Her eyebrows rise. “I’ve never taken notes in any of the board meetings before.”
True enough. So far, her note-taking skills have always been reserved for “normal” company meetings. I’ve kept her out of the boardroom because that’s what you do with “secretaries.” Board meetings are for executives, for people with titles that command respect.
Secretaries sit outside and manage logistics. They don’t sit at the table.
Except Bree isn’t just managing my calendar and screening calls. She’s rewriting donor correspondence that salvages relationships I would’ve torched. She’s drafting foundation restructuring proposals that could save the entire company. She’s the only person in this building who tells me thetruthinstead of what I want to hear.
“You do now,” I reply.
The conference room is your typical sleek and corporate affair. High-backed leather chairs around a polished table.
Martin Hale already seated, looking smug in his thousand-dollar suit. Helena Vasquez isnext to him, her expression carefully neutral. The other board members filter in, all of them tense, all of them aware that this meeting could determine the company’s future.
Bree slips in last, laptop open, taking a seat along the wall. I catch her eye briefly. She gives me a tiny nod.
I close the door.
“Let’s get started,” Martin says, clearly eager to take control. “I think we all know why we’re here. The recent press coverage has raised serious concerns about governance and operational direction. I’ve prepared a proposal for an independent review that would—”
“I have a counterproposal,” I interrupt.
Martin’s smile falters. “I beg your pardon?”
I distribute the bound documents Bree prepared. One to each board member.
“The Rossi Foundation Restructuring Proposal,” I say. “A complete framework for separating our charitable work from our for-profit operations.”
Helena is already reading, her eyes moving quickly across the pages. “This is comprehensive.”
“This is desperate,” Martin counters. “A last-minute attempt to distract from the real issues.”
“The real issues are donor confidence and operational transparency,” I reply. “This proposal addresses both. Permanently. Unlike your independent review, which would tie us up in consulting fees and bureaucratic limbo for months while our competitors eat our market share.”
Martin’s jaw tightens. “You can’t possibly implement something like this in a reasonable timeframe.”
“I can with board support.” I look around the table. “Read the proposal. All of it. Then vote.”
The next hour is tense. Board members asking questions. Martin poking holes, or trying to. Helena defending certain sections, her surgical precision making her arguments impossible to dismiss.
I answer what I can. Deflect what I can’t. Keep my eyes off Bree, who is typing notes with the same focused intensity she brings to everything.
When the vote finally comes, it’s six to four in favor of implementing the restructuring plan.
Martin’s face goes flat, but I can see the rage underneath.
“This isn’t over,” he says quietly as the meeting adjourns.
“It never is with you,” I retort.
I find Bree in the hallway afterward.
“That was good work,” I tell her.
She nods, but I can see the disappointment in her eyes. “You said ‘the team’ when Helena asked who developed the proposal.”
I sigh. “I know.”
She continues. “You said ‘my strategic advisors.’ You said ‘comprehensive internal review.’ You never said Ms. Dawson. Not once.”
