Chapter 8: The Board Room
The Moretti Group boardroom occupied the top floor of the building.
Twelve chairs.
A long table in pale oak.
Floor-to-ceiling windows looking north across the city.
I had sat at the head of that table for four years.
Richard arrived before I did.
He was already seated when I walked in, two chairs to the left of center, with his attorney beside him and a second man I recognized as the company's outside counsel.
Three board members sat on his side of the table.
Two more were still finding their seats.
He looked at the folder in my hand.
He looked at Grace beside me.
His expression didn't change, but his attorney leaned over and said something quietly into his ear.
I sat down.
Grace set her copy of the documents on the table without opening it.
The board chair, a woman named Patricia Hale who had served since my father's time, called the session to order.
"This session was requested by Richard Moretti on grounds of leadership continuity," she said.
"Dominic, you've requested time to respond.
We'll hear from Richard first."
Richard stood.
He spoke for eleven minutes.
He was composed, precise, and persuasive.
He described my visit to Brooklyn as an impulsive personal decision made without legal counsel or board knowledge.
He described the documents Emily had shown me as unverified materials provided by a disgruntled former employee.
He described my behavior as concerning and the situation as one requiring temporary oversight while a proper review was conducted.
Two of the board members were nodding by the end.
He sat down.
Patricia looked at me.
I stood up.
"I'd like to table the leadership question for a moment," I said, "and ask the board to look at something first."
Grace slid copies down the table.
One to each board member.
One to Richard's attorney.
"What you have in front of you is the original founding partnership agreement for Moretti Group, dated thirty-one years ago.
It is signed by my father, Antonio Moretti, and by James Carter, who provided thirty percent of the company's initial capital in exchange for a thirty percent equity stake, transferable to direct descendants." I paused.
"It is notarized and witnessed.
Authentication has been confirmed this morning by Grace Okafor's office."
The room was quiet.
Richard's attorney was already reading.
"You also have three certified mail receipts," I continued.
"Each one documents a delivery attempt made to this office over a two-year period.
Each one was signed for by an employee of the chairman's office." I looked at Richard.
"Each one contained a letter from James Carter's daughter, requesting acknowledgment of the agreement."
Richard's face was still.
"And finally, you have the termination letter issued two weeks ago to Emily Carter, James Carter's granddaughter, who had been employed by this company for six years.
The termination was authorized from the chairman's office using a forged version of my signature." I set my copy on the table.
"I did not sign that letter.
I have never signed a termination without severance.
The authorization chain leads directly to the chairman's office."
Patricia Hale looked at Richard.
He stood up.
"These documents—"
"Richard." Her voice was quiet.
"Sit down."
He sat.
She looked at the agreement in her hands for a long moment.
Then she looked around the table.
"I think," she said carefully, "that the leadership continuity question can wait."
Richard's attorney leaned forward.
"The authenticity of these documents has not been independently—"
"It will be," Patricia said.
"We'll recess for two hours while the board's own counsel reviews them." She looked at Richard.
"Richard, I'm going to ask you not to leave the building."
Richard looked at me across the table.
For the first time in my life, I saw something in his face that I had never seen before.
Not anger.
Not calculation.
Just the look of a man who had spent fifteen years building a wall and had just watched someone walk through it carrying the door.
"You don't understand what I protected this company from," he said.
"Tell me," I said.
"Your father was going to give away a third of everything he built.
To a man who contributed seed money and then contributed nothing else for thirty years.
James Carter didn't build this company.
He wrote a check.
Your father built it." His voice was controlled but tight.
"I protected your inheritance."
"You protected your own position," I said.
"And you buried a family in the process."
"I kept this company whole."
"You forged my signature." I looked at him steadily.
"That's not protection.
That's theft."
He had nothing left to say to that.
Patricia called the recess.
Richard's attorney gathered his papers quickly.
Richard stood slowly, buttoned his jacket, and walked toward the door.
At the threshold he stopped.
He didn't turn around.
"Your father would have done the same thing," he said.
"No," I said.
"He wouldn't have."
Richard walked out.
The door closed behind him.
Grace put her hand on my arm.
May you like
"It's done," she said quietly.
Outside the windows, the city moved the way it always did, indifferent and continuous, thirty stories below.
