“Mr. Miller,” the lawyer echoed, his voice slicing through the dead silence of the lobby. “The transfer papers are ready.”
Ms. Blackwood let out a nervous, brittle laugh, her designer coffee trembling in her hand. “Transfer papers? What is this joke? He cleans my floors!”
“He owns your floors, Eleanor,” the lawyer replied smoothly, opening the leather folio. “And the walls. And the international conglomerate that absorbed your father’s company forty years ago.”
The color vanished from the CEO’s face. The bustling lobby was now paralyzed in collective shock.
Robert didn’t smile. He took the pen from the lawyer. The posture of a frail, submissive old man vanished in an instant, replaced by the commanding presence of a titan.
“Nine years, Eleanor,” Robert’s voice was no longer a meek whisper, but a resonant, icy baritone. “Nine years I spent pushing this mop. I wanted to see exactly how you treated the people holding this empire together from the ground up. Your father begged me to let you lead. He promised me you had his heart.”
Robert dropped the mop handle. It clattered against the polished marble like a gunshot. “He was wrong.”
He signed the document with a fluid, practiced stroke.
“What… what does that mean?” she stammered, stepping back.
“It means morality clause 7A is officially enacted,” the lawyer stated. “Immediate termination of leadership due to gross breach of corporate ethics.”
Robert turned to Daniel, the young employee still frozen in absolute disbelief.
“Daniel, was it?” Robert asked, reaching out to gently straighten the young man’s crooked grey tie.
“Y-yes, sir.”
“You have courage, son. And a spine. Two things my boardroom desperately needs.” Robert handed him the signed document. “Congratulations on your promotion to Interim Director of Operations. My team will brief you upstairs.”
Robert turned back to the disgraced CEO, nudging the yellow bucket toward her with his worn work boot.
“As for you, Ms. Blackwood… you missed a spot.”