Walter laughed when I cleared my throat. ‘Mara, honey, why don’t you go grab us some coffee? Eric and I need to talk numbers.’ Eric shifted uncomfortably. He’d warned me his father was ‘old-fashioned.’ Old-fashioned was the polite word.
I didn’t move. Instead, I opened the leather portfolio and slid three documents across the table — one to Walter, one to Eric, one to Walter’s lawyer, Bennett, who had the decency to look nervous.
‘Before anyone signs anything,’ I said, ‘you should know that the Brennan Tower bid you lost last month? It went to Calloway Builders because someone inside Hargrove leaked the margins. The Riverside contract? Same thing. I traced the emails. They came from your private account, Walter. Sent to your nephew Trent at Calloway.’
Walter’s face went the color of old paper.
‘You’ve been tanking your own company,’ I continued, ‘so the valuation would drop low enough for you to buy Eric out and hand the firm to Trent. I have the forwarded threads, the wire records, and a signed affidavit from your assistant Diane, who, by the way, is tired of being called sweetie too.’
Eric stared at his father. ‘Dad. Tell me she’s wrong.’
Walter opened his mouth. Nothing came out.
I slid one more page across — a board resolution. ‘I called an emergency vote this morning. Aunt Lorraine, Uncle Pete, and the two outside directors agreed. Effective immediately, you’re removed as chairman. Eric is interim CEO. I’m taking the COO seat I should’ve had three years ago.’
Bennett quietly closed his briefcase and stood up. ‘Walter, I’d advise you not to say another word.’
Walter finally looked at me — really looked — like he was seeing me for the first time. ‘You planned this.’
‘No,’ I said, gathering my papers. ‘You did. I just took notes.’
I walked to the door, then turned. ‘And Walter? The coffee machine’s down the hall. Help yourself, sweetie.’
