Chapter 5 #2
I pictured it instantly: Marco and my mother, confiding in the kitchen during one of her visits. “Your father said that?”
“Yeah. Dad said Mr. Vance was smart, but he wasn’t...um… ‘aligned with our mission.’ What does that mean?”
I stared at my son, seeing his father so clearly in the set of his jaw. “It means,” I said, “that your dad built CarideoTech to help people. That was his primary goal. Making money was important, but it came second.”
“And Mr. Vance doesn’t care about helping people?”
“For some people, Austin, making money for the shareholders is the most important thing.”
He considered this, his small face serious. “I think you should run the company now.”
Could I really? In the fog of grief, I’d barely thought about it. But technically, now, with Marco’s shares and mine combined, I was the biggest stockholder with 40%. Not a majority, but still, maybe I could?
“I don’t know yet,” I said honestly. “There are a lot of decisions to be made by the board.”
Austin nodded solemnly, as if he understood the importance of those decisions better than I did.
I stood and extended my hand. “Come, let’s go help clean up the kitchen.”
Half hour later, the kitchen was sparkling clean. Two hours before Arthur would show.
Michael insisted on taking all six kids to the park with Shelly. “Burn off some energy,” he said. “Give you some space.”
I nodded my thanks and watched from the window as they crammed into Michael’s minivan, a jumble of small bodies and loud voices. When the house fell silent, the emptiness was both a relief and unbearable.
I stood in the hallway, still in my sweatpants and Marco’s sweatshirt, hair not properly brushed. I looked exactly like what Arthur expected—a grieving widow who could barely hold it together, drowning in domesticity.
And maybe that was true. Maybe I was drowning.
But I’d be damned if I’d let Arthur Vance see it.
I marched up the stairs to my bedroom. I showered, the water scalding hot, scrubbing my skin as if I could wash the fog away. I put on black slacks and a gray silk blouse, the one Marco always said made me look “executive.” I pulled my damp hair back into a knot at the nape of my neck.
Once dressed, I felt closer to the woman I used to be. The clothes weren’t just clothes—they were armor. And I’d need them to face Arthur.
At three o’clock, the doorbell rang. I’d positioned myself in the living room—sitting, composed, with a cup of tea cooling on the side table. I counted to five before rising to answer.
Arthur Vance stood on my doorstep, dressed in a suit, carrying a bouquet of white lilies in one arm and a covered casserole dish in the other. Behind him, parked at the curb, was his Mercedes.
“Theresa,” he said, his voice warm. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Arthur.” I stepped back to let him in. “Thank you for coming.”
He handed me the lilies, which I accepted awkwardly. “Helen chose these. She wanted to come herself, but she has that charity luncheon.”
Of course she did. “Please thank her for me.”
I led him to the living room. I’d spent fifteen minutes tidying—picking up toys, straightening cushions, creating the illusion of control. The casserole sat on the coffee table between us like a gauntlet beside the pot of tea.
“Please sit,” I said, gesturing to the armchair. “I made some tea. Would you like some?”
Arthur sat, adjusting his pant legs. “No, thank you,” he said. “How are the children?”
“They’re coping.” I didn’t mention they were at the park with Michael and Shelly. Let him think I had everything under control.
“Good, good.” He nodded sagely. “Children are remarkably resilient.”
I said nothing, just waited. Arthur hadn’t driven across town with a casserole to discuss child psychology.
“First, let me say again how deeply sorry I am.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands. “Marco was... a giant. I still can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Thank you,” I said, the words worn smooth from repetition. “The eulogy was beautiful,” I added, unable to keep a slight edge from my voice. “Very... heartfelt.”
If Arthur caught the sarcasm, he didn’t show it. “I wanted to honor him properly. Marco deserved that.”
A beat of silence. Then Arthur reached into his briefcase. “I’ve brought some papers. Just routine matters. Payroll approvals, that sort of thing.”
He handed me a small stack of documents. I glanced at them. Standard administrative forms that could have been handled by a courier. This wasn’t why he’d come.
“And how are you, Theresa? Really?” His voice softened to a confidential murmur.
I looked up from the papers, meeting his eyes. “How do you think I am, Arthur?”
He had the grace to look abashed. “Of course. A stupid question.” He cleared his throat, his professional mask sliding back into place. “The reason I wanted to speak with you in person is... well, the board is naturally concerned about the leadership situation at CarideoTech.”
And there it was. The shark, circling.
“Is that so?” My voice was flat.
“Yes. With Marco’s... passing... there’s a great deal of uncertainty. Our investors are looking for stability, and some are getting nervous.” He paused, letting that sink in. “We’ve already had some troubling developments.”
“What kind of developments?”
“Leonard Ashley has pulled his commitment. All of it.”
Leonard Ashley—the investor we had charmed in Aspen, the one who’d promised thirty million for the glucose monitoring technology. The meeting that was supposed to happen the Tuesday after Marco died.
“When?” I managed.
“The day after the funeral.” Arthur’s face was serious. “He called personally. You were right. He said he’d invested in Marco’s vision, not the company. Without Marco...” He spread his hands. “We’ve lost thirty million in potential funding, Theresa. The FDA submission timeline is in jeopardy.”
Thirty million. The number was enormous and crushing.
“I’m not telling you this to burden you,” Arthur continued, his voice dripping with false concern. “But you need to understand the situation. The company is in crisis. And frankly, Theresa, we’re all worried about you.”
“Worried about me,” I repeated.
“Of course.” He gestured vaguely, a movement that seemed to encompass my entire existence. “You have so much on your plate. Four little ones to care for, your own grief to process... The last thing you need is the pressure of saving a multi-million-dollar tech company.”
There it was—the assumption that I couldn’t handle both. That motherhood and leadership were mutually exclusive. That grief made me incompetent.
I took a slow sip of my tea, letting the cup steady my hand as I held back anger. “What exactly are you suggesting, Arthur?”
He smiled, a polished, sympathetic expression. “The board is considering bringing in experienced leadership to steady the ship. Someone with the industry connections to guide the company through this... difficult transition.”
Someone like him. The subtext hung in the air, thick and suffocating as the lilies.
“And what would my role be in this scenario?”
“You’d remain on the board, of course. Your input would be valued.
You’d still have a significant voting share on major decisions.
” His voice was patronizing. “But you’d be free from the day-to-day operations.
Free to focus on your family, on healing.
It’s what Marco would have wanted. For you to prioritize the children at such a tragic time. ”
What Marco would have wanted.
The sheer, arrogant presumption of it—to use my husband, my kids, against me—sent a wave of fury through me.
I thought of Austin’s words: A shark in a suit.
I thought of Marco’s voice: Not aligned with our mission.
“And who,” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet, “is the board considering for this interim role?”
Arthur spread his hands in a gesture of false humility. “The board is not jumping into any rash decisions. But in the interim, until we can conduct a proper search, I have offered to step in. Just to maintain continuity, you understand. Keep things running smoothly.”
Of course you have.
“That’s very... selfless of you,” I said.
He didn’t catch the ice in my tone. Or perhaps he did and simply didn’t care. “We all must do our part, Theresa. Marco built something special. We owe it to him—and to all our stakeholders—to protect it.”
Our stakeholders. Not the patients. Not the people we’re trying to help.
I could see it playing out in Arthur’s head: him at the helm, making the decisions, cutting the fat, maximizing shareholder value. CarideoTech would become another generic medical device company, profitable and soulless.
“I appreciate your concern,” I said. “And the board’s.”
Arthur’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He thought I was capitulating.
“But I need time to think about this,” I continued. “To consider what’s best for the company. And for my family.”
“Of course, of course.” Arthur nodded vigorously. “Take all the time you need. The yearly general board meeting is not until May. We can formalize the transition then.”
Sixty days.
The timeline clicked into place. Arthur wasn’t asking for my permission. He was giving me notice. In his mind, this was already decided. The board meeting would be a formality, a rubber stamp on his coronation, after running the company for two months.
“I see,” I mumbled.
Arthur stood, smoothing his suit jacket.
“I know this is difficult, Theresa. But it’s for the best. Trust me.
” He placed a hand on my arm. The gesture was probably meant to be comforting but felt instead like a claim of ownership.
“You’ll see. In a few months, when you’re not drowning in quarterly reports and investor calls, you’ll be grateful. ”
Drowning. Interesting word choice.
I walked him to the door, my movements stiff. At the threshold, he turned back. “Call me anytime. Day or night. We’re all here for you. The CarideoTech family.”
I closed the door behind him and, for a moment, I just stood there, my hand still on the knob.
The CarideoTech family. What a joke. Arthur had barely known Marco. Had probably never understood what the company was really about. And now he wanted to swoop in and take over, using my grief as justification.
I carried the casserole from the coffee table into the kitchen, the cheap aluminum pan cold against my palms. I poured the tea down the sink.
Then I opened the freezer to add his casserole to the fortress of pity already stacked inside—but at the last second, I stopped.
I shut the door and tossed it straight into the trash, pan and all.
In Marco’s office, I sat in his chair, the leather cool against my back. I could still smell him here—faint, but present.
On his desk, his wallet sat in the small wooden tray where I’d placed it after returning from Aspen. I picked it up and opened it. Inside, tucked behind his driver’s license, was the note.
You and me against the world.
I closed my eyes, the wallet pressed against my chest.
Arthur thought I was broken. He thought he was dealing with a grieving widow who would roll over and let him take the company Marco and I had built from nothing.
Arthur was wrong about me.
I didn’t know how I was going to fight him. I didn’t know if I even could. I was suffering with grief, barely functioning, held together by my brother’s kindness and sheer stubborn will.
But I had sixty days.
Sixty days to figure out how to save CarideoTech.
Sixty days to prove that I was more than just Marco Carideo’s widow.
I opened my eyes and looked at the desk—at the stacks of papers, the half-finished projects, the vision Marco had started but never got to complete.
You and me against the world, the note said.
Except now it was just me.
And I was going to have to be enough.