Three days later, the Croft Holdings boardroom smelled of stale coffee and desperation. The stock had stabilized, but at a humiliating low.
William sat at the head of the table, looking like a man who hadn’t slept in a week. The Board of Directors, a collection of grey-haired men who usually bowed to him, were now looking at him with open hostility.
“This is negligence, William,” the Chairman spat. “You’ve destabilized the legacy.”
“I did what was necessary to protect the assets from a hostile actor,” William replied mechanically.
“We have taken matters into our own hands,” the Chairman interrupted. “We have hired external crisis management.”
The double doors swung open. Cynthia Sharpe walked in.
She was sharp angles and old money, dressed in a crimson power suit that cost more than most people’s cars. She was a shark in human skin, a woman William had known since boarding school, who had always looked at him with a mix of hunger and calculation.
“Hello, William,” Cynthia purred, tossing a tablet onto the table. “You’ve made quite a mess.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, Cynthia,” William growled.
“You need a miracle,” she corrected, circling his chair. “The ‘Luna Scandal’ combined with this market crash makes you look unstable. We need to project strength. Unity. Invincibility.”
She leaned down, her perfume overpowering the room. “The Croft Charity Gala is tomorrow night. You will attend. You will smile. And you will bring Seraphina.”
“I am done with Seraphina,” William snapped.
“The public isn’t,” Cynthia countered coldly. “Until we spin the narrative that she’s a liar, you are the grieving hero standing by her side. If you dump her now, after crashing the stock, you look like a monster. You will take her, you will play the part, and I will fix your company. Do not test me, William.”