Beyond the glass wall, the Atlantic was turning dark beneath a bruised purple sky.
A storm was approaching.
Grace had always liked storms.
Not because of the thunder.
Because they forced people to stop pretending the weather was fine.
Declan sat on her right.
Calloway Maritime’s general counsel, Rebecca Sloan, sat on her left.
Three board members attended in person.
Four more appeared on encrypted video screens.
The CFO, Martin Heller, was physically present and looked as though he had not slept in days.
In front of Grace sat four folders.
Blue.
Black.
Red.
White.
The colors were deliberate.
Grace liked clarity.
At 5:59, the doors burst open.
Ethan entered.
His hair was windblown.
His collar was open.
His expression was furious.
He looked at Grace first.
Then Declan.
Then Rebecca.
“What the hell is this?”
Rebecca spoke.
“Sit down, Ethan.”
“This is my company.”
“No,” Grace said quietly.
Every face turned toward her.
