“A few,” Jasper answers. “Not enough to move the needle.”
Astor Holdings’ voting structure has never been particularly simple. Most of our institutional investors don’t hold enough concentrated voting power to dictate outcomes outright.
But during a contested leadership vote, every percentage point matters. Every single one. Especiallywhen the person being voted on isme.
“Who are we talking about?” I ask.
Ronald immediately starts scanning the list.
“Spencer Longford. Eric Matsuda. Harshita Nair. Ronan Hayden. Abigail Burke… and a few others. All new additions of the past year. So they’re yet to attend any kind of annual meetings.”
“Any indication they’ll submit proxy votes?”
He shrugs, shaking his head. There’s no answer to that question. Not yet anyway.
I exhale heavily. “Then we… assume they’re inactive.”
“That’s the safest assumption,” Ronald agrees. “The problem is that if this turns into a headline event—and let’s be honest, it already has—they might suddenly become interested.”
Great. Exactly what I needed.
More variables.
More uncertainty.
More people deciding whether Astor Holdings survives another year without destabilization.
Something clicks then.
“Any activist funds sniffing around?” I ask Jasper.
“Nothing significant,” Jasper says. “A few inquiries, but nobody is accumulating enough shares to worry me.”
“For now,” Ronald mutters.
I shoot him a look.
He shrugs unapologetically.
“What? You hired me to worry.”
“Unfortunately.”
That earns a few tired chuckles around the room. Even Taewon laughs through the speaker.
“You’ll be fine, Levi.”
I stare at the conference table.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
The truth is, I don’t know anymore. The only thing I do know is that I cannot back out now. Not after everything. Not after what this clause has done to Cece. To us.
I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling. Whether I remain President of Astor Holdings or not, I won’t regret this decision.
This clause needs to die. It should’ve died years ago. Hell, it shouldn’t have existed in the first place.
