What the hell is going on? Call me.
I don't reply to that either.
Picking up the bottle, I take a swallow. Who the hell is it now?
You have to be fucking kidding me.
Warren Hartwell.
Given the way this evening has tanked, why am I even surprised?
I almost don't answer. But ignoring Hartwell never made problems disappear. The time merely gives the bastard time to sharpen his knives.
"Thorne." He sounds almost sympathetic. But I hear the glee. "Rough day?”
My hand tightens around my glass. "What do you want, Hartwell?”
“I’m calling an emergency board meeting for your removal. A week from Thursday, six p.m.” A pause. "Next Thursday, that is. Give you a little over a week to get your affairs in order."
The bourbon turns to acid in my stomach. "On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that photos of you bribing an EPA official hit every major outlet this afternoon."
Red blurs my vision. "There are photos of me leaving his house. That's it. Not bribing anyone, you asshole."
“Now, now, son, settle down. It doesn't matter what actually happened. What matters is what it looks like.”
"I'm not your son." I set down my glass with deliberate care. "And you want to talk about narratives, Hartwell? Let's discuss your quarterly reports. The discrepancies I asked about when I was seventeen. I’m sure my father wasn’t acting alone. And he’s no longer here to cover your ass. He didn’t change, and I’m sure you haven’t either.”
A beat of silence. Good. Let him sweat.
“You have nothing on me,” Hartwell says smoothly. "And it’s irrelevant to the current situation. Whatisrelevant is that you're a liability this company can't afford."
"The bylaws require—"
“I’m the interim board chair. I have the authority to call for this vote. And Thorne, I have the votes.” The false sympathy returns, and he clucks, “Maybe more than I need. Didn’t you and your brother have a big fall-out a few years back? I bet he’ll be relieved to have you gone.”
I can’t speak. He’s right. This is Sebastian’s chance to get rid of me. Things have improved between us, but he is livid about my involvement with Williams.
“See you next Thursday,” Hartwell practically sings.
The line goes dead. I throw my phone across the room, but the damn thing doesn’t even have the decency to break.
Hartwell’s pitch to the other board members is predictable: Thorne's unstable. Always has been. Look at the photos. Look at the risks he's taken. The family can't control him and we can't afford such a loose cannon.
If Sebastian votes against me, Hartwell has the votes. They'll remove me from the board, trigger the buyout clause in the shareholder agreement, dilute my twenty percent back into the company pool.
Where Hartwell, as CFO and interim board chair, would have first rights to acquire them.
I run a hand down my face and stare out the window. The rain hasn't let up. If anything, it's worse now—relentless, punishing.
Everything's falling apart.
I broke my promise to Ivy. She's going to hate me.
Hartwell’s going to push me out of the company.
Sebastian probably won't even fight to keep me.
