“Brandon,” I said softly, “before I hand anything over, I’d like to introduce someone.” The double doors opened and in walked Margaret Liu, Robert’s attorney of twenty-six years, carrying a leather portfolio I recognized immediately. Brandon’s smirk wavered. Margaret laid three documents on the polished walnut table. “For the board’s awareness,” she said, “Robert Vance restructured the firm’s ownership in November 2022. Eleanor Vance holds seventy-one percent of voting shares. Brandon Vance holds four percent, contingent on continued employment and a clean financial audit.” The room shifted. I could hear Brandon swallow. “There’s more,” I said, sliding a manila folder toward the CFO. “These are the wire transfers Brandon authorized to a shell company in Delaware. Eighty-six thousand dollars in March. One hundred forty in June. The Delaware company is registered to his girlfriend’s brother.” Brandon’s face went the color of wet cement. “Eleanor, that’s a misunderstanding, I can explain—” “You’ll have the chance,” I said. “To the forensic accountants. To the IRS. And to the board, who will be voting in approximately four minutes on whether your employment continues.” I stood up then, smoothing Robert’s favorite blazer. “Your father built this firm from a rented desk in a basement on Lamar Street. He drafted the Henderson Tower on a drafting board I still keep in the garage. He trusted me with everything because for forty-one years I earned it. You called me sad, Brandon. You called me an old woman playing CEO.” I looked around the table at the architects and engineers Robert had mentored, half of whom were quietly nodding. “I’m not playing. I’m the majority shareholder. And as of this meeting, you are no longer employed by Vance Architecture.” Brandon opened his mouth, closed it, and walked out without his briefcase. I sat back down and opened the agenda. “Now,” I said, “shall we discuss the Riverside proposal?”
