Chapter 5 - Seamus
Chapter five
Seamus
When I walk into the conference room, the chatter dies. Graham is already seated at the head of the table, Malcolm to his right, both of them looking at their tablets.
Talia sits across from them, her expression more guarded than usual. She glances at me as I take my seat, and I catch something in her eyes. A warning or a show of sympathy.
An ambush. Great.
"Morning, Seamus." Graham's tone is pleasant, but it puts me on edge. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."
I nod, setting my own tablet on the table. "You said it was urgent."
"It is." Malcolm doesn't waste time with pleasantries. "The board met yesterday. Without you."
My jaw tightens. "They can't just do that."
"It was unofficial. But they are worried. Our brand favorability is down six points in the last month," Graham says.
"And?"
Malcolm holds my gaze. "There's a growing consensus that your reputation is doing measurable harm to the company."
"They think I'm incompetent?" My voice is level.
"No," Graham says. "They think because of your past, you're unpredictable."
Malcolm folds his hands on the table. "There's discussion of leadership transition."
The room goes very still.
"Transition," I repeat, but it comes out more of a growl.
"They're exploring replacement candidates," Graham says. "Nothing formal yet. But momentum is building."
My pulse slows. Cold and precise.
Malcolm's pen taps the table. "We argued for time."
Graham nods. "We bought you six months. To stabilize perception. To demonstrate competence. To shift the narrative."
I process this. They didn't throw me to the wolves. Not yet.
"And if nothing changes?" I ask.
Graham doesn't hesitate. "Then they'll move forward."
Graham and Malcolm exchange a glance. It's Malcolm who answers.
"You'd remain with the company in a reduced capacity. Perhaps as a board advisor. But the CEO role would transition to someone the board views as more stable."
I'm CEO. And I have a majority of the shares in the business. But if they argue I'm hurting the company, they could replace me.
They have the votes. They have the leverage. My father built this company, and I've spent six years rebuilding what my reckless twenties nearly destroyed.
Losing it now is unacceptable.
I lean back in my chair.
Six months to fix a reputation that took years to build and seconds to unravel.
Six months to prove I’m not the reckless man I used to be.
Six months before they dismantle everything my father built and hand it to someone they can control.
The silence stretches.
“No formal vote,” Malcolm says. “But you should understand the temperature of the room.”
I understand.
They think I’m a liability. They think I’ll slip. They think I’ll self-destruct.
“Understood,” I say.
There’s nothing to argue with.
Graham studies me. “We’ll support whatever strategy you choose. But you need one.”
Strategy.
Control the narrative. Stabilize perception. Prove discipline.
Six months.
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
***
I leave without another word, walking back to my office with measured steps. Only when the door closes behind me do I allow myself to breathe fully.
I sit at my desk and turn the problem over methodically.
Press tours would take weeks to organize. Media cycles are unpredictable. Performance metrics move slowly. Philanthropic initiatives take months to gain traction.
An ERS relationship moves immediately.
This is what it's come to. Fake a relationship with a stranger or lose everything I've rebuilt. Let someone into my life or watch the company my father built get dismantled by men who care more about quarterly reports than legacy.
I open the folder again, reading through the terms with careful attention. It's as close to safe as a situation like this could be.
I think about my father. What he would say if he were still alive. Probably something about duty. He built this company through pragmatism, not sentiment. He would tell me to sign the paperwork.
I pick up my phone and stare at it.
A relationship means proximity. Even a structured, contractual one.
Someone close enough to notice things I've worked hard to contain.
But the alternative is losing everything.
I make the decision.
I tell myself this is a calculated response to an untenable situation. I tell myself that my boundaries will hold, that I can maintain distance even in proximity.
I dial.
It rings twice.
"Elite Relationship Solutions," the woman on the other end sounds calm and professional.
I don't hesitate.
"This is Seamus O'Malley."
There is a pause. Just long enough for my name to register.
"Yes, Mr. O'Malley. How can we assist you today?"
"I'm ready to move forward."