Chapter 6 - The Boardroom Storm
By Friday morning, the snowstorm over Lake Michigan had intensified, casting a dark gray gloom across the Chicago skyline.
Inside the central boardroom of Holloway Development, however, the atmosphere was even colder.
Grant sat at the head of the twenty-foot glass conference table. Surrounding him were nine executive board members, four senior legal advisors, and Arthur Pendelton, who was anxiously shuffling a thick pile of financial audit reports.
"Grant, this is completely irregular," spoke up Richard Vance, a senior board member who represented the firm's primary investment syndicate. Vance was sixty-five, wore three-piece suits made of imported English wool, and viewed any expenditure that didn't yield an immediate fifteen percent return as an act of treason.
"What is irregular, Richard?" Grant asked smoothly, leaning back in his chair with his fingers laced together.
"Reallocating three hundred thousand dollars from the West Loop capital expenditure fund into employee housing subsidies and medical contingency reserves!" Vance slammed a palm against the glass table. "Without a board vote! Without consulting the committee!"
"The West Loop fund is a discretionary portfolio managed directly under the Chief Executive’s authority," Grant replied, his voice dropping into that quiet, terrifying register that usually signaled an execution. "I don't require a committee vote to spend discretionary equity."
"You used company assets to rehouse a low-level cleaning employee!" Vance snapped, his face reddening. "The rumors are all over the city financial blogs! 'Grant Holloway goes soft.' 'The Ice King of Chicago loses his edge.' Do you have any idea how this looks to the Van Ness group? They're coming in here at eight o'clock expecting a hard-nosed negotiation, and they think you've turned into a charity!"
The door to the boardroom opened quietly.
Claire walked in, carrying a fresh silver tray of iced water and coffee. But she wasn't alone.
Standing behind her, holding a small wooden tray filled with neatly folded press releases and meeting agendas, was Rachel Bennett. She was dressed in a sharp, crisp black steward uniform with the Holloway crest embroidered neatly on the lapel. Her posture was straight, her hair tied back, her hazel eyes clear and calm.
She moved around the table with graceful efficiency, setting down papers in front of each board member.
Vance stopped talking, glaring at Rachel as she placed an agenda in front of him.
"Is this her?" Vance sneered, not bothering to lower his voice. "The woman who halted a forty-million-dollar banking negotiation?"
Rachel didn't flinch. She set the paper down smoothly, aligned it perfectly with the edge of his water glass, and said quietly, "Your water is cold, Mr. Vance. The meeting agendas are printed on eighty-pound bond paper, as per Mr. Holloway's standard."
She turned and moved to the next board member without a single tremor in her stride.
Grant watched her. A sharp spark of pride hit his chest—a feeling so unfamiliar and intense it almost startled him.
"Richard," Grant said softly.
Vance turned back to Grant, still scowling. "What?"
"If you ever speak to a member of my staff in that tone again," Grant said, his dark eyes locking onto Vance with absolute, deadly focus, "I will personally exercise my buy-out clause on your board shares, strip you of your voting rights, and have security escort you to the curb in front of every reporter on La Salle Street."
The boardroom went dead, terrifyingly silent.
May you like
Vance opened his mouth to reply, saw the absolute lack of compromise in Grant’s eyes, and slowly closed it again.
"Now," Grant said, standing up and unbuttoning his suit jacket. "The Van Ness delegation will be here in three minutes. And we are going to take their forty million dollars on my terms, not theirs."
