11. The Hearing #3
“It is,” I agreed with a faint, tight smile. “Which is why the report doesn’t explicitly accuse anyone of criminal misconduct. It simply concludes an irrefutable conflict of interest.”
I turned back to the rest of the table. “I’m not accusing my brother of pulling the strings at Romanov Insurance. I am simply informing this board that every executive qualified to replace Vladimir has financial obligations that compromise their independence.”
I closed my folder with a quiet snap.
“My petition was never based solely on my own qualifications. It was based on the total absence of an impartial alternative. If any director present can name a candidate free of these entanglements, I will withdraw my petition immediately.”
No one said a word.
The chairman cleared his throat.
“I believe we’ve heard enough.” He looked between the two of us. “The board will deliberate in private. Mr. Zhenya Romanov, Mr. Mikhail Romanov—please step outside.”
Neither of us argued. I gathered my files, buttoned my jacket, and walked out without a word to my brother.
The waiting area was nearly empty, quiet save for the sweeping views of Moscow through the floor-to-ceiling glass. I loosened my tie slightly and poured a paper cup of cold water from the dispenser.
I hadn’t even taken a sip when a sharp smack knocked the cup straight out of my grip.
Water splashed over my chest, the paper cup bouncing off the marble floor and rolling away. I slowly lowered my hand, watching drops slide down the front of my waistcoat.
Behind me, Mikhail let out a harsh laugh.
“You’re always so composed and so calculated.”
I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and dabbed at my lapel. “Finished?”
His smirk dropped instantly. “You think you’ve won?”
“I don’t recall saying that.”
“You humiliated me in there.”
“I presented documented facts.”
“You manipulated the board.”
“I answered their questions.”
He closed the distance between us, leaning in until his voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “You went to all this trouble over one old woman’s death.”
I stayed silent.
“And what’s worse,” he sneered, “you’ve turned yourself into a guard dog for her useless grandson.”
Nothing. I didn’t move.
“I never thought I’d see Zhenya Romanov burn down his own reputation for a grieving peasant. Tell me… does he even know you’re ripping this family apart for him?”
Every nerve in my body went ice-cold.
Before he could take another breath, my hand shot out, my fingers clamping hard around his throat. I slammed him back into the wall so hard the framed art behind him rattled against the plaster.
Panic cracked right through his expression—a look I hadn’t seen on him in years.
“Insult me all you want,” I said, digging my fingers into his throat until his air cut out. “Question my motives. But keep his name out of your mouth.”
Mikhail clawed at my wrist, but I didn’t budge.
“Do you understand me?”
He couldn’t speak, his face already flushing red, so he gave a strained, violent nod.
I let go. He stumbled forward, gasping and coughing as he leaned against the wall.
I smoothed my cuffs, stepping past him as if nothing had happened. “If you ever bring him up again, I’ll forget we share the same blood.”
The heavy boardroom doors clicked open behind us.
“Gentlemen?” an assistant called into the quiet hallway. “The board has reached a decision.”
Neither of us said a word. Mikhail pulled his jacket straight, I adjusted my lapels, and together, we walked back in.
No one acknowledged the tension hanging between us.
If anyone noticed the red mark developing around Mikhail’s neck, they were discreet enough to keep their eyes on their papers.
The chairman remained standing at the head of the table. “The board has reached a decision.”
Quiet slammed into the room. Father’s face as usual revealed nothing.
Unfolding a single sheet of paper, the chairman read, “By a majority vote… the petition is approved.”
A low murmur rippled through the seats.
“Effective immediately, Mr. Zhenya Romanov is appointed Acting Executive Director of Romanov Insurance until Mr. Vladimir Romanov resumes his duties or the board determines otherwise.”
I didn’t smile nor celebrate. I nudged my head in the direction of the table.
“Thank you.”
“The board also recommends a full independent audit of Romanov Insurance’s executive committee,” the chairman added, “based on the documentation submitted today.”
This time, several heads turned directly toward Mikhail. He didn’t move a muscle, though a hard knot tightened along his cheek.
The meeting adjourned a moment later. Chairs scraped back against the hardwood as quiet chatter broke out among the directors.
As I gathered myself, Father stopped beside my seat. He didn’t offer a hand or a word of congratulations.
“The board has placed its confidence in you,” he said, flat. He paused, his sharp eyes holding mine. “Make sure they don’t regret it.”
Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out.
I watched the doors swing shut behind him before snapping my folder closed. The first move was done. Romanov Insurance was under my control—and whether that choice secured the family empire or shattered what was left of it remained to be seen.