I cleared my throat. “Before I read this,” I said, “I’d like to thank Vanessa. For three years, she signed every document I put in front of her without reading a single one.” The room went quiet. Vanessa’s smile flickered. I reached into my tote bag — the canvas one she’d once called “homeless chic” — and pulled out a thick blue folder. “This is the operating agreement Dad updated four months before he passed. The one Vanessa never asked to see, because she assumed she already knew what was in it.” I slid copies down the table. “Section 4. Controlling interest of Hale Logistics, 62%, was placed in a revocable trust. Trustee: me. Sole beneficiary upon his death: also me.” Vanessa laughed, sharp and thin. “That’s a lie. I’m the CEO.” “You’re the CEO,” I agreed, “because I let you be. Because Dad asked me to give you one year to prove you could lead.” I looked at the board. “Gentlemen, ladies — you’ve seen the Q3 numbers. Two key accounts lost. Payroll late twice. A harassment complaint settled out of pocket and never disclosed to this board.” Mr. Pemberton, Dad’s oldest friend, opened his folder slowly. “Emma. Are you invoking Section 7?” “I am.” Vanessa’s chair scraped back. “You can’t — Dad wouldn’t —” “Dad already did.” I turned to her, and for the first time in my life I didn’t soften my voice for her. “You handed me a demotion letter, Vanessa. I’m handing you a severance package. It’s generous. More generous than you deserve.” I picked up her letter, folded it neatly, and dropped it in the wastebasket beside the table. “Monday,” I said, “the receptionist desk will be empty. You’re welcome to apply.” The board voted before she reached the door. It was unanimous.
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