Chapter 6 - The Boardroom Gathering
The thirty-fourth floor of the Hawthorne Tower smelled of expensive leather, polished mahogany, and high-stakes tension.
By 9:45 AM, the executive boardroom was nearly full. The Grant family arrived as an armada: Margaret leading the charge in a tailored emerald-green Chanel suit, tapping her gold-topped cane with rhythmic arrogance; Victoria walking behind her, wearing an ostentatious cream power suit, her head held impossibly high; and Caleb bringing up the rear, clutching a leather portfolio, his eyes darting anxiously around the corridor.
Flanking them were four senior partners from Sterling & Cole, one of the most ruthless corporate litigation firms in the Midwest.
When Margaret swept into the anteroom, she found me sitting alone on a low bench, sipping a bottle of water, wearing the same modest navy slacks and simple silk blouse she had often mocked at Sunday dinners.
Victoria paused, leaning down to hiss near my ear. “Enjoy your last twenty minutes of relevance, you little leech. When we walk out of those doors, you won’t even have Caleb’s name left to hide behind.”
I didn't blink. I didn't move. I simply checked my watch. “Nine-fifty-two, Victoria. You should hydrate. It’s dry in there.”
Margaret scoffed, turning her back on me. “Ignore her, Victoria. Sterling, ensure the nondisclosure papers are on the table before Hawthorne speaks. We control thirty percent of the joint venture voting stock. He cannot afford an open war with us over domestic trash.”
At precisely 10:00 AM, the heavy oak double doors swung open.
Marcus Reed stood at the threshold. His expression was as unreadable as a tombstone. “The board will see you now.”
Margaret marched in first, her heels clicking authoritatively on the hardwood floor. Victoria followed, radiating triumphant malice. Caleb hesitated, catching my eye for a fraction of a second, but I looked straight through him as if he were made of glass.
I stood up, smoothed my slacks, and walked in behind them.
The boardroom was massive, flanked by floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Lake Michigan. Around the twenty-foot table sat twelve board members, all stone-faced. At the head of the table sat Richard Hawthorne, his hands folded neatly over a thick red leather dossier.
To his right, however, was an empty high-backed leather chair.
Margaret didn't even wait to sit down. She slammed her palm onto the table. “Richard, let’s end this farcical pantomime right now. Your security guards physically assaulted my daughter yesterday under the deranged accusations of a woman who belongs nowhere near this enterprise. I have drafted an immediate resolution: Claire is to be removed from all company perimeters permanently, Victoria’s executive privileges are to be restored with a public apology, or the Grant family will withdraw its forty-percent equity stake in the Midwest logistics corridor before the close of trade!”
A murmur rippled across the junior board members.
Richard Hawthorne did not flinch. He slowly raised his head, his eyes settling not on Margaret, but on me as I stepped into the room.
“Please take your seat, Claire,” Richard said calmly.
Victoria laughed out loud. “She doesn't get a seat! She’s not an employee, she’s not a shareholder, she’s a parasite Caleb dragged in from—”
“Victoria, shut your mouth,” Richard said, his voice dropping like an anvil.
The laughter died in Victoria’s throat.
I walked past the four terrified lawyers from Sterling & Cole, past Margaret’s outstretched cane, and past Victoria’s frozen stance. I pulled back the heavy leather chair directly to Richard Hawthorne’s right—the chair reserved exclusively for the Chief Risk Officer and Senior Managing Partner of Hawthorne Capital—and sat down.
I opened the red leather dossier in front of me, slid a pair of reading glasses onto my nose, and looked across the table at the Grant family.
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“Good morning, Margaret,” I said clearly. “I believe you were discussing equity stakes. Let’s talk about them.”
***
