Chapter 11 - Whispers in the Boardroom
The transformation did not stay confined to the penthouse. On Monday morning, Damian walked into the Vance Therapeutics headquarters at 200 North Michigan Avenue with an unusual expression: determination uncoupled from cold anger.
The boardroom was packed with senior vice presidents, legal counsel, and portfolio managers. Projected onto the central screen were quarterly profit projections for the upcoming fiscal cycle.
"We have an issue with the missing shipment from last week," Vice President Bradley began, adjusting his rimless glasses. "Legal suggests writing it off as an uninsured logistics casualty to prevent inquiries into our regional safety standards."
"The shipment has been recovered," Damian announced, taking his seat at the head of the polished walnut table.
A murmur of relief spread through the room. "Excellent," Bradley said. "We can re-allocate the stock to our private contract hospital in Geneva."
"No," Damian said firmly.
The room fell silent. Bradley paused, pen poised in the air. "I beg your pardon?"
"We are restructuring our secondary distribution model," Damian said, leaning forward. "Starting this quarter, fifteen percent of all domestic dialysis and respiratory production will be diverted to an independent foundation. It will supply community clinics within Tier-3 socioeconomic zones at wholesale production cost."
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"Damian, that’s insane," Bradley sputtered, looking around for support from the board. "The shareholders will revolt. That cuts into our quarterly dividend by nearly four percent. That isn't our mandate."
"Our mandate," Damian said, his voice cutting through the room with quiet, absolute steel, "is to manufacture medicine. Medicine that sits in locked warehouses waiting for premium bids while people die three miles away isn't medicine. It's scrap metal. If the board wants to challenge my voting proxy, they are welcome to call an extraordinary session. Otherwise, draw up the charter by Friday."
