Page 31 of Ugly Truths (The Veiled Truths Trilogy #2)

Silas

T he boardroom next to my father’s office is meticulously designed. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch along one side, offering a clear view of the skyline, as if Wells Corporation itself is staring down at the city, reminding everyone who built it.

The black conference table is long enough to seat the entire board with space to spare, and the tan leather chairs, which are usually neatly arranged, are slightly off-kilter and settled into by our twelve board members, myself included.

Along the walls, framed articles showcase Wells’s achievements. Expansion milestones. Regulatory victories. Pharmaceutical breakthroughs.

Proof of dominance.

My father is perched at the head of the table, flipping through his papers as if he has all the time in the world. There’s a power in forcing people to wait for you. On you. It makes every decision seem like it’s his and his alone. I’ve seen him do it a thousand times before.

We’d been steadily making our way down the quarterly agenda, with most of it being centered around the executive transition. My eyes move to the next item on my tablet, and I frown slightly at the item that wasn’t listed when I reviewed it several days ago.

Strategic Operational Growth Proposal – Discussio n

The verbiage makes the hairs on my neck stand up.

Across the table, our CFO, Everett, is the picture of neutrality, other than his fingers tapping idly against his tablet. Next to me, Natalie is scrolling through the agenda too, her mouth pressing into a tight line when she stops on the same item.

“I’d like to open the floor for an important discussion about the future of Wells Corporation,” William starts, leaning back. “Jeremy has been working on an exciting operational initiative. I’d like him to introduce it to the board.”

To my father’s left, Jeremy straightens his posture along with the front of his lavender tie. Even from my seat at the near opposite end of the room, I can see the way his body vibrates with excitement.

Natalie pokes my leg under the table, but I don’t allow my eyes to even flicker her way. I reach for my coffee cup, positioning it at my lips to conceal my grimace as Jeremy smacks his hands down against the table, jolting everyone to attention.

“Right now, Wells is standing at a crossroads,” he begins in a conspiratorial voice. “One way leads to innovation, the other to irrelevance.”

The confident grin he flashes reminds me of the many pharmaceutical presentations I’ve attended over the years.

At the very least, he fits the part. “Automation is the future of pharmaceutical manufacturing, and we’re behind.

If we don’t integrate AI-driven processes and rethink our global footprint, we’re going to lose our competitive edge. ”

I blink, setting my mug back down.

There’s a small beat when I expect a slide deck to flash on any of the three wall-mounted televisions, or for my brother to reach under the table to pull out board briefing packets with supporting documents and research.

Instead, Jeremy leans back in his seat, his voice taking on that particular brand of enthusiasm that comes when someone has never second-guessed themselves a day in their life.

His chair squeaks. “Our current facilities are outdated and expensive to maintain. If we fully integrate AI-driven automation into our manufacturing plants, we could reduce labor costs and increase production efficiency by nearly forty percent. And, if we shift certain key facilities overseas, we can cut expenses and improve global distribution.”

He gestures broadly, like this is a no-brainer. “Think about it. Leaner operations, faster output, lower costs. If we’re serious about long-term market positioning, this is how we get ahead.”

Silence settles, and I wait for something else. Jeremy folds his fingers together over his abdomen as he scans our reactions and smiles with such conviction it’s like he’s expecting us to give him a standing ovation.

Natalie’s foot finds my calf under the table, kicking me with the point of her heel. Though it burns, my brain is churning too quickly through the past few minutes to have a reaction.

This is insane .

Not just because AI-driven automation is still in its infancy in pharmaceuticals, but also that Wells doesn’t have the necessary infrastructure or regulatory framework in place for any of this.

Next to my brother, William offers him a small nod and shifts his chair just slightly. His arms stay loose on the armrests, but I’ve seen this move too many times not to know what he’s doing.

It’s in the slight lean, the relaxed shoulders, the faint crease in the corner of his eyes like he’s genuinely considering something.

The cues are subtle enough that most people won’t even clock them, but they’ll feel it.

The nod. The openness. The implied agreement.

He’s pulling out all the stops to show his approval without saying it.

I slide a glance past Natalie and to Elias, a prominent business leader in the city I’d brought onto the board several years ago, who is watching the room. Mark, the board’s representative for outside capital, lets out an unimpressed breath.

The silence seems to gain weight with each passing moment.

Everett blinks furiously, as if he’s trying to figure out what fresh hell he’s fallen into. “Have you run the numbers?” His voice is clipped as he leans his elbows on the table. “The financial risk alone would be substantial, if not disastrous.”

Jeremy shrugs, flashing that same lazy grin. “We’ll figure out the financials as we go. The cost savings on labor alone will balance it out over time.”

There’s barely time to register Everett’s open-mouthed shock before Dr. Miriam Alden, our medical research expert, says, “What about compliance? If we shift production overseas, how do you expect to maintain regulatory approvals in every market?”

Jeremy waves off her concern with the flick of his wrist. “Regulations always catch up to innovation. We’ll be ahead of the curve.”

Amy, our CHRO, bristles. “Have you considered the implications of mass layoffs? The lawsuits? The PR fallout?” Her voice takes on an edge I so rarely hear from the soft-spoken woman.

These words seem to land harder than the others so far, making Jeremy sit up in his seat, but he recovers quickly. “It’s about efficiency. We’ll restructure and reallocate resources. There’s always a way.”

Elias shakes his head. “What’s the actual roadmap, or are we just throwing out buzzwords?”

Jeremy hesitates just a second too long.

William leans forward, commanding everyone’s attention with the slight raise of his hand. “These are all details we can work through as we move forward into the planning process.”

It takes a moment for me to realize those words just came out of my father’s mouth.

Someone who built his entire empire on meticulous planning and absolute control is suddenly advocating for winging it ? The same man who used to demand five-year projections and contingency plans for the smallest operational changes, is now brushing off critical logistics like an afterthought?

In the midst of the chaos circling in my head, something cold settles in my chest as what I’m witnessing dawns on me.

Just weeks after I reminded him that Jeremy’s COO nomination is still off the table, my brother suddenly has a large-scale operations pitch for today. A Hail Mary, though I’m not sure I can call the trainwreck we just witnessed that.

These two conniving…

Though I’d love nothing more than to wipe that smug smile off of Jeremy’s mouth for having the audacity to embarrass us with that pathetic excuse of a presentation, the anger brewing under my skin isn’t directed at him.

It’s toward the man who just put his son in front of the board, giving him the confidence and permission to think that this would make Jeremy look like a viable COO candidate. And worse, that we’d all just readily go along with some half-baked idea without any materials or projections.

Either William has lost his ever-loving mind, or he’s so desperate to paint Jeremy in a good light that he is willing to risk everything on one of the most reckless and ill-prepared ideas ever brought forward in the over ten years I’ve been a board member.

“They aren’t just details. They’re the foundation of the entire plan,” I respond.

Both Jeremy and my father zero in on me, one pair of brown eyes narrowed with unfiltered emotion, the other delivering a glare so precise it stings like the slice of a scalpel.

My brother lets out an exasperated breath, clearly not having the patience to keep the same composure with me as he did with the others.

“Every great innovation carries risk. If we’re always waiting for the perfect conditions, we’ll never be ahead of the competition.

Leading companies don’t sit around debating logistics while the market moves forward without them. ”

I inhale sharply through my nose, shaking my head.

“It’s not about risk. It’s about calculated risk.

And the difference between the two is preparation.

These AI-driven systems aren’t proven to be reliable at the scale you’re talking about.

We’d be restructuring everything based on technology that hasn’t been fully stress-tested in a regulated environment like ours.

What happens if the automated systems fail?

If production bottlenecks because an algorithm miscalculates a batch of a medication?

Do you know what the financial hit would look like if we had to recall an entire line of product due to a single unnoticed AI error? ”

Jeremy opens his mouth, then shuts it just as fast.

I gesture toward the rest of the table, sweeping my gaze over the board members.

“The people in this room are experts in their fields. You came in here today with no presentation, no projections, and no real solutions to their very legitimate concerns. And yet you’re telling us all to just take a leap of faith? ”

Jeremy’s jaw tightens, the color in his face darkening with frustration. I can feel his fury from across the table, but I’m not here to stroke his ego. I’m here to make sure we don’t burn Wells to the ground.

Still, I ease back just a little.

“If you want us to truly consider this idea, show us how you’d address these pain points and focus on putting together a proposal for a pilot program at one of our smaller facilities. If you can come back with something tangible, then we can have a real discussion.”

Jeremy’s throat works as he tries to think of something else to say, but nothing comes.

My father does nothing to rescue him. To his right, Randall, our former CLO, who is as loyal to William as a hound is to its owner, remains motionless with his hands folded neatly in front of him.

His eyes are fixed on the table with such concentration, I’m surprised the wood doesn’t crack.

Venessa Hawke doesn’t immediately rush to William’s defense like usual, either. Her perfectly manicured nails tap against the table to Everett’s side, the only outward sign of her thoughts, but she stays quiet.

Jeremy’s hands ball into fits that he quickly moves to his lap.

William looks around the room, likely noticing the same thing the rest of us have, and finally exhales. “Well,” he says too smoothly, closing the folder in front of him with deliberate slowness. “I suppose we’ll need more discussion before we move forward. ”

The conversation quickly shifts back to normal territory—updates on existing projects, supply chain logistics, and upcoming regulatory audits. Business as usual.

Jeremy spends the rest of the meeting staring into the side of my temple, his shoulders tight, arms crossed.

In his head, I did this to him. Not because he came in here with none of the credentials or information to make a good case, but because I didn’t immediately give in the way he and my father assumed I would.

Jeremy doesn’t even see the way William gave him a stage, let him talk himself into a corner, then abandoned the entire thing the second it became clear it wouldn’t work. He set Jeremy up to fail.

And for what? To prove a point to me? That he can put Jeremy in front of the board whenever he damn well pleases, just to see if he can make something stick?

I need to talk to my brother. I told Elena I’d do it; I just wasn’t sure when. But now, seeing him sit there, seething with misplaced rage, I can’t wait any longer—because William isn’t going to stop.

Whether Jeremy wants to believe that or not, he deserves better than to be humiliated by our father for his own gain.