Chapter 25
Chapter
Twenty-Five
THERESA
I stood in the women’s restroom of CarideoTech headquarters. My navy-blue suit was impeccable, the simple stud earrings gleamed, and my makeup was flawless. My hair was pulled back sleekly—a style that said professional and don’t fuck with me in equal measure. I looked like a damn-perfect CEO.
I just needed to convince eight people in a boardroom that I was one.
The bathroom door swung open, and Lisa appeared, her expression tight with worry. “They’re all in there. Johnson, Haskins, the entire board.”
“And Arthur?”
“Looks like the cat who ate the canary. He brought Helen too.”
My stomach clenched. Arthur bringing his wife was a statement—he was so confident of victory he’d brought an audience for his coronation. “Vultures,” I muttered. “Both of them.”
“It’s time,” Lisa said.
I nodded, straightening my shoulders. “Let’s go.”
The walk to the boardroom felt like the longest of my life. Each step was a countdown to what might be my last stand at CarideoTech. I thought of Marco, of our kids, of Patrick. This wasn’t just for me. This was for all of them.
Lisa squeezed my arm before I entered. “Give ‘em hell, boss.”
I pushed open the door and stepped into the boardroom.
Eight pairs of eyes swiveled to meet mine. The atmosphere was thick with tension, the air almost crackling with it. Arthur sat at the far end of the table, flanked by Johnson and Haskins like matching bookends. His expression was one of barely concealed triumph.
“Theresa,” Arthur said, rising slightly, his voice dripping with false concern. “We were just about to begin. Please, have a seat.”
I nodded coolly, taking my place at the opposite end of the table. I placed my slim leather portfolio in front of me—empty of any new proposals, but they didn’t need to know that.
“Shall we begin?” Johnathan Foster asked. At seventy-two, Foster was the oldest member of the board and had been Marco’s mentor. Now he looked tired, resigned.
“Thank you, Johnathan.” Arthur stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “As you all know, we face a critical juncture. The tragic loss of Marco has created significant challenges, and the recent collapse of the MacLeod partnership has only compounded these difficulties.”
My fingers twitched. I wanted to interrupt, to tell them exactly why that partnership collapsed, but I forced myself to remain silent.
“Fortunately,” Arthur continued, distributing folders, “I’ve been able to secure a lifeline. Axiom Ventures has made a generous offer: twenty million dollars for a fifty-one percent controlling interest.”
A low murmur ran around the table. Twenty million. It was a lowball offer for the tech we had, but it was safe cash for a scared board.
“This injection of capital will stabilize our finances,” Arthur said, his voice rising with conviction. “Axiom specializes in turning around struggling tech companies.”
Johnson nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve reviewed their portfolio. They’re pragmatic, decisive.”
“We can’t afford another setback,” Haskins added quickly.
Arthur spread his hands. “I know this is difficult. But this is the responsible path forward—for our shareholders, our employees, and for Marco’s legacy.”
I nearly choked. For Marco’s legacy. As if selling his life’s work to corporate scavengers honored him.
“I believe we should move to a vote immediately,” Johnson said.
Foster looked around the table, his expression troubled. “Theresa should have an opportunity to respond.”
Arthur nodded magnanimously. “Of course. By all means.”
All eyes turned to me. This was it. My last chance to stall before the vote.
I rose slowly, leaving my portfolio closed. “Before we vote,” I said, keeping my voice steady, “we need to be clear about who we’re selling to. Axiom Ventures isn’t an investment firm. They’re a chop shop.”
Tammi Brown frowned. “That’s a strong accusation.”
“It’s their business model,” I countered.
“Acquire, strip, sell. CyberShield in 1990. MedSense in 1993. They buy companies to kill the competition.” I leaned forward, placing my hands on the table.
“Marco built this company to help people. Selling to Axiom isn’t a business transaction—it’s an execution. ”
The silence that followed was profound. I could see the conflict playing out on Foster and Morton’s faces. They knew I was right, but fear was a powerful drug, and Arthur was offering the antidote.
“Sentiment is not a business strategy, Theresa,” Arthur said, his voice laced with condescension. “We have a concrete offer on the table, and you have brought us nothing. We must vote.”
Foster looked at me, pained. “Do you have an alternative proposal, Theresa?”
I hesitated. The silence stretched, agonizing and absolute. I had nothing. Ashley had said no.
“I think we should proceed,” Foster sighed. “All those in favor of accepting Axiom Ventures’ offer?”
Johnson and Haskins raised their hands immediately. Morton raised his slowly. Three votes.
Just as Suzy Loggins lifted her hand, the boardroom door burst open.
Lisa stood there breathless, a single piece of paper clutched in her hand.
“We’re in a meeting!” Arthur snapped.
Lisa ignored him, rushing to my side. “I’m so sorry to interrupt,” she whispered urgently, “but this just came through the fax. It’s from Leonard Ashley.”
My heart stopped.
I took the paper, the room fading as I read the crisp text. Formal offer... thirty million... twenty-five percent stake... contingent on the immediate instatement of Theresa Carideo as permanent CEO.
A laugh burst out of me, half-shock, half-relief. The man who had flat-out refused earlier had now agreed.
I looked up. “Leonard Ashley has just submitted a formal offer. Thirty million dollars for a twenty-five percent stake.” I paused, letting the number land. “Contingent on my immediate appointment as permanent CEO.”
The room erupted.
“Let me see that,” Foster demanded. I handed it over.
Arthur’s face went white. “This is highly irregular. A last-minute offer with no due diligence—”
“Ashley performed due diligence in Aspen,” I cut in smoothly. “Before Marco died. He knows the tech. He knows the regulations. And he knows the leadership.”
“It’s thirty million for twenty-five percent versus twenty for fifty-one,” Morton interrupted, doing the math aloud. “That’s a dramatically better valuation.”
Arthur looked desperately at Johnson and Haskins, but even they were silenced by the numbers. Greed was the only thing stronger than their loyalty to Arthur.
“I move that we vote on Ashley’s offer instead,” Foster said, his voice strong again. “All in favor?”
Every hand except Arthur’s, Johnson’s, and Haskins’ shot up.
“The motion carries,” Foster announced. “Congratulations, Theresa. You are officially the CEO of CarideoTech.”
The victory was so sudden, so complete, that for a moment I couldn’t move. I’d done it.
As the meeting adjourned in a buzz of excited conversation, I found myself face to face with Arthur. His mask had cracked completely, revealing the rage beneath.
“This isn’t over,” he hissed, too low for the others to hear.
I gave him a small, cold smile. “Don’t be so sure of that.”
Back in my office, I took a moment to stand behind the desk and breathe. The air felt cleaner somehow.
I sat down and pressed the intercom button. “Lisa?”
“Yes, Theresa? Or should I say, Madam CEO?”
I smiled. “Theresa is fine. Lisa, could you do me a favor? I need you to go to the supply room and find me a standard cardboard box. Empty.”
A pause. “A box?”
“Yes. Just one. Bring it in when you have it.”
“Consider it done.”
I leaned back in the leather chair, waiting. I arranged the desk with deliberate precision: a single pen, a fresh legal pad, and the thick file Patrick had given me, placed face-down on the corner so it looked like just another stack of paperwork.
Lisa knocked and entered a moment later, carrying the folded white cardboard box. She looked curious but asked no questions as she assembled it in front of me, snapping the bottom into place with a satisfying thwack.
“Perfect,” I said, placing the empty box in the center of my desk. It sat there, a stark, hollow cube of implication. “Would you send in Arthur?”
Arthur didn’t knock. He threw the door open and strode in, closing it firmly behind him. He remained standing, looming over the desk in a way that was meant to be intimidating. His face was flushed, his eyes hard.
“Don’t think you can push me out,” he began, his voice tight with controlled rage. “I have an ironclad contract. I have protections. If you want to get rid of me, it’s going to cost this company five million dollars in severance, plus stock options.”
I didn’t look up. I picked up my pen and made a small, meaningless notation on the pad. “Is that so?”
“It is. And I will sue for wrongful termination if you try to fabricate a cause. I’ll tie this company up in litigation for years.
Ashley will pull his funding before the first deposition is over.
” He leaned forward, placing his palms on my desk, invading my space.
“You may have won the vote, Theresa, but you haven’t won the war. I know where the bodies are buried.”
I finally stopped writing. I capped the pen with a soft click. I looked at the empty cardboard box sitting between us. Then I looked at Arthur.
With one finger, I slid the box across the polished mahogany. It made a dry rasping sound, stopping inches from his hands.
“You’re right,” I said. “I’m not firing you.”
Arthur blinked, his momentum stalling. He looked at the box, then back at me, confusion warring with his arrogance. “What is this then?”
“You’re resigning,” I continued, my voice conversational. “Effective immediately. Forfeiting all severance, all stock options, and any claim to future earnings.”
He stared at me for a beat, and then he laughed. It was a sharp, incredulous sound. “You’re delusional. Why on earth would I do that?”
I reached for the thick file on the corner of the desk. I didn’t slide it. I dropped it.