120,000,000 merger prospectus with Summit Streaming now accounts for the 62% controlling interest owned by the Westwood Trust, as revealed in that filing.”
Victor stammered into his microphone, a strangled sound. “I… I don’t know what you’re referring to… some… some minor paperwork error… a technicality…”
His voice trailed off, a pathetic, incoherent mumble. The confidence had evaporated, replaced by a desperate, trapped animal’s panic. He clutched the podium, his knuckles white.
“And also,” I added, my voice cutting through the growing whispers in the room, “if the prospectus accounts for the 50-year Reversion Clause, which, as of 8:00 AM today, transfers all of Apex Media’s intellectual property back to the Westwood Trust, should an unauthorized merger proceed.”
The room erupted. Whispers turned to shouts. Cameras flashed, blinding flashes catching Victor’s contorted face. He swayed, genuinely looking like he might collapse.
“This is… this is a private family matter!” he blurted out, a desperate, pathetic attempt to regain control. “A personal dispute! Not relevant to this historic merger!”
He backed away from the microphone, fumbling, tripping over his own feet. His legal team rushed forward, trying to physically shield him from the barrage of questions. But it was too late. He was already fleeing the stage, stumbling down the steps, a broken, exposed man. The triumphant smile gone, replaced by utter humiliation. The room descended into chaos, the $120,000,000 merger now a footnote to a stunning public collapse.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours