His voice is tense.
“Isabella, we received instructions last week to reassign voting rights to a holding company controlled by Vivian.”
You close your eyes.
Of course.
“How much?”
“Enough to shift board control if accepted.”
“Were they accepted?”
“No. The signatures looked wrong. I delayed processing.”
You open your eyes.
“What’s your name?”
“David Rosen.”
“David, you may have saved the company.”
He exhales like he has been holding his breath for days.
“I thought I was going to get fired.”
“Not by me.”
The next day, you visit Hale Construction headquarters in downtown Stamford.
The building still smells like your childhood: paper, coffee, steel samples, old wood, raincoats after storms. Your father used to bring you here on Saturdays. You would sit under his desk with coloring books while he reviewed site plans.
Now employees whisper as you walk through the lobby.
They know something happened.
They do not know how bad it is.
In the boardroom, Vivian has arrived before you.
That surprises you.
It should not.
Predators often run toward power when they feel it slipping.
She sits at the table wearing a white suit and diamonds, Marcus beside her in a navy blazer, his wrist bare now. Two board members sit uncomfortably nearby. David Rosen stands at the window, pale but steady.
