2. Speakerphone #2
“This buyout locks down our legacy for the next century,” Arthur said. “Get the Addison deal done, Cassian. No distractions, no domestic drama.”
The casual insult directed at my household tested my patience.
Arthur viewed anything outside the corporate ledger as an unforgivable weakness.
My wife’s recent complaints were a prime example of the domestic friction he despised.
My wife never understood the massive sacrifices required to maintain our position at the top of the industry.
I squeezed the edge of the table tighter.
Blowing up the meeting to defend Wren’s honor served no practical purpose; it would only validate his assumption that she distracted me from the acquisition.
I endured this pressure to ensure our future.
She just needed to learn how to play the high-society game.
Before I formulated a diplomatic response, Vanessa stepped in to placate him.
“He’s executing it perfectly, Arthur,” Vanessa said. “We’ve been working around the clock to make sure the Addison capital matches your vision.”
Knowing exactly how to handle Arthur, she offered him the deference he demanded, keeping his temper in check so I could finish the presentation. The Addison alliance was a necessary survival tactic around my father.
Releasing my grip on the table edge, I leaned back in my chair, forcing the rest of the silent executives to wait on my next move.
“The legacy is secure, Dad,” I said. “Just focus on the press cycle and let Vanessa and me handle the boardroom.”
My phone rattled against a printed ledger on the table, the harsh buzz cutting through the residual tension in the room. The screen lit up, casting a white glow over the documents spread across my end of the table.
“Is that the Sterling counsel?” Arthur pointed his pen down the length of the table. “Put them on speaker.”
The phone screen illuminated, flashing Wren’s name across the caller ID.
“It’s a personal call,” I said, preparing to decline it.
“Answer it on speaker,” Arthur commanded, daring me to defy him. “Show this board you aren’t letting domestic issues derail our timeline.”
Tapping the speaker icon, I refused to let the executives think I was hiding from my father’s scrutiny while billions of dollars sat on the table.
“Cassian, you need to talk to Vanessa.”
The harsh, tinny sound of Wren’s anxious voice broadcast through the small speaker, scraping through the quiet boardroom.
“She came into the estate and tried to override my instructions with the staff.”
A sudden, tense quiet fell over the executives as the scratching of pens ceased.
David stopped reviewing his file and stared down at his lap.
The junior analysts froze, uncomfortable with the exposure of my private life.
Having a trivial catering dispute broadcast into my controlled boardroom was humiliating.
Vanessa sat directly beside me, her posture so relaxed she didn’t flinch at the accusation playing over the speaker. Her steady presence made the frantic call sound even worse.
I stared at the glowing screen. We were minutes away from locking in the Addison proxy schedules, and my wife was calling my personal cell to argue about floral arrangements.
Arthur leaned back in his chair. He scoffed.
“Tell your wife we have real money on the table, Cassian,” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a hard edge. “Handle your house.”
Stung by the public reprimand, I shifted against the back of the chair and dragged a hand through my hair. Her complete lack of situational awareness was staggering.
Her pregnancy hormones were clearly sending her anxiety into overdrive.
Vanessa’s involvement with the event planners was a necessary political courtesy.
We needed the Addison family to feel represented at the estate dinner tonight.
My wife chose the worst possible moment to complain about standard event oversight.
I leaned over the table and spoke directly to the phone. The immediate corporate crisis took priority over her hurt feelings. If I shut the conversation down now and appeased the board, I could smooth things over with her in private later.
“Wren, please,” I said. “Stop overreacting.”
I kept my voice flat, carrying none of the warmth my father despised.
“Vanessa is crucial right now. Just handle the flowers and I’ll see you at dinner.”
I tapped the screen to end the call. The distortion of Wren’s anxious voice vanished mid-sentence. I tossed the device face-down onto the table, the phone smacking against the wood as I shut out the flashing caller ID. Rolling my shoulders back, I turned toward the projector.
Because finalizing the merger demanded my attention over a catering dispute, I knew Wren would sulk about the floral arrangements for a few hours, but I was making sure she never had to worry about money again. She would see the logic in my choices once the merger was finalized.
“Pull up the secondary slide, Julian,” I said.
As the junior analyst scrambled to change the slide, the rest of the executives around the perimeter shifted in their seats.
The ambient scratch of pens against paper resumed, the sudden return to business clearing the air.
I reached past a stack of proxy schedules and picked up a laser pointer, clicking it on.
A sharp red dot appeared on the graphs projected against the front wall. Tracing the Sterling asset collapse brought immediate relief. The numbers on the screen offered order.
The math didn’t care about table settings or hurt feelings. It followed rules, and the rules meant we won.
“Alright, minor distractions aside, let’s get back to the proxy schedule,” I said. I traced the red dot down a column of coastal properties. “I want the final contracts sent to the Sterling legal team by midnight.”
Vanessa shifted in her seat, crossing her legs and looking entirely at ease.
“My team is running a secondary review on the clauses right now,” Vanessa said. “We won’t leave them any room to breathe.”
I nodded, keeping my eyes locked on the projected data.
Her alignment with my timeline was exactly what the merger required.
We were building an inescapable trap, and I couldn’t afford a single loose end.
Cold afternoon sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows behind me, the beams highlighting the scattered financial packets.
Watching the red laser trace the liquidation models, Arthur sat back in his chair. He lowered his pen, the furious scowl he wore earlier finally gone.
“Excellent,” Arthur said. “That’s exactly the ruthless focus I expect from you, Cassian.”
His rare praise told me I had finally won.
If Wren wanted to throw a tantrum over Vanessa’s interference, she could do it on her own time.
I would simply stop by the jeweler tomorrow morning and purchase the diamond tennis bracelet she had admired last month.
A lavish gift and a good night’s sleep always solved her anxiety.
I stood at the head of the table and drove the takeover forward, certain the money would handle whatever was wrong at home.