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“Sit. Down,” he ordered the man once again, knowing he was pushing the limits of board room decorum, but they’d left him no choice.
“We can have you forcibly removed, you know.”
Staying seated, he looked up at the pompous ass and offered a genuine smile. “Not for thirty days, you can’t.”
“What?”
“He’s right,” Emersyn piped in. “Once a vote is taken, we have thirty days to show significant improvement before we’re officially out.”
“It doesn’t say that.”
He held up the binder. Silverman leaned over and read, his eyes moving furiously down the page. When he straightened, his lips were thin white lines. “Fine. You have thirty days.”
Turning to Sam, Gerard asked for the vote and Silverman’s acquiescence to the thirty day rule to be clearly noted. Sam nodded.
“Before we adjourn, I also want it noted that change is defined as a two percent improvement from where things stand on the day of the vote. That’s the benchmark we must meet in order for your vote to be vetoed. Do we all clearly understand this?” He looked at each person in turn, waiting for their verbal agreement. When the entire room had answered him, he knew it was time to close out the meeting.
“Emersyn will give Sam copies of where the company statistics are as of this moment.” He glanced at his sister, and she nodded.
“It can’t be her. She won’t give us accurate data.”
Gerard speared him with a look. “Are you accusing my sister of something, Richard?”
“Well—”
“I’ll do the report,” Betty said. “Now, if we can please be done with this fiasco, I have other things to do.”
He trusted Betty. As the wife of a mayor he admired, he considered her above reproach. Plus, his family was friends with hers. He liked the elderly woman. Gerard nodded. “Is there any other new business?”
No one said anything.
“Fine. Then this meeting is adjourned.” He stood and shook each board member’s hand as they exited the meeting, looking them in the eye with the friendly smile he’d perfected years ago. Silverman was last and refused Gerard’s outstretched hand. “Thirty days and you’re out.” He flew through the door as if a fire followed him.
Gerard and his sister, both aware of the importance of appearances, walked slowly back to his office, chatting as if they had no cares. Emersyn’s tinkling laughter floated over the sea of cubicles and offices. Once in his office, he reached for the button to cloud his walls.
“Don’t. We don’t want them thinking we have anything to hide.”
“We need to talk, to plan, to figure out how we’re going to get out of this mess.”
Emersyn threw her head back and laughed. “They can’t hear us, brother. They can only see us.”
Nodding, he rolled his eyes, something he did on a regular basis. When she left an hour later, he went to the window and stared at the skyline without really seeing it, careful to keep his shoulders sharp and not droop. Rarely overwhelmed, the burden of protecting Barrett Investment Group weighed heavily on him. Grateful he had Emersyn, it was his sole responsibility to maintain the company’s position as one of the leaders in this industry. The challenge had invigorated him. He lived, ate, and breathed money. Except his father had effectively tied his hands, damn him. Couldn’t he have trusted his son?
A Barrett had chaired this board since the company’s inception, and he’d be damned if he’d let Richard Silverman tear him from his rightful place at its head. They needed to solve this crisis and get back on track. Right now, Gerard was out of ideas.
He needed out of there, some place where he could think.
He needed Rowan.
The thought surprised him, but it was true. She listened. She had great ideas, and she supported him one hundred percent when they were in agreement. He could unload to her and know it would go no further.
Talking to Rowan wasn’t possible. Not anymore. Grabbing his keys and phone, he told Sandra he would be gone for the day and left. Driving the McLaren across the bridge calmed him down. When he pulled into the parking area of Solano Ranch, he got out, leaned against the car, and breathed in air so different from San Francisco. Dryer, clearer, more relaxing.
“Hey,” a very tanned Brody said, coming out of the house with a wary look in his eye and a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “What the hell are you doing here? Not only is it not poker night, it’s Tuesday. You’re at the office on Tuesdays. Always. And you’re four days late for poker night.”
“Needed a change of scenery.”
“Well, then, come on in. Let me make you a sandwich.”
