Richard chuckled and turned back to the investors, waving a dismissive hand. “Forgive my daughter-in-law. She thought this was the cafeteria.” Polite laughter rippled around the table. I didn’t move. I simply opened the leather folder and slid a single sheet of paper across the polished wood until it stopped directly in front of him.
His smile cracked first at the corners.
“Mr. Halston,” I said, my voice steadier than my hands, “as of 7:14 this morning, Vance Holdings completed its acquisition of the outstanding sixty-two percent of Halston Textiles. I’m Vance Holdings.”
The room went so quiet I could hear the air conditioning hum.
For three years I’d been quietly building a consulting firm out of our spare bedroom while Richard mocked my “little spreadsheets.” When I noticed Halston hemorrhaging from the bad contracts he’d signed out of pride, I didn’t tell Mark. I didn’t tell anyone. I bought the debt. Then I bought the shares. Then I waited.
Richard’s face drained to the color of paper. “This is a joke. Mark — does Mark know about this?”
“Mark signed the spousal disclosure last night,” I said. “He cried, actually. Said he was proud.”
I turned to the board. “Effective immediately, Richard Halston is removed as CEO. The severance package is generous — more than he offered the forty-three workers he laid off in March without notice. Mrs. Patel, you’ll be acting CFO. Mr. Owens, please escort Mr. Halston to collect his personal items.”
Richard stood so fast his chair tipped. “You ungrateful little —”
“Careful,” I said softly. “The adults are talking about money now.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. And for the first time in six years, my father-in-law had absolutely nothing to say.
I pulled out the chair at the head of the table — his chair — and sat down. “Alright,” I smiled at the board. “Let’s get to work.”
