Chapter 5 - The New Director of Research
Grant Holloway stared at Fiona as if she were a ghost materialized in the middle of a nightmare.
"You..." Grant breathed out, his voice barely audible over the hum of the boardroom ventilation system. "You're Northstar?"
"Surprised?" Fiona asked calmly, taking a seat directly across from him—the seat that had belonged to the managing partner for over a decade. She opened her portfolio and slid a bound document toward the center of the table. "For the past four years, while working downstairs at The Sterling to pay off my late mother’s medical debts and finish my master’s degree in quantitative economics at NYU on night scholarships, I’ve been analyzing structural debt anomalies in the domestic energy sector. Your firm just happened to be the loudest ship sailing directly into the iceberg."
A senior partner down the table cleared his throat nervously. "Miss Adams... if you hold the proprietary models that predicted the Meridian collapse, what is your proposition to this board?"
Fiona looked around the room, meeting the eyes of every institutional investor present. Her composure was absolute.
"My proposition is simple," Fiona said clearly. "Holloway Capital is currently bleeding assets because its leadership relied on ego rather than empirical data. I am prepared to step in as the new Managing Director of Macroeconomic Research—under my own terms."
"Terms?" Grant snarled, his face twisting with bitter fury as he fought to maintain his crumbling dignity. "You're a waitress! You don't have the executive pedigree to run a multi-billion-dollar research division!"
"I had enough pedigree to wipe out forty-two percent of your portfolio in twenty minutes while carrying a basket of warm rolls," Fiona countered smoothly, not even blinking at his outburst.
Laughter—nervous, stunned, but undeniable—rippled through several of the junior partners down the table. Even Nolan Porter allowed himself a faint, appreciative smile.
Fiona turned her attention back to Nolan and the Vanguard representatives. "My terms are non-negotiable. First, Holloway Capital will immediately establish a fully funded, independent debt-relief foundation for families burdened by predatory medical debt—starting with the exact sixty-three thousand dollars remaining on my late mother’s hospital account, plus fifty similar families in the Bronx."
Nolan nodded without hesitation. "Approved."
"Second," Fiona continued, looking straight at Grant Holloway, whose face had turned the color of ash, "Grant will step down as managing partner effective immediately, retaining a minority non-voting stakeholder position with zero operational control."
Grant stood up so fast his heavy leather chair crashed backward onto the carpeted floor. "I built this empire! I won't be pushed out by a nobody from the Bronx!"
"You didn't build an empire, Grant," Fiona said, her voice dropping into a quiet, cutting register that commanded the entire room. "You built a house of cards on top of other people's blind spots. And today, the wind finally caught up."
Nolan Porter signaled to two burly security guards standing quietly outside the glass boardroom doors. They stepped inside, walking toward Grant with quiet, professional efficiency.
May you like
Grant looked around the table. Not a single partner raised a hand to defend him. Meridian stock was still plunging on the screens outside; the firm’s survival depended entirely on the woman sitting across from him.
Defeated, his shoulders sagging beneath his designer blazer, Grant turned on his heel and walked out of the boardroom without another word, his footsteps echoing hollowly down the long corridor.
