A wave of shock rolled through the crowd—audible gasps, shouted questions overlapping like cracks of thunder.
“Mr.Davidson,” Damien continued, voice cutting clean through the noise, “acted alone. His motive was personal liquidity. His method was the creation of artificial instability.”
Every reporter leaned in.
“Elion Technologies,” he said, crisp as a verdict, “was victimized by Mr.Davidson’s choices.”
I braced.
“Falkirk,” Damien continued, “has full confidence in Elion, its leadership, and its financial integrity.”
The flash of cameras turned blinding.
Shouts rose at once:
“Is Davidson in custody?”
“Was this a cover-up?”
“Is Ms.Sinclair speaking today?”
“What does this mean for the merger?”
Damien lifted a hand.
Silence slammed back into place.
“As of this morning,” he said, “Mr. Davidson has been removed from his involvement with Elion and his access has been terminated.”
I watched the room absorb the blow—shock, fury, vindication, disbelief. I stood tall beside him, letting my expression stay composed, neutral, unshakable. Inside, my pulse thundered.
Damien continued, steady and sure. “Now,” he said, voice dropping into that commanding timbre that could part oceans, “I’d like to discuss the future.”
A ripple moved through the crowd.
“After a comprehensive internal review and weeks of coordinated planning,” Damien continued, shoulders squared, tone shifting, “Falkirk Group is proud to announce that we have finalized the terms of a merger with Elion Technologies.”
The room detonated.
Shouts layered over each other, a crash of camera shutters, reporters half-standing, reaching, scrambling for position. The space erupted like someone had tossed a lit match into dry brush.
Damien didn’t so much as blink. “This merger brings together Elion’s industry-leading predictive technologies and Falkirk’s global infrastructure. Together, our combined model is projected to exceed every growth forecast by a significant margin.”
A different reporter shouted, “Did Elion negotiate from a compromised position after the breach?”
Damien’s stare turned glacial. “No,” he said. “Elion negotiated from a position of strength.” He looked to me, smiling wide. “In fact, Ms.Sinclair has been one of the toughest negotiators I’ve come across in my years as Falkirk’s founder and CEO.”
My voice caught.
Down in the front row of the audience, I spotted my team—David sitting rigidly upright, eyes wide behind his glasses; his wife gripping his arm, her expression somewhere between disbelief and pride.
Beside them, Kevin leaned forward so far he was practically on the edge of his seat. His wife sat next to him with both hands pressed over her mouth, tears shining along her lashes—and in her lap, their twins stared in wonder at the stage, matching pink pacifiers bobbing rhythmically as they sucked.
And behind them—Jennifer. Actually crying. She swiped at the corner of her eye, mascara smudging, her chest rising on a shaky inhale.
And they were all looking at me.
At us.
