AllFreeNovel
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As the president and CEO, Horse is in the direct line of fire and the one to lead the meeting. But I’ll be at his side, ready to dive in to take the bullets. Aside from Mom, the room will be all suits. I suffer no delusion that this will be an easy conversation, but it’s been simmering for years. Horse and I have been discussing and planning to share a new plan for a while, just not this soon.
I stand at Savi’s desk. “Do I look like a man ready to be eviscerated?”
She nods, then shudders. “I’m picturing your testicles hanging from a clothesline.”
“Great pep talk. Jesus, if I ever suggest a new role for you, remind me of this conversation.”
She laughs. “I’ve never been prouder to call myself your right arm. Go get ’em, Power.”
As I wait for the elevator, she chants, “I am a winner. I am making shit happen. Nothing will stop me from success. I am a winner. I am making shit happen. Nothing will stop me from succ—” The elevator doors cut her off, and I’m on my way down.
I enter the boardroom twenty minutes early. Horse, Brian, and Aiden are already here, though I do a double take to make sure Aiden really is my youngest brother.
“You clean up well,” I say, grabbing his freshly shaved chin between my fingers.
“This tie is choking me.” His tongue drops over his bottom lip, and he coughs dramatically.
I pull my drama-queen brother into a one-armed hug. “I love you, bro. Way to step up. I have all the faith in you.”
He shoves me away with a grumbled “fuck off” and loosens his tie.
Based on the energy in the room, you’d never guess we were about to stage a corporate coup. There are no nerves. It’s more a sense of excitement I haven’t experienced since we were all under ten, still naïve about what it means to be a Power. All the strings, the expectations, the limits.
If we succeed and get the fifth vote, we’ll celebrate. If we fail, we’ve all decided we’ll walk and let the remaining board members find new leadership. Sure, we’ll lose some nice perks and several hundred million dollars each. We’re not sure if Mother will allow us to keep our condos in the building, and frankly, none of us care enough to add that to the negotiations.
With five minutes until go time, Horse calls us into a huddle, just like when we were preteens, acting out our Power versions of theTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
Horse throws his fist into the middle of our group. “Horse Power!” he barks.
“Will Power!” I say, bashing my fist into his.
“Brain Power!” Brian adds, while the rest of us mutter, “Try hard.” He growls back, “Fuck you,” punching my fist, then Horse’s.
“Fire Power!” Aiden’s fist collides with each of ours in turn.
“Go Team Power,” we chant in unison.
Nothing makes me happier than having these guys as brothers, knowing they will always have my back and I will always have theirs.
The boardroom door opens. Top of the hour. Horse’s executive assistant, Reshma, ushers Mother in first, followed by the suits who always enter in the same order—the man with the highest net worth at that moment in the lead, the rest following—and then Reshma takes her seat at the table as the official minute-taker.
Each spot is set with a glass of water, a binder, and a pen, as well as coffee cups and a carafe, and cream and sugar within reaching distance for every member in attendance.
There are no pleasantries, just head nodding and greetings of “good afternoon.”
These men are not family to us. They were to Dad, who handpicked each member of his board. And Mom still feels some sense of devotion to them since they steered the Power ship until we were old enough and had the degrees—or in my case, the stage experience—to assume official roles at the table.
Mom is the wild card. And today will tell us where her deepest loyalties lie—to her flesh and blood or to the hired guns.
Once everyone is seated, Horse stands.
“I appreciate you all coming today and booking two hours out of what I am certain are busy schedules.”
Lots of grunting and indecipherable under-breath comments.
“As you may or may not be aware,” Horse continues, “Will and I will be celebrating our forty-second birthdays in just over four weeks, on October 26, if anyone cares to send a card … or a car.” He laughs in an otherwise silent room.
“Will has officially entered what we brothers like to refer to as ‘the Calendar of Catastrophe,’ that window of time when, if he follows in true Will Power footsteps, he’ll unexpectedly and inconveniently stop delivering the Come Into Power seminars so he can deliver nutrients to the next generation of daisies.”
