Chapter 5 - THE WAR ROOM
The glass-walled executive conference room on the forty-second floor of Holloway Tower overlooked a grey, freezing Chicago skyline.
Inside, ten men and women in immaculate business attire sat around a massive quartz conference table. At the head sat Thomas Sterling, the senior managing partner and co-founder of the firm, a silver-haired man whose smile always looked like a shark baring its teeth.
The heavy double doors swung open.
Grant Holloway walked in.
He didn't wear a tie. His dark charcoal suit was unbuttoned, his expression an absolute mask of glacial detachment. Behind him, walking with quiet, measured steps in a tailored navy pantsuit with her bandaged arms carefully concealed beneath long sleeves, was Lydia.
A collective murmur rippled through the boardroom. Thomas Sterling adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Lydia.
“Grant,” Sterling began, his voice dripping with condescension. “We asked for you. Not your... domestic staff. We are discussing corporate governance and executive stability.”
Grant pulled out the chair at the absolute head of the table—displacing Sterling’s traditional spot—and sat down slowly. He motioned for Lydia to take the seat directly to his right.
“You called an emergency session of the board of directors at seven in the morning to discuss my personal life, Tom,” Grant said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “I figured it was only appropriate that the subject of your sudden anxiety be present to answer any questions you might have.”
Sterling scoffed, leaning back in his leather chair. “Let’s not pretend this is merely personal, Grant. Last night at your estate, in front of twenty-one high-value clients and associates, you threw a tantrum. You insulted your mother, expelled prominent guests, and threw a public scene over a kitchen mishap involving a hired employee whom you happened to have married under deeply questionable circumstances.”
Murmurs of agreement circulated among several board members.
Lydia felt her cheeks burn. She opened her mouth to speak, to stand up and excuse herself, to tell Grant she would annul the contract right now and take the debt back, but before she could utter a single word, Grant’s hand moved across the table and firmly covered hers.
The warmth of his palm anchored her.
Grant turned his dark, unblinking gaze onto Thomas Sterling.
“Let’s talk about business, Tom,” Grant said softly. “Since you love the word so much. Last quarter, Holloway Enterprises acquired three logistics firms in the Midwest. Who brokered those deals?”
Sterling blinked, caught off guard. “You did.”
“And two years ago, when our primary competitor attempted a hostile takeover of our tech division, whose financial restructuring plan saved our margins?”
“Your team did,” Sterling muttered.
“Correct,” Grant leaned forward, resting his forearms on the glass table. “And in the six months since I married Lydia Holloway, our stock valuation has risen by fourteen percent, our foreign investments have expanded into two new European markets, and my personal approval rating among our primary institutional investors has hit an all-time high.”
Grant paused, letting the silence hang heavy in the room.
“So explain to me, Tom,” Grant continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “how my wife—who works harder in a single day than you have in your entire corporate career—constitutes a ‘public relations liability’ to this firm.”
Sterling flushed dark red. “It’s about optics, Grant! A high-profile CEO married to a—a common woman with a tarnished financial past—”
“My father’s debts were public record,” Lydia spoke up for the first time. Her voice was quiet, steady, and utterly devoid of fear. She looked directly at Sterling. “And they are currently being paid off in full accordance with a legally binding contract between myself and my husband. If my background offends your delicate sensibilities, Mr. Sterling, I suggest you look at the quarterly profit margins my husband just listed. Money doesn't care where someone grew up. Only insecure men do.”
The entire boardroom went dead silent. Several junior directors looked down at their notepads, biting back grins.
Grant looked at Lydia, a flicker of genuine, burning respect flashing in his eyes. Then he turned back to Sterling and pulled a thick manila folder from his leather briefcase, sliding it across the glass table.
“What is this?” Sterling demanded, eyeing the folder suspiciously.
“That,” Grant said smoothly, “is an internal audit of the subsidiary logistics firm currently managed by your nephew, Thomas Jr. It details three million dollars in unaccounted expenses, unbilled shipping fees, and potential SEC violations.”
Sterling’s face drained of color in an instant. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for the folder.
May you like
“You wouldn't,” Sterling whispered.
“Try me,” Grant replied, standing up from his chair. He extended his hand to Lydia, helping her to her feet with practiced gentleness. “The meeting is adjourned. Anyone who has further concerns about my marriage, my wife, or my household can submit their resignation to HR by noon. Good day, gentlemen.”
