Chapter 6 - The Memorial Feast
On the tenth floor of the executive headquarters, the atmosphere inside the boardroom was suffocating. Through the heavy soundproof glass, thirty people sat in stony silence around a forty-foot mahogany table.
At the head of the table sat Garrett Vance.
He was dressed in a dark charcoal funeral suit, a clean white shirt, and a muted black tie. His eyes were red-rimmed, his face pale and haggard—a masterclass in calculated grief. Beside him sat Penelope, clad in an elegant black maternity dress, her hands folded demurely over her stomach, occasionally dabbing her eyes with a lace handkerchief.
Marcus Sterling sat across from them, his silver hair disheveled, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists on the table.
""It is nine thirty-five,"" Garrett spoke, his voice cracking with rehearsed emotion as he addressed the assembled board members. ""I know we are all reeling from this unspeakable tragedy. To lose my beloved Rosalind... and Tobias, who was like a brother to me... it has torn my soul to pieces. The divers are still searching the river mouth, but the Coast Guard has informed me that the chances of recovery are non-existent.""
A low murmur of solemn sympathy rippled through the older board members. Two of the women were already wiping away tears.
""However,"" Garrett continued, straightening his posture and clearing his throat with solemn resolve, ""even in our grief, we cannot allow the work of Rosalind’s father to perish. The Navy contract deadline is precisely twelve noon. If Savannah Creek Shipyard does not sign the procurement guarantee, our facility will face immediate federal penalties, and nine hundred dockworkers will lose their livelihoods before the weekend.""
""The company bylaws,"" Marcus Sterling interrupted, his voice gravelly and trembling with disgust, ""state clearly that no transfer of voting control can occur within forty-eight hours of an executive officer's reported death. We need time, Garrett! The bodies aren't even found!""
""The bylaws make an exception for impending corporate insolvency or federal default, Marcus,"" Garrett countered smoothly, sliding a thick leather folder across the polished wood. ""Judge Bradley has already signed an emergency conservatorship order granting me temporary executorship of Rosalind's estate. As her husband and legal conservator, I hold her fifty-two percent voting shares. Penelope holds her own ten percent. Together, we represent an overwhelming majority.""
Penelope looked up, her voice trembling with synthetic grief. ""Marcus, please. My father loved this yard. Rosalind loved it. Garrett is only trying to protect what they left behind. We cannot let their deaths be in vain. Please, let Garrett sign the partnership agreement with Vance Marine. It’s what my sister would have wanted.""
""Your sister despised Vance Marine!"" Marcus roared, slamming his open palm on the table. ""She spent two years fighting Garrett's attempts to bring your father's old company into our docks! She knew what Richard Vance was, and she knew what you two were doing behind her back!""
Garrett’s sorrowful expression hardened instantly, the mask slipping just enough to reveal the cold, vicious predator beneath.
""Watch your mouth, Marcus,"" Garrett said, his tone dropping all pretense of gentleness. ""You are an eight percent minority shareholder. Your sentimental attachments do not dictate corporate law. The emergency resolution is on the table. Either you vote to authorize my signature on the naval subcontract, or I will use my majority proxy to remove you from this board before the clock strikes ten.""
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""You don't have the authority,"" Marcus spat.
""I have the judge's decree,"" Garrett smiled, pulling a heavy gold fountain pen from his breast pocket—the very pen my father had received upon completing the dry-dock expansion twenty years ago. ""And as of this morning, Marcus, I am Savannah Creek Shipyard.""
