just transfer instantly.
There are board procedures.
Restrictions.
Right of first refusal.”
“Ordinarily,” David said, “that might be relevant.
The trust agreement predates the current shareholder restrictions.
Its rights were expressly preserved when those restrictions were adopted.”
My father snapped, “Who approved that?”
Martin Cole finally looked up.
“You did.”
My father stared at him.
Martin swallowed.
“Nine years ago.
During the restructuring.”
I remembered that year only vaguely.
My grandfather had been dead for some time, and Grandma had begun stepping away from public company events.
Dad often complained that she kept too many old documents and refused to simplify things.
Apparently, she had simplified exactly what mattered.
Brandon started pacing behind his chair.
“Fine.
Let’s say she technically controlled fifty-one percent.
Thea doesn’t know the first thing about development.
She teaches children how to spell.”
My mother gave him a warning look, but the insult was already in the room.
I looked at my brother.
“They also learn fractions in third grade,” I said.
“So I understand what fifty-one percent means.”
Maggie covered a smile with her hand.
Brandon did not.
My father leaned toward me.
“Thea, listen carefully.
Whatever your grandmother thought she was doing, this company employs hundreds of people.
You cannot walk in and start making emotional decisions because you’re angry about family problems.”
The speed of the transformation amazed me.
I had gone from invisible to dangerous in under ten minutes.
“I haven’t made any decisions,” I said.
“Good.
Then sign the voting proxy over to me until this is sorted out.”
David Kessler spoke before I could answer.
“I strongly advise Ms.
Lawson not to sign anything presented by another beneficiary or company officer today.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
“I am speaking to her as counsel designated by the trust for the transition period.”
My mother turned sharply toward David.
“Eleanor gave her a lawyer too?”
“She gave her access to independent legal advice.”
“This is insane.”
David’s expression did not change.
“Mrs.
Lawson was very concerned about pressure being applied immediately after the transfer became known.”
That sentence landed harder than anything else.
Grandma had predicted this room.
She had predicted my father’s command, my brother’s contempt, my mother’s accusation, and perhaps even my own confusion.
I looked down at the cream-colored letter I had brought from home.
Whatever happens, you’re taken care of.
Her words from the old blue couch returned with painful clarity.
My father abruptly changed tactics.
His voice softened.
“Thea.
You’re my daughter.
I’m trying to protect you.
This is a complicated business.
Your grandmother may have wanted you to feel included, but she couldn’t have understood the consequences of giving you control.”
Maggie inhaled sharply beside me.
David Kessler simply reached for another document.
“Mrs.
Lawson understood the consequences well enough to commission an independent financial review six months before her death.”
Martin Cole closed his eyes.
Brandon stopped pacing.
My father did not move.
“What review?”
The second executive in the room, operations director Nina Patel, looked toward the door as though she wished she were anywhere else.
David slid a sealed report onto the table.
Brandon reached for it.
David put his hand over the folder.
“You are not authorized to remove or alter this document.”
“It’s my family company.”
