I slid the laptop across the polished wood. It glided to a stop directly in front of Brandon. He laughed, popping it open like a trophy. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Maybe now we can actually run this place like it’s the twenty-first century.” I let him have his moment. Then I reached into my leather tote and pulled out a single manila folder. “Before you log in, Brandon, I’d like the board to hear something.” I nodded to Marcus, our general counsel, who’d been silent the entire meeting. He cleared his throat. “At 6:47 this morning, the Hollings Family Trust executed Article Nine of the founding charter. Voting shares previously held in joint custody have been fully consolidated under the original founder.” Brandon’s smile cracked. “What does that mean?” “It means,” I said softly, “that I own seventy-three percent of this company outright. Not forty-one. Seventy-three. Your mother signed her shares back to me last Tuesday, after I showed her the wire transfers you made to that shell company in Delaware. The one routing client deposits through your fiancée’s consulting LLC.” The room went still. Brandon’s hand froze on the laptop. “Grandma—” “Mrs. Hollings,” I corrected. “In this room, I am Mrs. Hollings.” I stood up slowly, the way you stand when your knees ache but your spine refuses to bend. “Effective immediately, you are terminated for cause. Security is waiting outside. The laptop stays. Your access badge, your company card, and your parking spot are already revoked. The forensic accountants will be in touch about restitution.” He stammered something about lawyers. I smiled for the first time all morning. “Honey, I built this company before you were born. I survived three recessions, a divorce, and breast cancer. Do you really think I’d walk into this room without a plan?” As they escorted him out, I turned to the stunned board. “Now. Shall we discuss Q3?” Twelve pairs of eyes finally met mine. And this time, every single one of them was listening.
