Part 13
My father’s smile vanished, replaced by an expression of desperate annoyance.
“Myra, please don’t make a scene here,” he muttered under his breath, leaning in close. “This isn't a family dinner. These are major international investors. You don't own any corporate shares; you only inherit the residential property. Leave the business to me.”
I didn't answer him. Instead, I nodded to Mr. Whitman, who had just entered the room behind me, accompanied by a young woman holding a professional tablet.
It was Jenna.
She wasn't holding her phone like a regular teenager today; she looked pale, professional, and entirely serious.
She placed her tablet onto the main display system of the boardroom.
“Gentlemen,” Mr. Whitman announced, his voice commanding absolute silence from the board. “Before you consider a vote on succession, you need to understand the true distribution of ownership.”
He signaled Jenna, who tapped her screen.
A comprehensive document detailing the corporate charter appeared on the wall.
“Thirty years ago,” Mr. Whitman explained, “when the Anderson Group went public, the late Arthur Anderson assigned a special class of founder’s shares—Class A Voting Stock—comprising fifty-one percent of the total voting power. These shares were held exclusively by Grace Anderson.”
My father frowned. “Yes, and upon her death, those shares were supposed to be distributed among the immediate heirs, meaning myself and my children!”
“That is what the forged amendment stated, Richard,” Mr. Whitman corrected him coldly. “However, under the validated original will, Grandma Grace exercised her right of singular assignment. She did not divide the founder’s shares.”
The display highlighted a single line of text at the bottom of the charter, glowing in bright blue.
“All Class A Voting Stock is bequeathed solely and entirely to Myra Anderson, effective immediately upon my passing.”
The board members looked from the screen to me, their expressions shifting from skepticism to absolute shock.
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“This means,” I said, stepping up to the head chair of the table and resting my hands on the leather backrest, “I don’t need your permission to be in this room. I own fifty-one percent of the voting power of this entire conglomerate. And my first official act as majority shareholder is to cancel the vote for succession.”
My father staggered back against the glass wall, his face completely devoid of color.
