Page 79

MARISELA

I tapped my nails on top of the conference table as my glare panned across the room. Each face more useless than the next. What I needed was a loophole. What they were giving me were excuses.

I owned forty-nine percent of the company; the board controlled the other fifty-one percent until a successor was named. Which meant I didn’t own shit.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Prescott. But there’s nothing more we can do.”

There was always more someone could do. If they were motivated enough to do it. And clearly, my legal team needed a little more motivating.

“Right. Then you’re all fired. My assistant will see you out.” I gestured for Emily to open the door before flipping my laptop open, keeping my attention on the screen as they all continued to stare. “Did you not understand me? I said get the fuck out.”

“You can’ t fire us.” This came from the back of the room. A young kid, probably a paralegal, with thick glasses and a pert nose. No one of consequence other than he was the only one with balls enough to argue with me.

“Can’t I?”

He shook his head, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt as he tried to keep the tremor out of his voice. “No, ma’am, you can’t. Large restructuring decisions cannot be made without written approval from the CEO. Terminating the entire legal department falls under restructuring.”

“Very good…” I looked to Emily, waiting for her to jot the kid’s name on a piece of paper and slide it in my direction.

“…Aiden. You’ve done the bare minimum and read the company bylaws.

But , if you kept reading, you would also know that names are not mentioned.

Only titles. And since nothing has been updated since my beloved father-in-law’s passing, the bylaws still state that the COO shall assume the role in instances where the CEO is temporarily unavailable.

Would you agree that our CEO is temporarily unavailable ? ”

“I… um, yes… but the board—” The poor boy was trying. He really was.

“The board has no say in instances of temporary absences. Unless you’re trying to imply my husband isn’t coming back?” I arched a brow. Daring any one of them to challenge me.

There was more than one way to bring a man to his knees. Legal jargon just happened to be my weapon of choice today.

He shook his head, swallowing hard before slinking back in his chair.

“I didn’t think so.” I slammed my laptop closed again, if only to emphasize my point.

“That, gentleman, is what I call a loophole in an at-will state. The kind of loophole I would hope a room full of Harvard graduates could figure out on their own. The kind of loophole I expect you all to uncover before I have no choice but to find someone who can. Understand?”

I was met by a mixture of grumbles and nods, and then silence as the room emptied much quicker than it filled this morning.

I pulled my flask out of my inner pocket and took a swig. Not caring who could see me through the glass walls. Drinking on the job was the least of my problems. Our CEO’s temporary status was the most.

The fact Tate was “missing” might have been beneficial for today’s lesson.

But that was about all it was good for. Legally, I was in marital limbo.

Neither wife nor widow. And without an heir, I was no better than a fucking mistress.

Names didn’t matter when it came to joint assets—at least according to my husband’s living will they didn’t.

Blood did. And the only blood between us wasn’t mine either.

It had been weeks and no one had found a thing worth a damn. Not that I thought they would. I just didn’t appreciate the fact the fuckers wouldn’t even try. It was out of laziness, not foresight. And I didn’t tolerate laziness, especially from the type of men privileged enough to have it.

“Come in or don’t. But standing on the threshold just makes you seem like a pervert, Mr. Walker.

” I kept my eyes on the blank email in front of me, my fingers hovering over the keys without touching them.

I’d sensed the kid watching me for the last five minutes, waiting for him to grow the backbone he needed to interrupt me.

Something that didn’t appear likely to happen anytime soon.

He cleared his throat, and I looked up to find him toying with his headset. Out of habit or anxiety, I couldn’t be sure. “I think I found something…”

“Think or know?”

“Well, I know… but I’m not entirely sure it’ll be something you want to hear…”

I twirled a hand in the air, gesturing for him to get on with it, and Elliot closed the distance. Approaching my desk like he was afraid it would reach out and strike him.

It wouldn’t, but I might if he didn’t get on with it.

“Obviously, finding Mr. Prescott alive is better than the unknowns that come with him being missing. But… proving that he is dead—or rather, proving that it’s the most likely alternative—is the next best thing.

” Elliot lifted an arm and began rubbing at the back of his neck.

“For you I mean. Not so much for Mr. Prescott, I guess.”

“And how exactly do you expect me to prove he’s dead without a body, Mr. Walker?” I challenged. “Unless you know where he is or at a minimum know someone who does?”

“Um, no, of course not. But you don’t necessarily need a body, not if there’s enough evidence to suggest he probably isn’t alive.

We just need to follow the money. Someone like Mr. Prescott is used to a certain lifestyle.

He isn’t likely to just vanish into thin air without bringing a shit-ton of cash with him. ”

“Except all our assets are frozen until he decides to show his face. If he doesn’t come looking for it, isn’t that proof enough?”

“Well, yes and no. There are two things the courts require in order to declare someone legally dead. Proof is just one of them…”

I could tell by Elliot’s tone I wouldn’t like the answer but I asked it anyway. “And what’s the other?”

“Time…”

“How much time?” I hissed.

“Seven years?—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Seven years? How the fuck do you expect me to keep this company running for seven years without proper funding!”

“Considering Mr. Prescott is a public figure, we could press for special circumstances and hopefully get it knocked down to five… Until then, I think our best bet is to look into getting some investors.”

“Investors,” I balked. “No one invests without wanting something in return. And usually it’s a lot more than you’re willing to give.”

Elliot shrugged. “Then offer them something else. Something you don’t care about but they think you want. It tends to make them want it more just to take it from you.”

I didn’t respond. But my lips did tug at one side, fighting the urge to smirk. Kid was smarter than he looked. Which also meant he was dangerous.

“Before you leave, send Bernard in, would you?” I kept my tone neutral. Didn’t want to clue anyone in to the fact I was probing the company’s financials. “And tell him to bring this quarter’s revenue.”

Elliot nodded, clicking the door closed behind him as I watched him go. My mind shifting from the sort of ones and zeros that made up my computer screen to the kind that didn’t add up on the spreadsheet Emily sent over.