The Boardroom Showdown
The Collins Group boardroom gleamed like a battlefield dressed in glass and mahogany.
The long oval table shone under the overhead lights, polished until it reflected the faces of the men and women who sat around it.
Shareholders in tailored suits lined the seats, their watches glittering with diamonds and gold, their expressions expectant.
This wasn't just a meeting—it was a trial.
At the head of the room stood Brandon Collins, puffed up like a general before his army.
His navy-blue suit was cut to perfection, his silk tie blindingly bold, his every gesture a performance.
He slapped a thick folder of documents onto the table, letting the sound echo like a gavel.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he declared, his voice booming with the false ease of a man who rehearsed in the mirror.
"Today, we make history.
Today, we decide the future of Collins Group.
We stand on the edge of unprecedented growth, and under my leadership, we will leap into a new era of dominance."
He snapped his fingers, and the screen behind him flickered to life. Charts filled the projection: lines climbing skyward, bars stretching taller, profits multiplying.
Brandon strolled back and forth, waving at the numbers as though they were living proof of his genius.
"Innovation," he thundered, stabbing the air with his finger. "Expansion. Global recognition.
I've laid out the strategy that will catapult us into the ranks of international conglomerates.
No longer will Collins Group be confined to this city's borders—we will spread across oceans."
He turned suddenly, flashing a rehearsed smile toward Emily, who sat stiff and tense beside him.
"My sister Emily has been a valuable asset in implementing certain details, but make no mistake—I am the one carrying the torch forward.
And I will not fail you."
Polite applause rippled through the room. Some shareholders nodded with interest; others leaned forward, eyes gleaming at the golden projections. Brandon basked in it, arms open like a preacher receiving worship.
And at the far end of the table, Leon Gray sat silently, unnoticed by most, dismissed by the rest. His posture was calm, his hands folded neatly.
He hadn't been invited—Emily had dragged him along, muttering coldly that he should "at least try to look like part of the family."
He was the shadow in the room, the one no one counted, the one who blended into the walls.
But the few who glanced at him found themselves unsettled by his unreadable gaze.
Brandon's eyes caught him eventually. The corner of his mouth curved upward in a mocking smirk.
"And unlike some… freeloaders," Brandon sneered, gesturing toward Leon, "I know what it takes to build empires."
Laughter erupted from the boardroom. A ripple of amusement swept through the shareholders, some chuckling, some openly grinning.
Emily stiffened, her nails digging into the table, but she didn't defend her husband.
Leon remained still.
He didn't rise to the bait. His silence was a weapon sharper than Brandon's insults, though only a few in the room could sense it.
The Cracks Appear
Brandon ended his presentation with a grand flourish, bowing his head dramatically as if expecting thunderous applause.
"So, esteemed shareholders," he declared, voice swelling, "I ask for your vote of confidence today.
Together, we will make Collins Group the envy of the business world!"
The room responded with scattered applause—loud in pockets, polite in others. Not everyone was convinced.
Then came the questions.
An elderly shareholder with silver hair and sharp glasses cleared his throat.
"Mr. Collins, these projections here," he said, pointing with his pen, "assume a twenty percent increase in foreign investment over the next quarter.
Can you confirm these deals are secured?"
Brandon's smile stiffened.
"Negotiations are ongoing," he replied smoothly, though his eyes darted. "But don't worry, they're practically finished..
The contracts are merely formalities."
Another shareholder, a woman in her fifties with a reputation for brutal honesty, leaned forward.
"And these property acquisitions you've listed—rumor has it another firm has already outbid
Collins Group. Is that true?"
Color rose in Brandon's neck.
"Temporary setbacks," he snapped, before softening his tone. "We'll crush them soon enough.
It's nothing we can't handle."
The murmurs began then, faint whispers that spread like cracks across ice.
Shareholders glanced at one another, brows furrowed.
Leon shifted slightly in his chair. His voice, when it came, was quiet—yet it carried across the room, clear and calm.
"Numbers are like glass, Brandon," he said. "They sparkle beautifully… until they shatter."
The air froze. Every head turned toward the far end of the table. Surprise flickered in the eyes of several shareholders. The useless son-in-law had spoken?
Brandon barked out a laugh, too loud, too harsh. "Ignore him!" he scoffed, waving dismissively.
"He doesn't know business from breadcrumbs. He's only here because my sister insists on dragging him along."
Some chuckled in agreement, but others exchanged thoughtful looks. Leon's words lingered, unsettling in their quiet precision.
Brandon pressed on, trying to regain control, but the doubt had already been planted. Every time he gestured toward the glowing charts, the shareholders no longer saw only the rise—they imagined the shatter Leon had warned of.
The Vote
The chairman, a man with a heavy gavel voice and decades of experience, finally spoke.
"Enough. We move to the vote. All those in favor of Mr. Brandon Collins's proposal, raise your hands."
Hands hesitated in the air. One rose—then another.
A few more followed. Brandon's eyes darted eagerly, counting, but the tally was far fewer than he expected. Sweat glistened at his temple.
The chairman's gaze swept the room. "Against?"
Hands shot up.
One after another, firm and steady. More than half the room, with no hesitation this time.
A murmur swept the boardroom, a living wave of disbelief and relief. Some sighed quietly, some smiled faintly, and others simply nodded as though this outcome had been inevitable.
Brandon's heart thudded against his ribs.
His face drained of color. Emily stared at the numbers on the screen as though seeing them for the first time, her knuckles white against the table's edge.
"The proposal is rejected," the chairman announced firmly. "Collins Group will pursue alternative leadership options."
The words landed like a verdict.
Brandon's chair screeched violently against the floor as he shot to his feet. "You can't do this!" he shouted, his voice breaking with desperation.
"I'm the future of this company! You'll regret this!"
Silence answered him.
At the far end of the table, Leon rose slowly.
He adjusted his cufflinks with calm precision, his movements unhurried. When he spoke, his voice was soft—yet it cut sharper than any shout.
"Maybe you're not the future, Brandon," he said. "Maybe you're the punishment."
The words slammed into the room like a hammer. Shareholders stared, several with wide eyes, as though suddenly seeing Leon in a new light.
Brandon spun on him, face red, finger trembling with rage.
"Shut up! You're nothing! You're—"
But the words died in his throat. Leon's faint smile was colder than ice, and he turned without another word, walking out of the boardroom with unhurried steps.
The door clicked shut behind him.
For the first time, the Collins Group boardroom did not laugh at Leon Gray.
They whispered instead, their voices tinged with unease.
Who was this quiet man who spoke like a judge?
And why did it feel like, in dismissing him all these years, they had been blind to the power that had always been sitting in their midst?