chapter 7

Heir to Skyfall

Chapter 7 — The Boardroom Gauntlet

She wore navy.

Not armor exactly, but close. A structured blazer, tailored trousers, low heels she could stand in for hours. She'd pulled her hair back clean and kept her makeup to almost nothing. She wanted them to see her face — unfiltered, unapologetic, entirely awake despite four hours of no sleep.

Salvador drove. Neither of them talked much on the way. He had one hand on the wheel and his eyes on the road and she had her notes open on her phone, reading back through the board composition Alexander's assistant had sent her the night the announcement was made. Eleven members. She needed six. She knew which four were Victor's without having to ask. She was less sure about the other seven.

She was going to find out in about forty minutes.

Skyfall Tower cut the skyline ahead of them, glass and steel, the company name etched into the stone of the entrance in letters three feet high. She'd walked past this building her entire life. She looked up at it now through the windshield and felt something settle in her chest — quiet, resolved. Whatever happened in that room, she was not going to apologize for existing.

The lobby was already busy. Cameras outside — two news vans she could see, probably more around the corner. Word had gotten out, or been leaked, which amounted to the same thing. Victor's hand, almost certainly.

They crossed the lobby toward the elevators. Drew stepped out of nowhere.

"Lydia." He fell into step beside her, smooth as water. "This doesn't have to go the way it's going. There's a cleaner solution, if you're open to it." He glanced sideways at her. "A formal alliance. Our families, publicly unified. It would neutralize Victor's narrative overnight."

She kept walking. "You're suggesting I marry you to save my inheritance."

"I'm suggesting a strategic partnership that benefits—"

"No." She hit the elevator button. "Thank you."

Drew's easy smile held but his eyes went flat for just a second. He turned to Salvador with a different expression — measuring, slightly amused. "Interesting position you've put yourself in," he said. "Protecting someone you can never actually stand beside. Publicly."

The elevator opened. Salvador put his hand on the door and looked at Drew with the particular expression of a man who has calculated every available option and chosen patience as the most effective one. "Have a good morning," he said.

They stepped in. The doors closed.

She exhaled.

Salvador's knuckles, when she glanced down, were white at his side. He caught her looking and deliberately opened his hand. "I'm fine," he said.

"I know," she said. She brushed her fingers across his briefly. He turned his hand over and held hers for the rest of the ride up.

The boardroom was on the fortieth floor — long windows, a table that seated fourteen, the city laid out below them in all directions. Nine of the eleven board members were already seated when she walked in. Victor sat at the far end with the composed ease of a man on his home ground. Two of his four supporters flanked him. The others were ranged around the table with the careful neutral expressions of people who hadn't decided yet and wanted that known.

She took the chair at the opposite head. Salvador stood against the wall near the door — he had no seat here, no vote — but she felt him behind her like a fixed point. Steady. Present.

Victor opened. He was good at this — measured language, concerns framed as questions, character attacks dressed as procedural worries. The optics. The judgment. Whether a woman with no corporate background and a week's tenure could responsibly lead a company of this size. He didn't mention the photograph directly. He didn't need to. Everyone in the room had seen it.

She let him finish.

Then she stood up.

"I want to talk about what this company actually is," she said. "Not what it looks like in a leaked photograph, and not what Victor's narrative needs it to be — what it actually is." She moved her eyes around the table, holding each face for a moment. "Eleven thousand employees. Four active construction projects in underserved districts. A healthcare partnership that my father — that Alexander — personally negotiated over three years. This company is not a prize to be traded between brothers. It is a responsibility."

She paused.

"I didn't ask to be born into this family. I didn't know this family existed until nine days ago. What I know is that the man who built everything in this room chose me — not because it was convenient, but because it's right. And I am not going to let someone who has been waiting for Alexander to get sick turn that into a procedural vote." She looked at Victor steadily. "The DNA is documented. The board resolution is filed. The law is clear. So I'll ask every member of this board to ask themselves one question before they vote: what is this company actually for?"

She sat down.

Silence.

Then Margaret Osei — board member for eleven years, Alexander's most trusted outside voice — tapped one finger on the table and said, "I think we've heard enough to table this motion." She looked around the table. "Who seconds?"

Two hands went up immediately. A third, slower, followed.

Victor's composure didn't crack. But something behind his eyes went very still — the stillness of a man recalculating rather than accepting defeat. He smiled at Lydia across the table. "Well said," he said warmly. "Alexander would be proud."

She smiled back with equal warmth and absolutely nothing behind it.

They were in the elevator going back down when Salvador's phone rang. He looked at the screen. His whole body changed — shoulders dropping by a degree, jaw tightening in the specific way that meant he was absorbing something he didn't want to absorb.

He answered. Listened. Said nothing except "How long ago" and "I'm on my way."

He lowered the phone and looked at her.

"Alexander," he said. "Second heart attack. They're taking him into surgery now."

The elevator reached the lobby. They were already moving.