The honeymoon period of the new regime lasted exactly forty-eight hours. By Wednesday, the sharks were circling.
Victoria sat in her office, watching the *Bloomberg* terminal. The stock ticker for CROFT was flashing red. Down 2.4%.
“It’s the blogs,” Malcolm said, pacing in front of her desk. He had flown in from London to help with the transition. “They’re calling it the ‘Widow’s Dip.’ The narrative is that the House of Croft is soft under female leadership. They think you’re a placeholder until Leo comes of age.”
Victoria picked up a tablet displaying a headline from a financial gossip column: *FROM STAGE TO BOARDROOM: CAN THE SONGBIRD CARRY THE TUNE?*
“They want blood,” Victoria said, rubbing her temples. “They want to see if I have teeth.”
“You need an acquisition,” Malcolm advised. “Something aggressive. Something Alistair would have done, but smarter.”
“The Vane Group,” Victoria said suddenly. “Julianna Vane has been poaching our engineers for months. Her subsidiary, Vane-Tech, is vulnerable.”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “Julianna is a ‘Vulture.’ She eats CEOs for breakfast. Going after her is a declaration of war.”
“Good,” Victoria replied, her eyes hardening. “If they think I’m weak, let’s show them I can hunt.”