Page 50 of Daddy's Game

18

BROCK

Ipaced slowly up and down before the members of the board, hands clasped behind my back. They sat still and silent, occasionally giving me or each other a worried glance.

“So let me get this straight.”

I flicked my gaze around, searing everyone in the room with my displeasure.

“You all became aware of the scandal with Hurlock Ltd, the firm providing widgets for GolfCarts N More, one of our most lucrative enterprises…”

I rounded on them and leaned over, resting my hands on the desk. Maybe resting isn’t the right word. I gripped the edge of the table so hard my knuckles turned white.

“And then you decided to not only continue to do business with Hurlock, despite their atrocious human rights record, but you also took steps tohidethe scandal from me?”

My gaze snapped onto a woman with black curly hair at the far end of the table.

“If not for the actions of a junior grade analyst, Ms. Schuster, I would not have had any inkling until it was too late to control the inevitable PR fallout. The rest of you have sorely disappointed me. My only question is–why? Why did you think you could fuck with me and get away with it? Were you protecting your bonuses, or–”

The door to the boardroom popped open. One of my personal assistants gave me an urgent look.

“I’ll be with you as soon as I finish up in here.”

I started to turn back, but he coughed politely. I rounded back on him, trepidation creeping into the back of my mind. My personal assistants would only interrupt me, and continue to interrupt me during an important meeting, if there were some catastrophe about to happen.

A catastrophe, or…

“Is it a code STM?”

The assistant bobbed his head vehemently, looking much relieved.

“Airport, or lobby?”

“Lobby, Sir,” he said, his voice breaking slightly.

“I see. Tell Maurice to manage the situation for now and I’ll be there in minutes.”

Maurice was my lobby manager, but even he couldn't deal with a code STM for long. The assistant bobbed his head and vanished.

I turned back to the board room, my ire raising like magma in an active volcano.

“Ms. Schuster, will you please join me up here at the front of the table, please?”

She swallowed hard, and then pushed away from the table. Schuster nervously adjusted her skirt and blouse as she stood beside me.

“Everyone else, get out. You’re fired.”

Mouths fell open with shock.

“All of us?” asked my former CEO of GolfCarts.

“All of you. Except for Ms. Schuster. Get out, now.”

Nobody moved. I slammed my fist on the table.

“Now, before I call security and have you thrown out! I can deal with decreased profits or even losses. Shit happens. But I cannot ever deal with my people lying to me, for any reason. Least of all to line their own pockets at the expense of the business.”

They started moving as soon as my fist hit the table, so only the stragglers heard the end of my rant. Still, I felt better.

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