Chapter 52
"Brave," Sara Bareilles
Victoria
“Although we recognize that losing Richard’s leadership here at Sinclair Larsson will be a monumental loss, we have taken great pains to ensure a smooth transition to the next generation of leadership,” my father said to dozens of journalists who had shown up for this press conference.
When the news of Richard’s death went live last night, the panic over his successor had been widespread in the business news cycle.
Dad had been right to host this quickly, to nip any rumors in the bud.
Especially the rumors that started right away about Spencer taking over.
He stood beside me on the stage behind Dad, along with the rest of the chief executive team: Margot as CMO, plus the CHRO, CTO and General Counsel that I’d met this morning.
Margot had briefed us that we had to look like a united front, a cohesive team leading the company into the future.
Pretty sure the journalists could feel Spencer’s animosity towards me, though I kept my expression neutral to offset the rumors.
“Which is why I’m pleased to introduce—or for many of you, re-introduce—Richard’s successor and the new CEO of Sinclair Larsson, Victoria Sinclair Blackstone.”
The flashbulbs momentarily blinded me as I dipped my chin in acknowledgment.
“Victoria has been preparing for this job since she got her first employee badge at age six. She graduated top of her class in both business school and law school and has been running her own successful law firm upstate,” he said with an affectionate look he’d probably practiced in the mirror.
The cameras went wild as we shook hands, catching the moment of transition.
“Thank you for being here today,” I said, surveying the journalists. “As my father shared, I grew up in the Sinclair Larsson offices knowing that one day, I would be its leader. It’s an honor, a privilege, and a responsibility I take seriously.”
The heavy yoke of my family’s legacy pressed on my sternum as I consulted the prepared notes on the podium.
“I’m deeply grateful to my great grandfather, James, may he rest in peace, for founding The Sinclair Group sixty years ago, my grandfather, Richard, for leading it into its success, my mother, Regina, for her brief but impactful tenure here, and my father, Arthur, for his stewardship.
Together, they created the opportunity for me to take this mantle. ”
On the podium, the vetted speech continued down the page, drafted by a speechwriter and run through not only my predecessors, but also marketing and legal compliance.
As I shifted to the second page, my eyes caught on my tattoo, peeking out from beneath the wool of my suit jacket. My cobra, rearing her head.
I tugged down my sleeve.
“I practically lived at The Sinclair Group—later Sinclair Larsson—until I was 23, then decided to forge my own path by attending law school in California. I specialized in real estate and employment law, knowing that one day I would be tapped to lead.”
Dad had been right, I’d been training for this my entire life. He knew it, Richard knew it, I knew it. Even Spencer knew it, much as he tried to usurp the throne for himself.
“I have spent the past thirteen years diversifying my work experience to bring an outsider’s perspective into these hallowed halls.” I looked down at the podium again: Their speech, written for me. Their words, approved by their team.
After rejecting me, they handed me the words to become their figurehead. They spent years playing chess, moving the pieces, and I stood here as a queen … yet I was still being handled. A grown-up pawn turned puppet.
Is this how it would always be?
Where was my voice?
Tori Amos sang about having something important to say, but when she opened her mouth, nothing came out. Just like my childhood believing my thoughts didn’t matter, overpowered by theirs.
Where were my words? I couldn’t hear them. I’d lost myself in their expectations.
I stared at the podium, silently skimming this speech about my duty. The journalists shifted.
We do this our way. Alex had said. We make our own rules.
I looked down to the front row, where he sat with Connor. My best friend saw my mind churning, and his mouth lifted into an approving smirk. He trusted my instincts.
I lifted my gaze to the journalists, my manicured hands covering the pre-approved remarks. “That outsider’s perspective means that things are going to change around here.”
Behind me, Spencer shifted. Good. Things were about to get uncomfortable.
“You may not believe this,” I smiled provocatively at the press, who perked up at my conspiratorial tone, “but less than a year ago, I was passed over for a promotion at a prestigious law firm because of my name. You might think, ‘But she’s Richard Sinclair’s heir, she’s got the world at her feet!
’ And in many ways you’d be right, I’m incredibly privileged.
But every name carries its own burdens.”
Though Richard might have winced at his legacy being publicly criticized, another voice echoed in my mind: Cruz.
Leading squats with a teasing grin: Boss up and change your life.
Strumming a borrowed acoustic on a similar stage: To hell with the consequence.
Drumming on my legs on our road trip: Smash the silence with brick of self-control.
I ran my thumb along my wrist under my sleeve, tracing the cobra tattoo.
Not only a symbol of my strength. A reminder of my fucking venom.
Lifting my chin, I declared to the journalists, “My first priority as CEO is to focus on equity. I will implement blind, 360-degree performance reviews for all staff, top-to-bottom.”
The journalists shot up, yelling questions.
I silently lifted my hand, waiting for them to respect my authority.
“Every employee will be evaluated using input from not only their direct supervisor, but also their peers, subordinates and clients. This company’s hierarchy will be determined by merit-based promotions to prevent favoritism. ”
I thought of Cruz’s stepdad, his life’s work destroyed by our inflexible policies.
“Even before Corporate Social Responsibility became a popular industry term, my mom believed in caring for our tenants and clients.” I glanced over at my dad, who looked unexpectedly plaintive.
“When we lost her, we also lost sight of her vision. In our commitment to help the wealthiest expand their empires, we’ve neglected hardworking New Yorkers.
So my second priority will be to assemble a task force to review all of our commercial business contracts. ”
I turned back to the journalists, remembering the small business owners I’d worked with in Saratoga.
“We’ll provide consulting support to our small business clients: the bodegas, fitness studios, coffee shops, and tattoo parlors, putting special emphasis on the mom and pop shops that make this city great. ”
The room went wild, flashbulbs blazing. I looked down at Alex, fist clenched in solidarity, and Connor, chin lifted with pride. On the stage, Spencer ran his hand over his face and Margot’s lips had parted in surprise … and maybe admiration.
Dad, though … his eyes glimmered with pride, tinged with fear. His head tilt seemed to ask, ‘Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’
I fought back the twisting sensation in my heart at the sacrifice this company required. “As a small business owner myself, I learned to be a fighter—not just for myself, but for my whole community. That’s the spirit I’ll bring as the next CEO of Sinclair Larsson.”