I stood up slowly. The folder shook in my hands, but my voice didn’t. “Marcus,” I said, “before security comes, I think the board should see what’s in here.” He laughed. “Bankruptcy filings, Lize? Tax returns? Save the drama.” I slid the folder down the polished table. It stopped right in front of Mr. Chen, our longest-serving director. He opened it. His face went white. Inside were notarized copies of Dad’s amended trust, signed three weeks before he passed, in front of two attorneys and Mr. Chen himself. Sixty-eight percent of the voting shares had been placed into an irrevocable trust — with me as sole trustee. Marcus had inherited the title of “Vice President of Brand Relations,” a position Dad created specifically so Marcus would have business cards but no power. I’d known for two years. I’d stayed silent because Dad asked me to, because he wanted to see if Marcus would change. He didn’t. Mr. Chen cleared his throat and addressed the room. “Ladies and gentlemen, as per the founder’s trust, Eliza is the controlling shareholder of this company. She has been since the day of his passing.” Marcus’s smirk collapsed. “That’s — that’s a forgery. Dad would never —” “Dad recorded the signing,” I said quietly. “There’s a video. He says your name in it, Marcus. He says he loved you, and that he was sorry he couldn’t trust you with what he built.” The room was silent except for the hum of the projector. I turned to the head of HR. “Effective immediately, the VP of Brand Relations position is being eliminated for budgetary reasons. Please escort Mr. Marcus Hale to collect his personal items.” Marcus stood, mouth opening and closing, his Rolex suddenly looking very heavy on his wrist. As security walked him toward the door, I finally sat down — in Dad’s chair. The chair I’d earned every night for six years, alone, under a desk lamp, while my brother slept in resort suites. Mr. Chen smiled. “Madam Chair,” he said, “shall we begin?” I nodded. “Let’s get to work.”
