Chapter 7 - RECLAIMING THE THRONE
Three days later, I walked through the heavy double doors of Pacific Oak Crafting’s headquarters in Chula Vista.
The atmosphere inside the main administrative building was tense. News of Raymond’s arrest and the family scandal had made the front pages of the local business journals. Employees were gathered in small groups in the hallways, whispering nervously about layoffs, bankruptcy, and the future of their jobs.
When I stepped into the central atrium, the whispering stopped instantly.
One by one, the department heads, factory floor managers, and administrative clerks turned to look at me. Many of them had worked alongside me for over a decade. They remembered who had stayed late to process payroll when the company was struggling. They remembered who had negotiated their healthcare benefits and overhauled the production lines.
Frank Vasquez, the veteran floor manager who had been with Pacific Oak for twenty years, stepped forward from the crowd, a warm smile spreading across his weathered face.
"Welcome back, Boss," Frank said, his deep voice carrying across the quiet lobby.
A wave of visible relief washed over the hundred and eighty employees in the room. Smiles broke out. Someone at the back of the room started clapping, and within seconds, the entire lobby erupted into warm, genuine applause.
I stood on the second-step landing of the central staircase and held up my hands to thank them.
"Thank you, everyone," I said, my voice echoing clearly through the rafters of the facility. "I know the past seventy-two hours have been uncertain. I know you’ve read the news. But I want to make one thing crystal clear today: Pacific Oak Crafting is not going anywhere."
More cheers broke out.
"The financial improprieties committed by former management have been isolated and turned over to the authorities," I continued firmly. "Starting today, I am resuming my role as Chief Executive Officer. Our contracts are secure, our payroll is fully backed, and we are embarking on a major expansion next month."
I looked across the faces of the men and women who built this business with me.
"This company was built on hard work, integrity, and respect," I said. "And as long as I am running it, those values will never be compromised again. Now... let's get back to work!"
The lobby burst into enthusiastic applause as people returned to their workstations with renewed energy.
I walked up the stairs to the executive corner office—the office Raymond had occupied for the last three years.
I opened the door. Raymond had left the place in a mess. Expensive cigars sat in a crystal tray on his mahogany desk, golf trophies lined the built-in bookshelves, and framed photos of his luxury cars hung on the walls. Notably absent were any photos of our daughters.
I walked over to the window, pulled out my phone, and called Frank Vasquez.
"Frank," I said.
"Yes, Brenda?"
"I need a crew up in the executive office with trash bags and boxes. I want everything in this room cleared out by four o'clock today."
"You got it, Boss. What are we putting in there instead?"
May you like
I looked around the spacious, sunlit office, imagining four smaller desks placed along the window wall where Gaby, Paige, Maya, and Zoey could do their homework after school while I worked.
"We’re making room for the real owners of this company," I said with a smile.
