Chairs scrape quietly as the meeting dissolves.
Robert pauses near the door.
"Seamus won't like this," he says.
"No," Graham agrees.
He studies him for a moment, his expression unreadable.
"Just make sure we're right."
Then he leaves.
The room empties until only Graham and Malcolm remain.
Malcolm leans back against the table, arms crossed.
"You're sure about this?" he asks quietly.
Graham looks down at the empty chair at the head of the table.
Seamus's chair.
"He's distracted," Graham says.
"By his wife?"
"By sentiment."
Malcolm says nothing, but Graham can feel the question in the silence—the unspoken wondering whether this is personal. Whether Graham is acting out of strategic necessity or something smaller.
Resentment, perhaps. Or wounded pride that a CEO would prioritize marriage over corporate interests.
The truth is simpler.
Graham doesn't resent Seamus for loving his wife. He resents him for letting that love make him weak.
For hesitating when the path forward is obvious.
Graham straightens the stack of folders on the table, aligning the edges.
"The company can't afford hesitation," he says calmly.
Outside the windows, the city stretches toward the horizon—miles of buildings and streets and infrastructure, all of it humming with activity.
Somewhere in that grid sits a small brick building on Heritage Street.
A relic. A piece of history that people have attached meaning to.
Graham has nothing against history.
But history doesn't build the future.
Capital does. Momentum does. Leadership does.
He closes the meeting folder and tucks it under his arm.
"Someone," he says, almost to himself, "has to make the hard decisions."
