Chapter 7 - The Grand Auditorium
At nine o'clock the following morning, the grand glass auditorium at the Charleston Harbor Center was packed to absolute capacity.
Flashbulbs popped continuously as photojournalists from regional news outlets captured the arrival of Charleston’s highest society figures. Rows of plush blue seats were filled with corporate board members, port authority executives, major shareholders, and local politicians.
On the massive elevated stage, beneath a towering digital banner reading ALDEN MARITIME GROUP: 20 YEARS OF EXCELLENCE, sat the executive board.
In the center seat sat Grant Alden, looking immaculate in a charcoal bespoke suit, though his face was drawn and pale despite the stage makeup. Next to him sat Evelyn Vance-Alden, looking regal in an emerald green tailored dress, her diamond earrings reflecting the stage lights.
Grant leaned toward the podium microphone, tapping his silver pen against the glass water pitcher.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, board members, and valued partners,” Grant began, his deep voice resonating powerfully through the auditorium's surround-sound speakers. “Twenty years ago, Alden Maritime Group was built on a single foundation: trust, integrity, and absolute dedication to this city’s heritage.”
In the third row of the executive section, several board members nodded approvingly.
“Today, as I prepare to transition the executive chairmanship to my brilliant wife, Evelyn,” Grant continued, smiling warmly at Evelyn, who beamed with practiced perfection, “we look forward to a future of unprecedented growth—”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors at the back of the auditorium slammed open with a loud, metallic BANG.
The sound echoed off the high glass ceilings.
Several security guards spun around, their hands reaching for their earpieces. Photographers turned their long camera lenses toward the rear entrance.
Walking down the center carpeted aisle, side-by-side, were two young women.
Claire Alden wore her pristine white silk dress, her golden hair flowing behind her shoulders.
Beside her walked Maya Reed, wearing a simple black linen dress provided by Claire, her dark curls tumbling freely around her face.
They walked with identical, measured strides. They held their heads at the exact same high angle. And as they walked beneath the bright overhead lights, the amber rings around their eyes glittered under the flashes of fifty cameras.
A collective murmur swept through the five hundred guests in the gallery.
“What is she doing?” Evelyn whispered on stage, her hand freezing over her microphone, her face instantly turning to stone. “Grant, stop her!”
Grant stood up from his chair, his hands gripping the edges of the podium so hard his knuckles turned yellow. “Claire? What is the meaning of this?”
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Claire and Maya stopped at the very foot of the stage, directly in front of the press row.
Claire raised her voice, her words carrying effortlessly through the silent hall. “Members of the board! Members of the press! My father is about to hand executive control of this company to my mother based on an eighteen-year lie!”
