His pulse pounded as he stared out over the glowing New Orleans cityscape, each light a testament to his life’s work. The air in the penthouse was thick with tension, the silence only broken by the occasional clink of ice in his attorney’s glass. Fiddling with his diamond cufflinks, he gritted his teeth.
“I’m sorry, Grant,” a deep voice said from behind him.
Grant twisted to face him, his chiseled jaw tight. “You should be. How could you have let this happen?”
“No one could have seen this coming. No one.”
“You’re here because you see things coming no one else could.” His back muscles tightened as he leaned over to grip the edge of the polished mahogany desk.
Mitchell winced after a sip of his brandy. “Grant–”
“Don’t patronize me, Mitchell. Fix this. That’s what I pay you for.”
The old man ran a hand through his silver hair before he adjusted the button on his expensive suit and eased into a seat on the opposite side of the desk. “I’m not sure there is an easy fix to this, Grant.”
The crystal paperweight rattled as Grant slammed his hands on the desk. He flung a finger back toward the floor-to-ceiling window of the penthouse office of the Harrington Global Enterprises. “Do you see those lights? The millions of them? They can be seen from space; that’s how many of them there are.”
Mitchell let his features settle into a neutral position as he braced for the tongue-lashing. After twenty-five years with the energy and telecommunication powerhouse, he’d lived through more than enough of Grant Harrington’s outbursts.
“I provide the energy for every single one of those lights. When someone makes a call, it’s because of this company.”
“I’m well-aware of what this company does.”
“My company.” He poked a finger at his broad chest. “My company provides power and communication for the eastern seaboard, from Florida to Boston.”
Mitchell lifted his chin as he swung an ankle onto his knee, carefully balancing the red-tabbed folder on his lap. “Unfortunately, that may no longer be the case, Grant. I’m sorry, but the board has serious concerns about your ability to successfully manage and grow this company.”
Grant frowned as he spun away from the sparsely furnished, modern office to face the window again. He’d taken the reins of the small company of Harrington Holdings from his grandfather and father twenty-five years ago as a young man.
He’d spent his life growing that small but thriving company into a global powerhouse, thrusting the Harringtons from well-off to commanding. He’d lost four wives in the pursuit of his ambitions with Harrington Global. The weight of generations pressed on his shoulders. This company wasn’t just profit; it was legacy. A testament to the Harringtons of the past, and the generations to come.
But the bottom line he’d built had kept investors happy, and his latest spouse in the lap of luxury. To lose everything he’d built was a slap in the face from every board member who’d called his abilities into question.
Grant heaved a sigh, crossing his arms. “Are you sure we don’t have the votes?”
“Doesn’t seem that way. Only Blackburn, Mitchell, Foster, and Whitfield are sure votes your way.”
Grant rubbed the back of his neck as the other names rambled through his mind. Was there anyone’s arm he could twist to swing the vote?
“Not Dunbar?”
“No, and he’s only the fifth vote. We need a super majority for a vote of no confidence. With Dunbar, we don’t even have a majority.”
Grant flicked his gaze to the ceiling as he shook his head. “Who started this?”
“Does it matter?”
He snapped his gaze to the attorney. He wanted a name. He needed to identify his enemy before he formed an attack plan.
“What do you think?”
