"This is the future of Taylor Enterprises. The vote is yours."
I sit down.
The room feels airless. A fly buzzing against the glass window sounds like a helicopter.
Usually, this is the part where my heart races. This is the adrenaline spike. The kill.
But today, my pulse is flat. I check my watch. 11:15 AM.
Ivy is probably at the cottage. Is she packing? Is she staring at the calendar, counting down the hours until she can escape me?
I miss the woman who argued with me about everything.
I close my eyes for a second, pushing the memory of her voice out of my head. I cannot think about Ivy right now. If I think about I her, about the way she looked at me when she rejected the burger, the hurt in her eyes, I will lose this room.
"Well," speaks up Gerald, the vice chairman. He clears his throat. "I must say, Brooks. This is... thorough."
"It's aggressive," counters Martha, one of the conservative members. "But the stability you've shown this summer... it'sreassuring. The Aston situation was handled with remarkable discretion."
"Discretion," I repeat dryly. "Yes." We destroyed a man over soup, but sure. Let's call it discretion.
"And the rumors regarding your... volatility?" Martha asks, peering at me over her spectacles. "The concussion?"
"My health is excellent," I say. "And my personal life is settled. My fiancée and I are looking forward to hosting you all at the Labor Day party on Monday to celebrate the closing."
My father speaks up.
"The boy has done the work," Preston says. His voice is quiet, but it carries the weight of God in this room. "He secured the financing. He ousted the leak. He steadied the ship. I move to approve the acquisition."
"Seconded," Gerald says immediately.
"All in favor?"
Twelve hands go up.
"Opposed?"
Silence.
"The motion carries," Preston says. He slams his hand on the table, a gavel without the wood. "Congratulations, gentlemen. And ladies. We are about to buy Holloway."
Applause breaks out. It's polite, restrained applause, rich people don't cheer, but it's genuine. Men stand up to shake my hand. Martha pats me on the shoulder.
"Well done, Brooks."
"Incredible work."
"The stock is going to jump ten points by closing bell."
I shake the hands, smile the smile, and say the right words.
Thank you. It was a team effort. The future is bright.
But inside, there is... nothing.
It is a vacuum. A void.
I have spent my entire adult life chasing this moment. I have sacrificed sleep, friendships, and my own sanity to prove that I am not just Preston Taylor's son, but a titan in my own right. I closed the acquisition of the decade. The ROI is infinite. The future is locked in.
