Before my father can press further, the door swings open. Ethan Kendrick strides in—tech genius turned reluctant CEO. Hair too long to be conventional curls over his collar despite his suit. There's something unpolished about him—an edge that makes me think of well-worn jeans, flannel rolled to the elbows, and easy laughter over good beer.
He's younger than most CEOs I've worked with, but most noticeable is his barely restrained energy. Slightly abrupt movements, eyes darting and scanning faces. He's sharp and chaotic—too much.
Luckily, I speak his language.
The tension in my gut eases a fraction.
He doesn't waste time on pleasantries, his gaze sweeping the room. "Good morning. What are the chances, McAdams and McAdams?"
My lips twitch. "Yes, what are the chances, Dad?"
Ethan's eyebrows shoot up. "Wait—you all know each other?"
"Hi, I'm Holly McAdams. And this is my father, William McAdams."
Recognition flickers in his eyes as he shakes my hand. "I saw the same last names, but assumed if you were related, you'd be on the same side."
"Yes, that does seem like the natural order of things, doesn't it?" The irony is subtle—just enough to keep Blake squirming.
"Well, how about we get started? Ladies first."
"Not at all. Let them show me how it's done."
Blake goes first, all flash, no substance. He tosses buzzwords like confetti—streamlining, synergy, leveraging market dynamics. Corporate spaghetti thrown at walls. There's polish, but no soul. No depth.
My father speaks next. His tone shifts—steady, conservative, predictable. His decades of experience shine through, but the approach feels tired. He leans heavily on Blake to inject "youthful energy" into the proposal, only highlighting how formulaic it is.
Ethan nods along, expression polite but unreadable. "Thank you. It's comprehensive." His tone is neutral, almost detached. No spark. No excitement.
Blake shoots me a smug look. My father watches me carefully, his expression harder to read.
When Ethan gestures for me to begin, I don't dive into charts. Instead, I slide my laptop away and lean forward. "What inspired the name Vaultress Global?"
The question catches him off guard. His posture shifts, something raw flickering across his face—pride mixed with vulnerability.
"It was my great-grandmother. She was a cryptographer during World War II. Worked in intelligence, not that you could find out much about her. They didn't exactly give women credit for their accomplishments back then.”
Don’t look at your father… don’t look at your father… don’t look at your father…
“I’m sure she had plenty to say about that."
His eyes light up with easy laughter. "She did. Often punctuated by a middle finger." His voice lowers, laced withpride and sadness. "She used to say I wasn't out of step—I was just ahead of the beat."
I let his words hang in the air, watching the tension ease from his shoulders.
Has anyone ever asked him his why? I’m willing to bet not.
"Ethan, let's talk about maximizing your resources to live up to and honor what you’ve built—change the world, but ultimately, let’s make sure you’re grandmother doesn’t have one of those middle fingers aimed at you…”
He cracks a smile, the kind that makes me believe he’s holding back a laugh.
Good.
I turn to my first slide: Conservative: Steady & Secure. "This option is for stability. Low-risk investments, gradual growth. Reliable, predictable, resilient against market shifts."
His fingers tap softly against the table—subtle, but I notice. His mind is already moving forward.
Next slide: Moderate: Smart & Strategic. "Now, if you're willing to take calculated risks, we move into the moderate plan. A blend of conservative and ambitious investments—emerging markets, growth stocks, ETFs. Balance between innovation and security."
