Chapter 10 - The Unanimous Decree
Emma’s heart pounded in her ears like a tribal drum as she walked down the long carpeted aisle of the boardroom. Every eye followed her. Some members looked startled; others looked deeply embarrassed as they watched the looped footage of Bradley’s cruelty on the monitors.
Eleanor pulled out the heavy leather executive chair immediately to her right—a seat traditionally reserved for the Chief Operating Officer—and gestured for Emma to sit.
"Ms. Vance," an elderly director with wire-rimmed glasses cleared his throat from halfway down the table. "While the footage is... distressing, to say the least, our primary agenda today is resolving the leadership vacuum created by Arthur's arrest. Wall Street opens in forty-five minutes. The stock is already down eight percent in pre-market trading. We need a stabilized executive board, not symbolic gestures."
"This is not a symbolic gesture, Donald," Eleanor answered smoothly. "This is structural survival. Our stock is falling because the market smells decay. They know Arthur was cooking the books. They know our employee turnover is at an all-time high of sixty-eight percent. They know customer satisfaction has plummeted in every district where Arthur cut staff to inflate margins."
She tapped the touchscreen on the lectern.
"The board resolution I have submitted has three binding conditions. First, Arthur and Bradley Vance are permanently stripped of all equity, shares, and managerial titles, with their forfeited holdings redirected to an employee emergency hardship trust."
A few board members nodded solemnly. Nobody was willing to defend a man currently being processed at the Charles Street Jail.
"Second," Eleanor continued, "we are rolling back all scheduling cuts across the four hundred locations. Every full-time employee will receive company-backed healthcare, and starting wages will increase by three dollars an hour across the board."
"That will cost forty million dollars in operational cash flow!" Donald gasped, his face reddening. "The quarterly dividends will be sliced in half!"
"Then your dividends will be sliced in half," Eleanor retorted without missing a beat. "And if you don't like it, sell your shares back to the family trust at yesterday's close. I will buy every single one of them."
The room went stone-still. Nobody spoke. Nobody dared to challenge the woman who held thirty-eight percent of the direct voting stock and controlled another twenty-five percent through institutional proxies.
"And third," Eleanor looked directly at Emma, "we are establishing the Office of Frontline Oversight. A permanent executive committee with veto power over regional store policies, employee terminations, and frontline working conditions. Emma Carter will serve as the inaugural student fellow and special advisor to that committee while she completes her degree at Boston University."
Emma’s breath hitched. She looked at Eleanor, her eyes wide with shock. "Ms. Vance... I'm only eighteen. I haven't even finished my sophomore year."
"You don't need a Harvard MBA to recognize cruelty, Emma," Eleanor said, her voice filled with unmistakable warmth. "You already understand our business better than half the people in this room. You know what happens when a mother can't pay for her groceries. You know what happens when a manager abuses his power behind a plastic badge. That makes you more qualified than anyone with twenty years on Wall Street."
Eleanor turned back to the silent board.
"All in favor of the restructuring resolution?"
Donald hesitated, looked at the icy resolve in Eleanor’s eyes, and slowly raised his hand.
One by one, every hand around the table rose.
"Unanimous," Sarah Jenkins declared, writing down the official legal entry. "The resolution passes."
As the room erupted into quiet, urgent conversations among the directors preparing for the press conference, Eleanor leaned in close to Emma.
"Now, Emma," Eleanor murmured with a sharp twinkle in her eye, "your first official task as special advisor begins right now."
May you like
"What task?" Emma asked, leaning in.
"There is a store on Dorchester Avenue," Eleanor whispered. "The original fruit stand where my husband and I started. Bradley's cronies scheduled it for demolition last week to build a luxury parking garage. I want you to go down there and tell the wrecking crew to pack their bulldozers and go home."
