“There’s been a lot of noise these past months,” he continues calmly. “A lot of sudden concern. A lot of whispered conversations that didn’t start in this building, but somehow ended up poisoning the very blood of it.”
His eyes move slowly, deliberately, around the table.
“Someone here decided the fastest way to weaken my position was not to challenge me directly, but to destabilize my family.”
My chest tightens.
“You riled up my other daughters,” he says flatly. “With obvious purpose. You fed them stories. You framed this as theft instead of succession. You made them feel excluded so you could step in and ‘protect’ them to serve your own agenda.” He exhales through his nose, almost amused. “Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.”
The room is frozen now, no polite discomfort, no corporate buffering. This is personal.
“You are not fighting for governance,” he says. “You’re fighting for control of a company I built from the ground up. Acompany that made you wealthy on my back, and the past two years, Sofies.”
That insult lands hard on those who deserve it.
“My plan was always to retire at sixty-five,” he goes on. “That was never a secret. What changed the timeline was your fear provoked by whispers and weakness.” His gaze sharpens. “You let whoever is behind this convince you that a woman isn’t capable.”
I straighten in my seat.
“I love all of my girls,” he says. “But only one of them has been here since she was born. Only one of them grew up learning this business from the inside out, because she loves it.”
His eyes lock onto one man across the table. The one who hasn’t shifted once.
“And let’s not pretend this is about family values,” my father says conversationally.
Someone gasps. Someone looks down at their notes like they might disappear into them.
He chuckles, as if it were a fond memory. “I should thank at least one of you for fucking my now ex-wife. I met the love of my life after that.”
Then the warmth drains from his expression.
“So, hear this clearly,” he says. “Sofie is not taking anything from you. You tried to take from her and from me.”
He taps the papers on the table.
“This isn’t a takeover. It’s a safeguard.” A beat. “You brought this on yourselves.”
He sits and looks around the room. No one moves; no one speaks.
I don’t look at them; I don’t need to. He leans toward me, voice quiet again, steady.
“Now,” he says, “let’s see who still wants to earn their keep.”
“You’re all excused until Sofie needs to see you, otherwise leave her the hell alone so you can keep cashing those checks.”
When they exit the room, Dad leans back and sighs, “We should discuss?—”
“I have a better idea,” I say.
He looks at me, “And what’s that?”
“They all know, we don’t have to hide anymore, let’s go to lunch?”
“I have a better one yet, let’s go to the zoo.”
As we exit the conference room, Mr. Popularity himself stops and chats with people he’s avoided out of fear they’d notice.
I send a text to the girls.
