William returned to the Estate that evening, brooding. He sat in the library, staring into the fire, the weight of the day’s cruelty pressing on him.
“You let them keep their stock options,” a voice said from the shadows.
William turned. Leo was sitting in the wingback chair, a book on corporate law open in his lap.
“I fired them, Leo,” William said wearily. “I stripped them of their titles and their severance.”
“But they still hold vested shares,” Leo pointed out, closing the book. “Which means they can still vote at the shareholder meetings. They can still organize a revolt.”
Leo stood up and walked to the fireplace. At twelve years old, his movements were unnervingly graceful.
“You should have triggered the ‘Bad Actor’ clause in the bylaws,” Leo advised calmly. “Force a buyback of their shares at the strike price from ten years ago. Bankrupt them. If you leave an enemy with resources, they aren’t defeated. They’re just regrouping.”
William stared at his son. The strategy was brilliant. It was also terrifyingly ruthless.
“Where did you learn that?” William asked.
“Grandfather left notes,” Leo shrugged. “I’m just reading them.”