Chapter 6 - My Aunt Wanted My Father’s Company
Patricia Pike arrived at headquarters smiling.
She did not know we had the recording.
That was the advantage.
She walked into the boardroom wearing pearls and a cream coat, kissed my cheek, and told me how sorry she was about Daniel.
I almost recoiled.
But I let her speak.
Then I placed the recorder on the table.
Her smile vanished.
“Where did you get that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Warren Pike, her husband and a Vale Meridian director, stood abruptly.
“This meeting is over.”
“No,” I said.
“It just started.”
Patricia looked at Celeste.
“You stupid girl.”
Celeste laughed bitterly.
“That sounds like something my father would say.”
Adrian sat at the far end of the table.
He had no voting proxy anymore.
No control.
Just a seat.
And for the first time since I met him, he seemed to understand that power and worth were not the same thing.
I faced Patricia.
“Why did you want the trust?”
“Your father took everything.”
“He built Vale Meridian.”
“Our parents financed his first office.”
“With forty thousand dollars he repaid.”
“He got the company. I got nothing.”
“You inherited millions.”
“I inherited money. Daniel inherited relevance.”
There it was.
Not business.
Resentment.
Thirty years old.
Still poisonous.
Patricia admitted she had introduced Martin to Victor.
She admitted supporting consulting structures.
But she denied stealing.
“I wanted leverage,” she said.
“For what?”
“A merger.”
“With whom?”
She smiled.
That frightened me more than anger.
“A buyer.”
Our counsel leaned forward.
“What buyer?”
She refused to answer.
Warren did.
“Apex Meridian.”
Adrian swore.
Apex was our largest competitor.
For years, they had tried to acquire Vale Meridian.
Dad had refused every approach.
Patricia had been preparing to hand them enough influence to force a deal.
“How?” I asked.
Warren looked at his wife.
She remained silent.
He cracked first.
“Proxy control.”
My trust held fifty-two percent voting power.
Adrian had exercised it for five years.
But my authorization required annual renewal.
The next renewal was scheduled for the following month.
Martin planned to alter one page inside the renewal packet.
Instead of granting Adrian proxy authority, I would unknowingly transfer voting discretion to a temporary holding entity controlled by Patricia.
My blood ran cold.
“You were going to trick me into signing away control.”
Patricia shrugged.
“You sign whatever Adrian puts in front of you.”
Adrian flinched harder than I did.
Because she was right.
I had.
For years.
Not because I was stupid.
Because I trusted my husband.
Patricia had built an entire plan around that trust.
I looked at Adrian.
He could barely meet my eyes.
Then Celeste’s phone buzzed.
She read the message.
“My father wants to talk.”
“With whom?”
“Claire.”
I laughed once.
“Absolutely not.”
Celeste turned the phone.
A photograph had been attached.
Martin Hale was sitting at a table.
Alive.
Beside him was Victor Marr.
Behind them was a framed document.
My father’s original shareholder agreement.
Not a copy.
The original.
And beneath the photo was one line:
ASK CLAIRE WHETHER SHE KNOWS WHAT DANIEL CHANGED THREE DAYS BEFORE HE DIED.
I stared at the screen.
Our general counsel whispered:
“There was an amendment?”
No one knew.
Not me.
Not Adrian.
Not even the board.
May you like
Whatever my father had changed before his death had been hidden for five years.
And Victor Marr had it.
