9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
Roman
Shira Goldman walked through the door of the conference room thirty minutes late. I would have been insulted if her absence hadn’t made conducting this meeting far easier for me and less awkward for the board.
She raised her chin proudly, though I couldn’t help but notice the beads of sweat on her forehead and the greenish tinge to her skin. Something wasn’t right. If I could have delayed today’s event until she was well, I would have, but the wheel had already been set in motion. It was happening.
“Excuse me. I apologize for my lateness. I wasn’t aware the board would be here,” she stated woodenly.
I rose from my seat, noting the men and women around me conveniently making themselves busy by studying the contract I’d presented to them. Cowards.
“You’re right on time, Shira. Don’t bother sitting down. This won’t take long.”
She gripped the back of the chair near her, her knuckles going white. “Okay. Will you tell me what I missed?”
“I will.” Circling the table, I brought her the contract Francesca and I had signed earlier in the week. She took it from me, her brow crinkling as she read it. “As you can see, Francesca sold her shares of GoldMed to me, giving me controlling interest in the company.”
Shira sucked in a sharp breath, her head jerking back. “Oh,” she whispered.
“Since coming to GoldMed two months ago, it’s become clear you and I don’t see eye to eye on the direction it should be going,” I continued, though without the sense of victory I’d expected as reality dawned on Shira. “As the primary owner, I called the board here to vote.”
She swallowed. “Please, just tell me…” she murmured for only me to hear.
“The board came to a unanimous vote. As of today, you are no longer CEO of GoldMed. I’ll be taking over until we can find a permanent replacement.”
I’d bought GoldMed’s debt in order to bring the company back to life to honor Frank Goldman and removing Shira had been my first goal. This was supposed to feel good. Vindication for the way she manipulated herself into this position. For the way she had treated Francesca. For isolating Frank at the end of his life. For driving Frank’s company into the ground.
Instead, it all rang hollow. I wasn’t sure doing it this way had been the right decision. Not when Shira looked like she’d been beaten and dragged through the streets for weeks on end. Not when she finally raised her eerie eyes to mine and something deep within me recognized her grief and despair.
“Okay.” Shira looked around me and nodded to the board, men and women who’d known both Frank and her for many years. When it came down to lining their pockets, they’d been all too willing to oust her. “Thank you, everyone. I guess…I guess I’ll go now.”
Swiveling on her toes, her head raised, she marched to the door. Her fine-boned hand wrapped around the knob, pulling it open, and without a glance back, she walked out.
Murmurs started as soon as the door clicked shut, but I didn’t move. Dread pooled in the pit of my stomach. Should she have looked so devastated? Her reaction didn't sit right with me. Sure, the moves had been made behind the scenes and without her knowledge, but Shira hadn’t been angry. She’d seemed moments away from falling to her knees and crumbling to pieces.
Francesca’s heavy perfume arrived before she did. She sidled up beside me, her fingers curling around my forearm.
“Ding-dong, the wicked witch is dead. Great job, Roman.”
I peered at the woman next to me, uneasy she thought we were on the same team. I might not have agreed with the treatment she’d received from her father’s wife, but I’d never mistake Francesca Goldman for a good person.
“That isn’t necessary,” I bit out.
“Don’t tell me you feel sorry for her. She’s sitting on a pot of my father’s gold. I’m sure she’ll be fine. And she doesn’t have to pretend to work now.”
I looked down at her, a raised brow. “Neither do you, Francesca. You’re free to go clear out your office.”
She huffed. “Just because I sold my shares to you doesn’t mean I don’t want to work here.”
“No, but the fact that you don’t actually do anything means there’s no reason for you to take up space anymore.”
She folded her arms across her chest, her expression sardonic. “Oh, are you feeling a pang of guilt for getting rid of my wicked stepmother the way you did and taking it out on me? Too bad there isn’t a bike big enough for you to backpedal, Roman. You well and truly humiliated little Shira. If you feel bad about that…well, it’s not my problem.” She flicked her hair behind her shoulders. “You know, I think you’re right. I’m done with GoldMed. You can go down with this ship all on your own.”
She yanked open the door as two people ran by and commotion sounded from down the hall. Terry’s urgent voice rose above everyone else, directing someone to grab water and paper towels.
Moving Francesca aside, I strode toward the small crowd. Terry was nowhere in sight, but I heard her, speaking softer now, saying it would be okay, an ambulance was coming, everything was okay.
Finally, the crowd parted, and I stopped dead. Terry was kneeling on the floor with two other women I recognized, but for the life of me could not conjure their names. Between them was Shira, pale as a sheet and unconscious.
“What happened?” I demanded.
No one responded to me. Those who weren’t actively helping Shira were watching. Terry had Shira’s head cradled in her lap, a cloth on her forehead.
“Terry—” I started but clamped my mouth shut when her eyes shot to mine, filled with venom and ire.
“Don’t,” she snapped. “I don’t have time for you.”
Minutes crawled by before EMTs showed up with a stretcher. By then, Shira had roused, but her head was lolling on her neck like it was barely attached. My hands twitched at my sides. I felt more helpless than I had in a long, long time.
The EMTs carefully placed Shira on a stretcher, and Terry stood with her, holding her hand.
“Bright side, baby: you can rest up now. No more stress—none of that,” Terry cooed.
“Bright side,” Shira repeated. “It’s you.”
A strong sense of déjà vu struck me right in the center of my chest. But I didn’t have a chance to examine it—not when the EMTs whisked Shira past me, her eyes fluttering closed.
The crowd slowly dispersed, and I followed Terry to her desk. “What happened?” I barked more harshly than I intended.
She glared at me, her eyes dark and stormy. “That isn’t any of your business, young man.” Plopping her purse on her desk, she squared her shoulders. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m taking the rest of the day off. My friend needs seeing to, and to be quite frank, I’m pissed as hell at you for how you conducted yourself today.”
I nodded. “Of course. I understand. We need to meet tomorrow to discuss what your new role at GoldMed will be.”
Her lip curled into a small snarl. I had known she wouldn’t be pleased, but she’d been with GoldMed for a long time. Once she had some time and saw my vision, she would come around.
The following morning, Terry came to see me first thing. She marched right into my office, a paper clutched in her hand, looking like she was ready to read me my rights.
“Good morning,” I greeted. “I’m aware it’s not my business, but I have to ask how Shira is.”
She stopped in front of me, her mouth curved in a frown. I thought she’d ignore my question or refuse to answer it, but after a beat, she sighed.
“She’ll be fine. She’s home and resting. Her friends are taking care of her.”
“Good.” I nodded a few times. Since Shira was taken away yesterday, I’d picked up my phone more times than I cared to admit to call her and check in. I’d almost called Terry too. I’d even been on the verge of phoning the hospital, knowing they wouldn’t tell me anything.
“That’s good. I hope she recovers quickly. She hasn’t looked well for a while—”
Terry’s forehead crinkled, and her nostrils flared like a bull seeing red. “Oh, you noticed she hasn’t been well but still went through with the bullshit you pulled yesterday?”
I jerked back, shocked she’d used that language in the office, given she’d never been anything but staunchly professional. I should have known she’d be angry. Despite everything, she and Shira were close, and I hadn’t treated her well. I’d just have to work to bring myself back around to Terry’s good side.
“Look, in hindsight, I should have handled things more delicately. I realize that now, but what’s done is done. I’d like to move forward and build a healthy relationship with you. We can talk about a new title, but I need your insight as I move GoldMed forward—”
Terry slapped her paper on my desk. “Absolutely not, young man. I am sixty-five years old and should have retired years ago. The only reason I stayed was for Shira Goldman. Not Frank, Shira. If you think I’ll work for the man who usurped that woman, you must’ve been born yesterday. As of today, I’m officially retired, and you’re shit out of luck.”
She punctuated her statement with her middle finger. “Oh, and that’s effective immediately.”
She marched out of my office before I could protest or even begin to wrap my head around my next course of action. Terry was part of the backbone of GoldMed. She would have been able to give me guidance on decisions that had to be made—
Another woman unceremoniously walked into my office. I recognized her from staff meetings but couldn’t bring her name forward with all the thoughts bouncing around my brain. What I did know was she looked just as pissed off as Terry.
“Good morning.” I braced for what I had a feeling was coming. “How can I help you?”
She wasn’t as brazen as Terry had been. She took a seat on the edge of the chair across from mine while holding a piece of paper in her trembling hands.
“Good morning, Mr. Wells. In case you’ve forgotten my name, I’m Gabriela Watson. I’m head of marketing…well, I was. I let HR know, but wanted you to know too. I’m turning in my two weeks’ notice. I’d rather leave today, but I’ll work my two weeks because I’m a woman of my word.”
Shit. Fuck. Shit. Shit. Shit. Fuck.
Inside, I was screaming, but I kept my composure.
“I’m very sorry to hear that. Would you like to tell me why you’re leaving so suddenly, Gabriela?” Tension rode me like a demon. My shoulders were so tight it was all I could do to sit still and not react.
Gabriela, who struck me as somewhat timid, lifted her chin in a decidedly Shira style.
“Yes, I would. I won’t work for men who mistreat women—especially not one as good as Shira. You might think the way you handled removing her as CEO was a business decision, but to me, it was personal.”
I shook my head. “I have to disagree with you, Gabriela. I would have done the same thing if Shira had been a man. My actions had nothing to do with her gender, and I strongly disagree that I mistreat women.”
Her eyes narrowed. “That’s what my ex said after he punched me so hard my orbital bone was fractured. Do you know who helped me? Shira. She paid for my lawyer, so I didn’t have to worry about anything except getting out of a situation that would have killed me. Then she helped with that too. That woman held my hand, literally and figuratively, all the way through. So, no, I will not work for the man who treated her poorly and made a humiliating power play. I’m done with men like you, Roman Wells.” Scooting forward, she placed her letter of resignation in front of me. “For the sake of my coworkers, I wish you and GoldMed good luck.”
She walked out, leaving me stunned. When I’d started working in GoldMed’s offices two months ago, I’d spoken to several employees about their opinions of the work environment and Shira. Now, considering who I’d spoken to, it gave me pause. I’d had lunches with executive team members who’d been around since the early days. All members of the old boys’ club, along with Frank. None of them fans of Frank’s “child bride,” as they called her, being in charge of the business. Why hadn’t I talked to someone like Gabriela?
Before I could answer my own question, the door to my office opened, and Annabelle Ortiz, head of HR, marched in. My stomach dropped.
“I hope you’re here to address the two resignations we’ve had this morning and not adding your own to the stack.”
She slapped her letter of resignation on my desk. “Sorry to inconvenience you, but I refuse to stay at this company any longer. This is my four weeks’ notice—and I’m only giving you four weeks because my role is critical to the rest of the employees. It’s not a favor to you in any way.”
I nodded to the chair behind her. “I understand. Would you have a seat and talk to me for a minute?”
She hesitated but finally decided to sit down. Like Gabriela, she perched on the edge of the chair, poised to take off at a moment's notice.
“You disagree with my decision to let Shira go,” I started.
She scoffed. “Let her go? Is that what you call the ambush you orchestrated? When you came to GoldMed, you told us it was to rebuild the company, but your intentions have been clear since day one. From what I’ve observed, no changes have been made and you’ve barely spoken with any team leaders who are women or below the age of fifty. I know everything I need to know about you, Roman Wells, and I won’t be a party to it.”
Sitting forward, I clasped my hands to keep from pounding the hell out of my desk. She wasn’t wrong. Not at all. How could I have been so blinded by my agenda I’d made such a massive misstep?
“You’re right, Annabelle. I messed up. When I started here, my game plan was to consult the people who’d been here during GoldMed’s most profitable years to find out where things had turned south. The consensus was that things had changed when Frank married Shira, and the decline had continued steadily over the last five years. But I should have been talking to newer employees too. That had been a grave oversight. Since we’re being blunt with each other, can I ask you a few questions now?”
She did the Shira chin raise, and for a moment, I thought she’d turn me down, but then she nodded. “All right.”
I had a hundred questions but went with the thing that had been bothering me the most since I’d first walked through the offices.
“Why is it so damn quiet?”
“That’s simple.” She flicked her long, manicured nails. “Frank began having chronic migraines triggered by sound. He didn’t want anyone to know, so Shira asked me to instill a rule several years ago that all employees had to use headphones to listen to music. Meetings—even small ones—were to be held in conference rooms, and everyone was given new, silent keyboards. She also had panels installed on the walls that soak up sound, and she did all this under the radar to help Frank.”
I narrowed my eyes at her pretty story. “It’s like a graveyard out there.”
She crossed her legs and leaned forward. “What a biased point of view, Mr. Wells. I’ve had multiple employees email me to thank me for the changes. Those are documented, and I will send them to you if you need to see them. So, while you might see a graveyard, many find the quiet peaceful, and it has upped their productivity.”
“Okay. I’ll give you that I was biased, and I would love for you to forward those emails to me.” I flattened my palms on my desk. “What has made you so loyal to Shira? I ask this because all my encounters with her have been extremely icy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding me? You admit to being biased and came to GoldMed with an agenda—which was to get rid of her. Your dislike of her has been clear from the jump. If a warm reception is what you expected, I’m honestly shocked you’ve gotten as far as you have in business without the ability to read people.”
“What do you mean, Ms. Ortiz?”
“I mean, Shira isn’t icy. Even a moron can see she’s just shy.” Annabelle puffed out her cheeks, expelling a heavy breath. “Honestly, I don’t have time to sit here and answer your silly questions. If you’d like to email me, I’ll respond when I have a moment to spare.”
And once again, another woman marched out of my office, leaving me speechless.
Shy?
Was I a moron?
No. Shira might have been shy, but that didn’t change other things I knew about her. It didn’t negate the damage that had been done to GoldMed since she’d taken over. Though I could admit I should have gone about it differently, getting rid of her had been the right thing. I wasn’t proud of that board meeting yesterday, but there was nothing I could do to take it back.
I pulled up the first letter Frank had sent me after my father had died. I’d been twenty-two, bitter with grief, filled with self-doubt, and had written to my dad’s friend to let him know he was gone. I hadn’t expected a reply, but a few days later, he’d written back, and his words had pulled me through.
Roman,
I’m sorry to hear about my old friend, Marcus, passing away. He was a fine man who will be sorely missed by all who knew him. We haven’t seen each other in some time, but we’ve exchanged emails in recent years, and his were always brimming with pride for his boys. You, Ben, Nathaniel, and Adrian were the most important things to him. I hope you know that.
I understand you might be feeling lost right now. Things that were once vital don’t seem as important, like finishing your degree when you could go pro with rugby and leave everything behind. If you want to drop out of school to give yourself distance from your loss, take it from someone who knows, there’s nowhere you can run that it won’t follow. However, if rugby is your passion and you’re just treading water in school, go for it. A degree isn’t the be-all and end-all.
Know that whatever you decide, your father would be proud. He always told me, of all his sons, you were the one he worried about least. He knew you had a solid head on your shoulders and great instincts. Follow them, Roman.
The decision you make will be the right one. If it’s not, there’s no rule that says you can’t admit your mistake and start over. You can walk a hundred paths in your lifetime. You aren’t obligated to stay on one all the way to your grave.
Be brave.
Frank Goldman
His letter hadn’t been anything groundbreaking, but it had been a lighthouse when I’d been lost in a sea of anger. His advice had led me to playing professional rugby, which turned out to be some of the best years of my life. And when I became too injured to continue playing, with his words ringing in my head, I got up and started down a new path, which was to save GoldMed.
However, the three letters of resignation on my desk told me I’d screwed up. I’d begun in the wrong direction, too myopic to see the big picture, but that didn’t mean I had to keep going that way.
Tomorrow, I’d start over on a new path—one that included speaking with every single employee.