Chapter 7 - The Monday Morning Boardroom
By Monday morning, the corporate restructuring of Carter & Sons Real Estate—now officially rebranded and absorbed into the Vance-Carter Global portfolio—was already the lead story in the regional business journals.
I sat at the head of the glass-walled boardroom on the fortieth floor of our downtown Seattle tower, reviewing the consolidated asset sheets with David Vance and my executive leadership team.
“The transition of the commercial properties went smoother than anticipated, Elena,” David said, sliding a fresh stack of executed deeds across the polished mahogany table. “The regional banks accepted our debt-assumption terms by Friday night. Your father’s creditors are just relieved someone competent is finally steering the ship.”
“Good,” I said, signing my name across the primary corporate resolution with a heavy, satisfying stroke of my fountain pen. “Audit every single legacy account from the last five years. If there are any lingering personal expenses my parents tried to write off as corporate overhead, tag them for individual recovery. No exceptions.”
“Consider it done,” David smiled, gathering his folders.
When the boardroom cleared out, Marcus slipped through the double doors carrying two cups of artisan coffee. He walked over, set one cup beside my laptop, and leaned down to kiss the top of my head.
“Word on the street is that your father’s country club membership was officially terminated this morning because his direct debit bounced,” Marcus murmured, amusement dancing in his dark eyes.
“Oh really?” I raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of the hot espresso. “Where did you hear that?”
“Aunt Brenda called my mother ten minutes ago,” Marcus chuckled. “Apparently, your mother tried to sneak into the club’s auxiliary tennis lounge for complimentary mimosas, and the manager escorted her off the premises by the arm.”
May you like
I let out a genuine, unburdened laugh—the kind of laugh that came from deep within my chest, untethered by decades of family anxiety and forced compliance.
“Well,” I smiled, looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the glittering blue waters of Elliott Bay stretching out toward the horizon. “Looks like Mom is finally going to learn what it’s like to walk without a VIP pass.”
