Nathaniel leaned back in his chair, staring at the blinking cursor on his monitor. Terminate the agreement. Withdraw our consent for the merger. Tear up the paperwork. We are not selling to Hale Industries.
Nathaniel, wait. Wait. Wait. Panic was rising rapidly in Brooks's voice. You can't be serious.
We are 20 hours away from closing. We have board approval. We have SEC clearance pending. You're talking about walking away from two billion dollars. Two billion.
With a B. Hale will sue us into the Stone Age for breach of faith. Let them try, Nathaniel countered smoothly. The exit clauses are ironclad until the final signature. You made sure of that yourself.
Yes, but Brooks exhaled heavily. Nathaniel, why? What happened? Did they insult our margins? Did they try to change the vesting schedule?
We can negotiate. There is no negotiation, Nathaniel cut him off. Veronica Hale is fundamentally unfit to manage Sentinel's assets. She lacks the basic human temperament to be trusted with critical infrastructure. If she runs Sentinel the way she runs a ballroom, the grid will collapse in three years.
A ballroom? What are you talking about? Just do it, Brooks. Nathaniel's tone left absolutely no room for debate. It was the tone he used when a transformer was blowing out and he had seconds to reroute power before a city went dark.
Draft the termination letter. Send it to her personal email, her legal team, and CC the board. I want it in her inbox before she wakes up tomorrow. The board is going to mutiny, Brooks warned softly. I own 60% of the voting shares, Nathaniel reminded him.
They can complain all they want, but I hold the keys. Send the email. Nathaniel hung up the phone. He placed it gently on the desk. He turned his chair to look out the window.
Beyond the glass, the city lights twinkled in the distance. Millions of tiny bulbs, all reliant on the power grid he had built with his own two hands. He reached up and finally touched the swollen flesh of his cheek. Veronica Hale wanted to treat people like dirt beneath her silk shoes. She wanted to slap away anyone who didn't bow to her net worth.
Nathaniel closed his eyes. "Fine," he thought. "Let's see how much she likes the dark. " Morning sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Veronica Hale's penthouse, catching the dust motes hovering over her pristine white cashmere rugs. She sat at the edge of her dining table, sipping black espresso. Her head throbbed.