Don’t embarrass yourself, sweetheart. The board would never trust a glorified secretary to run

Inside the boardroom, Tristan took the head seat — my father’s seat — and spread his arms like a king. ‘Let’s keep this short,’ he smiled. ‘I move that I be named CEO, effective today.’ Three of his country-club allies seconded before the sentence finished. Then the chairman, Mr. Ahn, turned to me. ‘Miss Halvorsen. You requested the floor.’ I opened my portfolio. ‘Before we vote, I’d like to enter two documents into record.’ The first was my father’s final amendment to the trust, signed six weeks before he passed, witnessed by his attorney and his physician. It transferred his 47% voting stake not to Tristan, not to me — but to a holding entity called Marigold LLC. Tristan laughed. ‘Never heard of it. Doesn’t matter. I still have the family votes.’ I slid the second document across the table. ‘Marigold LLC is mine. I founded it the week Dad was diagnosed. He asked me to.’ The color drained from Tristan’s face in stages — forehead, jaw, throat. ‘That’s — that’s not legal, she manipulated a dying man—’ ‘He recorded the conversation,’ I said quietly. ‘All four hours of it. He talks about the missing inventory in the Charleston warehouse. The vendor kickbacks. The Cayman account you opened under Mom’s maiden name.’ Mr. Ahn’s pen stopped moving. Two board members slowly pushed their chairs back from Tristan’s side of the table. ‘I’m not here to humiliate you,’ I told my stepbrother, and I meant it. ‘I’m here because Dad asked me to protect what he built. You can resign quietly tonight, or the forensic accountants I hired in March can present their findings on Monday.’ Tristan opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. The bourbon glass trembled in his hand. The vote was unanimous. As I sat down in my father’s chair, I felt the leather still hold the shape of him. Outside the window, the city lights blinked on one by one, like an audience finally taking their seats. ‘Glorified secretary,’ I whispered, and smiled.