25. Maxine
CHAPTER 25
maxine
T he mahogany boardroom table gleamed under the soft lighting, and thirty chairs were filled with people who would either make or break my future. I tried not to fidget with Dad's lucky pen—my lucky pen now—as Mr. Patterson called the meeting to order. Sebastian sat to my right, his presence steady and grounding. Brooklyn, to my left, radiated focused intensity as she reviewed her notes one final time.
"Before we proceed with the vote"—Patterson adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses—"would you like to make any final statements, Ms. Perez?"
I stood, feeling the weight of two dozen scrutinizing gazes. These people knew my father, worked with him, and trusted him. Now, they were being asked to trust his nineteen-year-old daughter and her stepsiblings to run a billion-dollar company. If I were them, I'd have doubts too.
"When I was twelve," I began, my voice stronger than I felt. "My father took me to my first board meeting. I sat in that corner"—I gestured to the leather chair by the window—"coloring in my notebook while you discussed quarterly projections. During a break, I asked him why everyone seemed so serious about numbers on paper."
A few smiles broke through the stern expressions. They remembered that day too—the little girl with her purple crayon set, who asked impossible questions.
"He told me something that day that I've never forgotten. He said 'Maxine, these numbers aren't just ink on paper. They're people's livelihoods. Their children's college funds. Their retirement dreams. Every decision we make in this room affects real lives.’ That lesson shaped everything I've done since."
I met each board member's eyes in turn. "I know what you're thinking. I'm young. Inexperienced. And, yes, my personal relationship with Sebastian is complicated. But we're not here to continue our parents' legacy of secrets and betrayal. We're here to rebuild this company from the ground up, starting with a foundation of transparency, innovation, and integrity. The values my father believed in before others corrupted them."
"And how do we know you won't be corrupted?" Julia Chen, our newest board member challenged. "Power changes people. We've seen it happen before."
"Because we've seen the cost of that corruption firsthand." Sebastian stood beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "We've lost family, trust, and our innocence to it. We refuse to let that happen again."
"More importantly," Brooklyn added, pulling up her presentation on the wall screen. "We've developed comprehensive oversight measures. Every major decision will require board approval. Quarterly audits will be conducted by independent firms. Complete transparency in all financial dealings. And as Chief Compliance Officer, I'll be implementing new ethical guidelines that?—"
"That's all well and good," interrupted Richard Martinez, the head of our west coast operations. "But let's address the elephant in the room. You two"—he pointed between Sebastian and me—"your relationship. How can we be sure your personal drama won't affect company operations?"
I felt Sebastian tense beside me, but I squeezed his hand under the table. This was my question to answer.
"Mr. Martinez, would you ask that same question if Sebastian and I had met at business school? Or through mutual friends? Our connection may have unusual origins, but it's built on mutual respect, shared values, and a common vision for this company's future. We're not hiding it because we have nothing to be ashamed of."
"Besides," Brooklyn interjected with perfect timing as she pulled up another slide, "our proposed governance structure includes clear protocols for managing any potential conflicts of interest. All major decisions requiring CEO and COO approval will also require a sign-off from either myself or the board to prevent any appearance of impropriety."
The room fell silent as the board members exchanged glances. Finally, Patterson cleared his throat.
"I move we proceed with the vote."
What followed felt like the longest ten minutes of my life. Each board member marked their ballot, then passed them to Patterson in silence. He methodically counted, his expression unreadable.
"The vote is unanimous." His face broke into a warm smile that reminded me of Dad. "Congratulations, Ms. Perez. The board formally recognizes you as CEO, with Mr. Trevino as COO, and Miss Trevino as Chief Compliance Officer."
"Thank you for your trust," I said, the words barely making it past the lump in my throat. "We won't let you down."
As the board members filed out with congratulations and knowing looks, Patterson lingered. He was there the day the company was founded; he helped draft our first business plan on a napkin in some dive bar near the university. In many ways, he was as much a part of this company's DNA as my father was.
"Your father and I started this company together, you know," he said softly. "Back when we were barely older than you are now. Everyone said we were too young, too ambitious. Sound familiar?"
"I remember the stories," I told Patterson, tracing the edge of Dad's lucky pen. "How you and Dad spent three days straight pitching to investors, surviving on coffee and determination. How you landed the Morrison contract because Dad charmed their CEOs pet parrot."
Patterson chuckled. "That bird hated everyone except Carlos. Squawked bloody murder at their entire board, then perched right on your father's shoulder during the presentation. Morrison said it was a sign."
"Dad always had a way with difficult personalities."
"Including your mother." Patterson's face grew serious. "I saw it happening, you know. The way she and David grew closer, the subtle changes in company dynamics. I should have said something."
"It's not your fault." The words came automatically now, practiced. "They fooled everyone."
"Not everyone." His eyes drifted to Sebastian, who was showing Brooklyn something on his tablet. "Your young man there—he suspected something was wrong months before the accident. Came to me with concerns about irregular transfers and missing documentation. I dismissed him as paranoid." He shook his head. "Another regret to add to the pile."
That was new information. Sebastian never told me he'd gone to Patterson. Had he been trying to protect me even then?
"The past is the past," I said firmly, channeling Dad's boardroom voice. "We're focused on the future now."
"Good girl." Patterson squeezed my shoulder. "But remember—the future is built on the lessons of history. Your father and I learned that the hard way."
After he left, Sebastian appeared at my side. "Ready to see your new office?"
The walk down the executive corridor felt surreal. Employees peeked their heads out of their offices as we passed, offering congratulations that sounded half awed, half terrified. I recognized that look—they were waiting to see if the new regime would be better or worse than the old one.
Dad's corner office—now my office—offered stunning views of both the city and the mountains beyond. Someone had cleared his personal items, but the space still felt heavy with his presence. The worn spot on the desk where he would drum his fingers while thinking. The small scuff on the windowsill where he would prop his feet up during late-night calls.
"We can change everything," Sebastian offered, watching me take it all in. "Make it your own."
"No." I moved behind the desk, running my fingers over the smooth leather of Dad's chair. "Just... additions. This is part of our history too. The good parts."
Brooklyn bustled in with an armful of files and her ever-present tablet. "Sorry to interrupt the moment, but we have about thirty fires to put out before lunch." She started ticking off items on her fingers. "The press is camped in the lobby; three major clients want personal reassurances about the transition; HR needs to review the new organizational chart, and the Tokyo office is demanding a video conference despite it being three AM their time."
"And that's just in the first hour," Sebastian added with a small smile.
I should feel overwhelmed. Instead, I felt strangely calm. This was what I was raised to do, what Dad prepared me for all those years of bringing me along to meetings and teaching me every aspect of the business.
"Right." I slipped off my heels—no one could see them behind the desk anyway—and settled into Dad's chair. "Brooklyn, draft a press release emphasizing stability and our commitment to ethical leadership. Sebastian, call Tokyo and tell them I'll meet with them at a reasonable hour their time. I'll handle the client calls personally."
They both stared at me for a moment.
"What?"
"Nothing," Sebastian said, but his eyes were soft. "You just... you really are his daughter."
"Speaking of which," Brooklyn interjected, "your mother's attorneys are on line one."
The calm threatened to crack. Sebastian took a half-step toward me, protective as always, but I held up a hand.
"Take a message. All communication goes through our legal team from now on." My voice didn’t shake. Progress.
The morning passed in a blur of meetings and decisions. I approved marketing's crisis management strategy, reviewed Brooklyn's ethics proposals, and somehow found time to eat the sandwich Sebastian insisted on ordering. But my mother's letter burned in my desk drawer, impossible to ignore.
At two o'clock, during a rare quiet moment, I finally pulled it out. The cream-colored prison stationery felt expensive—trust my mother to find a way to maintain standards even in custody. Her handwriting was as perfect as ever, each letter precisely formed.
"Want company?" Sebastian asked softly from the doorway.
"Please."
He closed the door and settled onto the leather couch, close enough to support me but far enough to give me space. Brooklyn looked up from her laptop in the corner, her face serious.
With trembling fingers, I opened the letter.
My dearest Maxine,
By the time you read this, you'll know everything. Or think you do. The truth, as I've learned too late, is never as simple as we wish it to be.
I loved your father. That wasn't a lie. In the beginning, when David and I made our plans, it was supposed to be a simple business arrangement. Marry Carlos Perez, help David gain control, merge our interests. Clean, efficient, profitable.
But your father... oh, Maxine, your father was impossible not to love. His passion for life, his unflagging integrity, and his dreams for you weren't part of the plan. I fell for him despite myself, despite everything. Those years weren't all lies. The way he looked at me across a crowded room, the quiet moments in his study, the pride in his eyes when you were born... that was all real.
Perhaps that made it worse in the end. Loving him while betraying him. Watching him build something beautiful while knowing we planned to tear it apart. The money became an obsession, corrupting everything it touched. Power has a way of reshaping your soul until you barely recognize yourself in the mirror.
I know you'll never forgive me. I don't expect you to. The choices I made, the pain I caused, they're unforgivable. But please believe that every moment I spent being your mother was real. Every bedtime story, every scraped knee, every proud smile—those were true. You were the one pure thing in my life of calculated decisions.
The money changed me. Corrupted me. Made me forget what mattered. Don't let it change you too. Don't let power become more important than love. Don't let ambition blind you to what's real.
You're so like him, mi amor. His strength, his vision, his heart. Lead differently than I did. Lead with love.
I know you're taking over the company. The guards let me watch the business news. You look so much like him at that podium, so sure of your path. But you have something he never did—people you can trust completely. That boy who loves you, your fierce little sister-in-law, the loyalty you inspire in others... treasure that. It's worth more than all the money we killed for.
I don't expect you to visit; I don't deserve that kindness. But know that despite everything, despite my unforgivable choices, I love you. I always will.
With love (even if you don't believe it),
Mama
The letter blurred as the tears fell, smearing the elegant script. Sebastian moved to my side, and his warm hand rested on my shoulder.
"She's manipulating you," Brooklyn said fiercely, but her voice wavered. "Using your memories against you."
"No." I wiped my eyes, probably smudging the expensive mascara. "She's trying to justify herself. There's a difference." I looked up at Sebastian. "Did you know? Since you went to Patterson before..."
He tensed slightly. "I had suspicions. No proof. I was trying to protect you until I knew for sure."
"And now you're still trying to protect me"—I caught his hand and linked our fingers—"but I don't need protection anymore. I need partners."
"You have them," Brooklyn said firmly. "Both of us. All of us."
I looked at the letter again, at my mother's perfect handwriting spelling out imperfect truths. "She's right about one thing. I do have something Dad never did."
"What's that?" Sebastian asked.
"People I can trust completely." I squeezed his hand. "No secrets. No hidden agendas. Just us, building something better together."
The afternoon sun streamed through the office windows, casting long shadows across the carpet. I'd spent hours in meetings, made dozens of decisions, and somehow managed to avoid falling apart after reading my mother's letter. Small victories.
"Last meeting of the day," Brooklyn announced, looking up from her tablet. "Research and development want to pitch their new sustainable energy initiative. It was your dad's pet project but..."
"My dad's gone," I finished quietly. "And this is our company now."
The R&D team filed in, nervous energy radiating off them in waves. They were Dad's favorite department—the dreamers, he’d called them. The ones who saw possibilities where others saw problems.
"Ms. Perez," Dr. Chen began, fumbling with her presentation notes. "We understand if you want to take the project in a different direction?—"
"Show me everything," I interrupted. "From the beginning. I want to understand his vision."
For the next hour, they walked me through it. Solar technology that could revolutionize rural power grids, making clean energy accessible to communities that need it most. Dad's handwriting filled the margins of their reports with questions, suggestions, and dreams.
"He believed in this," I said when they finished. "So do I. Double the research budget."
"But the board—" Sebastian started.
"Will approve it once they see the projected impact." I stood and moved to the window. "Dad always said profit without purpose is just greed wearing a nicer suit. We're doing this."
The team left energized, buzzing with renewed purpose. Brooklyn was already drafting the budget proposal, her fingers flying over her keyboard.
"That's the last meeting," Sebastian said as he moved to stand beside me. "Ready to call it a day?"
"Almost." I turned to him. "There's somewhere I need to go first."
The conservatory was quiet at this hour, the sun’s golden light filtering through the glass ceiling. Dad's orchids lined the walls, their leaves drooped slightly from neglect. I'd been avoiding this room since the arrests but not anymore.
"I've been letting them die," I murmured as I touched a wilted petal. "Just like I almost let his dreams die."
"Max..." Sebastian started, but I shook my head.
"No, look." I picked up Dad's gardening journal from the potting bench, its pages worn from years of careful notes. "The orchids can be saved. They just need the right care, the right attention. Like the company."
I flipped through the journal, finding his meticulous instructions. "See? Each variety needs something different. These ones need more light, these need less water, these..." I trailed off when I realized Sebastian was watching me with a soft smile.
"What?"
"Nothing." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. "You just remind me of him right now. You have that same look he'd get when he was plotting something big."
"I am plotting something big." I moved to the irrigation controls, adjusting them according to Dad's notes. "I'm going to save his flowers. And his company. And make both bloom bigger and brighter than ever."
Brooklyn appeared in the doorway with takeout bags in hand. "If you two are done with the flower metaphors, we have about fifty things to sign before tomorrow."
"Including?"
"Press release drafts, new Compliance procedures and, most importantly, parking reassignment forms. I'm thinking we turn David's old spot into a meditation garden. Very Zen, very 'new era of leadership’. "
I laughed despite myself, the sound echoing through the greenhouse. "How are you so good at this?"
"Someone has to be the practical one in this family." She spread the files across the potting bench. "Also, I may have spent the last three weeks creating contingency plans for every possible scenario."
"Every scenario?" Sebastian raised an eyebrow.
"Well, I didn't plan for you two making eyes at each other during board meetings, but otherwise, yes." She handed me a pen. "Now, about these quarterly projections..."
We got to work as the sun set, eating take out, and surrounded by Dad's beloved flowers. With each signature, each decision, I felt stronger. More certain. The weight of the company settled on my shoulders, not as a burden but as a legacy worth carrying.
Sebastian brought us coffee, and his hand lingered on mine as he passed me my cup. "Holding up okay?"
"Better than okay." I leaned into him slightly. "For the first time since everything happened, I feel... right. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be."
As night settled over the city we moved to my office, the lights twinkling like stars below the office windows. I was curled up on the leather couch—Dad's couch, now my couch—watching Sebastian and Brooklyn argue good-naturedly over the press release wording.
"We can't say 'revolutionary new direction’," Brooklyn insisted, highlighting text on her tablet. "It'll tank the stock. Investors hate revolution. They want evolution, stability, controlled growth."
"Fine." Sebastian ran a hand through his already messy hair. "What about 'innovative continuation of established excellence'?"
"Now you sound like a corporate robot." I stretched, feeling my muscles ache from hours of meetings. "What would my dad say?"
They both paused, considering. In the quiet, I could almost hear his voice, the way he'd lean back in his chair during brainstorming sessions and say?—
"Keep it simple," Brooklyn and I said in unison, then laughed.
"Perez Industries enters its next chapter, building upon our foundation of integrity and innovation while embracing new horizons," Maxine offered.
"Perfect." Brooklyn typed rapidly. "Classic Carlos—straightforward but visionary."
"Speaking of vision"—Sebastian pulled up another document—"we should discuss the East Asian expansion plans. The Singapore office has been pushing for?—"
"Tomorrow." I stood and moved to the windows. The city stretched out below us in a maze of lights and shadows. Somewhere out there, my mother sat in a cell, perhaps thinking of her own view from this office. Somewhere else, David paced, plotting his next move.
But here, in this space that held so many memories, we were building something new.
"You know what I keep thinking about?" I turned to face them, the two people who had become my anchors. "That first family dinner after your dad and Ciara got married. How awkward we all were, trying to figure out where we fit."
"God, you wouldn't even look at me," Sebastian recalled with a small smile.
"Because you were irritatingly handsome, and I was trying very hard to be a good stepsister." I moved back to the couch and settled beside him. "Brooklyn was the only one acting normal."
"That's because I’m eighteen and mostly concerned about whether I'd get to redecorate my room," Brooklyn admitted. "But look at us now."
Yes, look at us now. The forbidden romance turned partnership. The annoying stepsister turned corporate powerhouse. The grieving daughter turned CEO.
"We should get home," Sebastian said softly. "Big day tomorrow."
"About that." Brooklyn pulled up yet another document. "The press wants to know if we're doing individual interviews or a joint statement about your relationship. They're calling it?—"
"'The scandal of the season,'" I finished. "Let them. We have nothing to hide."
"Good, because E! News is already calling for exclusive rights. Personally, I think they're underselling it. This is at least worth a Netflix series."
"Brooklyn!"
"What? I'm just saying, when they make the show, I want Zendaya to play me."
We all laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet office. It felt good to laugh, to be silly and young despite the weight of responsibility we carried. Dad would like that, I think. He always said the secret to success was remembering to live while you built your dreams.
Later, after Brooklyn headed home with strict instructions about tomorrow's schedule, Sebastian and I stopped by the conservatory on our way out . The orchids already looked better, responding to proper care and attention.
"Are we crazy?" I asked, voicing the doubt that had been lurking all day. "Thinking we can do this?"
Sebastian wrapped his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on my shoulder. "Probably. But your father was crazy, too, remember? Everyone said he was too young when he started the company, too ambitious."
"And look how that turned out."
"Hey"—he turned me to face him—"we're not them. Any of them. We're writing our own story."
"With a better ending?"
"With an ending we choose." He kissed me softly. "Together."
I looked around the conservatory, at the flowers beginning to lift their heads again, at the city lights twinkling beyond the glass, at the future stretching out before us. We had so much to do—press conferences to plan, relationships to rebuild, trust to restore. But for the first time since everything fell apart, I wasn’t afraid.
Because Dad was right about orchids. They were strongest after they'd been stressed. Producing the most beautiful blooms after the hardest winters. Like the flowers, like the company, like us—sometimes you had to break down to build come back stronger than before.
We were not our parents' children anymore. We were our own people writing our own legacy.
And this time, we would do it right.
*Watch me Dad* I thought as I touched the locket at my throat. * Watch me take everything they tried to destroy and make it shine once more.*
The orchids might need time to recover, but they would bloom again. Just like us. Just like everything we were building.
After all, the most beautiful flowers grew from the deepest roots, and our roots—tangled and as complicated as they might be—ran deep enough to weather any storm.
I learned that from my father. And it was one lesson I would never forget.
I