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The Cynthia WaterstoneI’d met was used to getting what she wanted.
And I was in her way.
Chapter 20
Matthew
The next board meeting was nasty.
For all of us.
Egal was a family business and most of the board members consisted of family: my mother, my uncle Albert and his cousin, Bill Bouvier. Then there was a woman, Geraldine Fraser, who represented my mother’s side of the business, in particular her father and his investment. The last board member, apart from myself, was a well-known venture capitalist in the city, Gregory Dawn. Of all the board members, he could usually be relied on for the most informed business opinions.
I waited for them in our usual meeting room, as I didn’t want to walk into my mother outside. We had not seen each other since the fight at the house a week ago. I’d moved into a hotel room and had my PA fetch the rest of my clothes in the week. My mother had not called me, and I had not contacted her either.
When the board members arrived, I detected unease in their postures, the way especially the family members avoided my eyes and quickly shook my hand. I was on good terms with all of them, at least, I always had been.
I was filled with a sense of foreboding and started off with the usual feedback on issues the board were interested in. Then I reported back about my trip to Europe, and they were pleased to hear about the progress made with the expansion plans for the EU member states. I addressed all of the board members, as I spoke, taking care not to engage my mother directly but not ignore her either.
At the end of the meeting, my uncle suddenly spoke
“There is one more item on the agenda.”
He looked down at his hands, he seemed very uncomfortable. I noticed the other board members shifting in their seats. Except for my mother, she was sitting up very straight, staring straight at me.
“It’s come to our attention, Matthew, that a junior member of the company has fallen pregnant and is apparently claiming you are responsible.”
“How is this any concern of the board?”
Geraldine Fraser, my mother’s puppet, spoke up, “This is a family business as you are aware, the company vision and mission statement prioritize family values. Our reputation has always been extremely important. Health being not only physically, but mentally, socially, and ethically balanced as well.”
“I still don’t see the relevance,” I said stiffly, keeping my temper under control. This was my mother’s doing, I was sure of it. I had to remain calm at all costs.
“Matthew.” My uncle, who was sitting next to me, leaned over, dropping his voice in an attempt to convey sympathy, I think.
“There is some concern that this girl could bring bad publicity to the company. She could claim sexual harassment, spark media interest in our company culture. We don’t want this kind of exposure as I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, addressing him directly.
“She needs to leave the company, with a handsome package of course. You need to distance yourself from her, you must have no contact. We don’t want another Oliveira incident.”
He was referring to the sales director, Peter de Oliveira who two years ago, shot and killed his wife in an apparent crime of passion. Even though it had happened at home, the result of an ugly divorce and had nothing to do with work, the media spent several weeks exploring his personal life and that of his wife, highlighting their extravagant lifestyles and casting the company in a rather negative light. There were suggestions that either Egal paid him too much or made him work too hard, neglecting his wife and family. There was no truth to those rumors, of course. His wife was having an affair and wanted to leave him, a fact that Peter would not accept. The murder was a tragedy, but it had nothing to do with work.
“No, we don’t want press coverage,” I said.
“We’re agreed then? You will take care of this?”
I nodded.
The meeting was adjourned, and the board members left quickly, eager to get out of there. I stayed behind, turning my back to the door so that I wouldn’t have to watch them leave.
“Matthew?”
I turned around. My uncle Albert was standing at the table, his hands in his pockets.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said.
“I’m guessing, my mother had a hand in this?”
