What Marcus didn’t know was that one hour was all I needed. See, Daniel didn’t leave me the CEO title out of sentiment. He left me something quieter — a private holding company called Vance Heritage Trust, registered in Delaware the week before he died. Inside that trust sat sixty-one percent of Ashford Grand’s voting shares. The board only ever saw the operational forty-percent stake under my name. The rest was paperwork they never bothered to read.
I walked down to the boardroom with my cardboard box still under my arm. Marcus was already at the head of the table, pouring champagne for the three traitors — Richard, Patricia, and Hugh. “Eleanor,” Patricia cooed, “we’d love for you to stay on as a consultant. Part-time.”
I placed a single folder on the polished walnut. “Before I go, I’d like to exercise my shareholder rights under Section 7.”
Richard chuckled. “You don’t have the votes, dear.”
“I have sixty-one percent,” I said. “And effective immediately, I’m removing all three of you from the board for breach of fiduciary duty. The forensic audit Daniel’s lawyers completed last month shows you’ve been routing renovation contracts through Marcus’s shell company in Nevada. Twelve million dollars. The SEC received their copy this morning.”
Marcus’s champagne flute slipped. Patricia went the color of old paper. Hugh just stared at his hands.
“As for you, Marcus —” I turned to the boy I’d once taught to ride a bike, “— your termination letter is rescinded. So is your employment. Security is waiting at the elevator. Daniel believed in second chances. I don’t.”
I lifted my cardboard box, walked past the glass walls where the interns now openly applauded, and pressed the button for the penthouse — my penthouse — where the real board meeting would begin in twenty minutes.
The coffee was still warm when I sat back down at my desk.
