The beer hit my hair like cold rain, but the laughter around the barbecue was hotter than fire.

Derek stared at his father in absolute horror, his jaw hanging open. “Dad... what is she talking about? Is this real? Can she fire you?!”

Diane pulled herself out of her chair, her eyes wide with frantic, hysterically rising panic. “Claire! You can't do this! This is a family business! Richard built this company from nothing! You’re acting like a vicious monster!”

I didn't even look at Diane. My gaze remained locked onto Richard, whose arrogant posture had completely collapsed. He looked ten years older, slumped back in his leather chair, staring at me as if I were a ghost that had come back to haunt him.

“Ryan,” I said smoothly, turning my head toward my husband.

“Yes, Claire?” Ryan replied, stepping to the head of the table, opening his briefcase.

“As controlling shareholder, I am officially executing my right to restructure the executive board,” I announced, my voice ringing clear and authoritative through the room. “First order of business: Richard Mercer is hereby relieved of his duties as Chief Executive Officer, effective immediately.”

“You can't do this!” Richard gasped, clutching his chest. “I founded this company!”

“I just did,” I replied cold as ice. “And as for your corporate shares, they are now non-voting minority equity. You will receive your quarterly dividends, but you no longer have an office in this building, you no longer have access to corporate accounts, and you are permanently banned from entering executive premises.”

Ryan slid a fresh stack of legal documents across the table. “And second order of business: I am assuming the role of Interim Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of the Board, effective immediately.”

Derek let out a pathetic, desperate squeak. “What about my job, Ryan?! I’m Senior Vice President of Marketing!”

Ryan turned to look at his brother. For thirty years, Ryan had lived in Derek’s shadow—tolerating his physical bullying, his cruel jokes, his mother’s blatant favoritism, and his father’s constant dismissal.

Today, the shadow vanished completely.

“Derek,” Ryan said, his voice completely steady, devoid of anger or pity. “You haven't submitted a single marketing report in eight months. You use corporate credit cards to buy alcohol and fund your weekend trips. As CEO, I am terminating your employment for gross negligence and misuse of corporate funds. Security has already packed your desk. Your keycard has been deactivated.”

“You... you’re firing your own brother?!” Diane shrieked, tears finally spilling down her heavily powdered face. “Ryan! He’s your blood! How could you be so heartless?!”

“Blood didn't stop him from punching me in the mouth on Sunday, Mom,” Ryan replied flatly. “And blood didn't stop Dad from threatening to ruin my career yesterday morning. You made your choice. Now we’re making ours.”

Richard buried his face in his hands, groaning in absolute defeat.

Two uniformed building security guards stepped through the glass doors of the boardroom.

“Mr. Mercer, Mr. Derek Mercer,” the head security officer said politely. “Please gather your personal belongings. We’ve been instructed to escort you out of the building.”

Derek looked at me one last time—a look of pure, unadulterated terror mixed with deep, permanent regret. He clutched his broken arm, turned around, and walked out of the boardroom with his head hanging low, his weeping mother trailing behind him.

Ryan sat down in the CEO chair at the head of the mahogany table, took a deep breath, and turned to look at me.