Chapter 7 - I Took My Father's Chair
The emergency board meeting lasted eleven minutes before Preston tried to destroy my father.
He arrived wearing navy blue.
Calm.
Polished.
Almost sympathetic.
That was Preston at his most dangerous.
“Our concern is not personal,” he told the board. “Robert DuPont has served this company faithfully for thirty-two years.”
My father sat at the head of the conference table.
I sat beside him.
Preston looked directly at me.
“But sentiment cannot replace responsible leadership.”
Three directors nodded.
Traitors.
Or frightened men.
Sometimes the difference barely mattered.
Preston’s investment fund had quietly accumulated seventeen percent of DuPont Atlantic through distressed shareholders.
Combined with proxies, he controlled enough votes to challenge Dad.
He distributed financial reports.
Revenue down.
Insurance costs up.
Debt crisis.
Warehouse fire.
Everything Preston himself had helped create.
“What do you propose?” Director Bernard asked.
Preston folded his hands.
“New leadership.”
Dad looked exhausted.
I felt something inside me settle.
“What leadership?”
Preston smiled.
“Mine.”
I laughed.
Every head turned.
Preston frowned.
“Something funny?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“You sabotage a company for three years and then offer to rescue it.”
His expression did not change.
“That is a serious accusation.”
“So is arson.”
His attorney immediately whispered to him.
I continued.
“You purchased our subcontractors. Influenced our insurers. Acquired our debt.”
Preston leaned back.
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
That was the first lie.
Not fully.
But Sofia had enough evidence to make discovery painful.
Preston’s smile weakened.
I placed one document in front of each director.
“Moretti Maritime has refinanced all outstanding DuPont debt.”
Roman sat at the far end of the room.
He had not spoken once.
That made everyone more nervous.
Preston looked at him.
“This is extortion.”
Roman finally answered.
“Charging lower interest?”
A pause.
“I’m losing touch.”
Director Bernard almost smiled.
Then I placed another document down.
“Northstar Terminal.”
The room changed.
Half the directors had heard rumors.
None knew details.
“On my thirtieth birthday, controlling rights transfer to me.”
Preston stared.
I continued.
“I intend to integrate Northstar into DuPont Atlantic.”
Dad looked at me.
That was new information to him too.
“If the board approves a restructuring plan.”
Director Walsh asked, “What kind?”
“Independent audit. New compliance department. No more family-only executive appointments.”
Dad blinked.
“You’re proposing replacing us?”
“I’m proposing saving the company.”
Preston smiled.
“And who becomes CEO?”
I looked at my father.
His eyes told me he understood before I spoke.
“Interim?”
I turned toward the board.
“Me.”
Silence.
Preston laughed.
“You?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never run a shipping company.”
“I spent twelve years inside one.”
“You planned charity events.”
I looked at him.
“That’s what you thought.”
I had graduated from Georgetown with a degree in international logistics.
Worked three years in DuPont operations.
Then Mom died.
Dad asked me to move into communications because he thought operations was too stressful.
Later Preston encouraged me to leave entirely.
I let both men convince me that supporting them was more practical than building something myself.
Not anymore.
I opened my laptop.
For thirty minutes, I presented a restructuring plan.
Northstar modernization.
Cold-storage facilities.
Automated cargo tracking.
Strategic partnership with Moretti Maritime—but no ownership transfer.
Union commitments.
Debt reduction.
Independent oversight.
When I finished, nobody laughed.
Preston looked furious.
The vote happened.
Seven for me.
Five for Preston.
Two abstentions.
My father stepped down as CEO.
I became interim chief executive of DuPont Atlantic.
After everyone left, Dad remained in his chair.
I stood nearby.
“Are you angry?”
“No.”
“Sad?”
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Fair.”
He smiled weakly.
“Your mother would have done exactly this.”
“That’s either comforting or terrifying.”
“Both.”
He stood.
Then offered me the chair.
I sat.
It felt too large.
Roman remained in the doorway.
“You planned that?”
“Most of it.”
“The CEO part?”
“About twenty minutes before the meeting.”
“That explains the look Sofia gave you.”
“She’ll recover.”
He came closer.
“You were good.”
I looked at him.
“Don’t sound surprised.”
“I’m not.”
That pleased me more than praise should have.
Then Sofia entered.
“You both need to see this.”
A local news channel had obtained audio from my meeting with Preston at the Harbor Club.
Edited audio.
My question about Malcolm Voss had been removed.
Roman’s intervention remained.
Then clips of Roman’s admission that his organization had “done things” appeared over images of me entering Moretti offices.
The headline:
DUPONT HEIRESS TURNS TO ALLEGED MOB BOSS AFTER BROKEN WEDDING.
Preston gave a statement.
“I remain deeply concerned that Eleanor is being manipulated by dangerous individuals during an emotional period.”
I almost threw the remote.
Roman looked amused.
“What?”
“You hate being called emotional.”
“Would you enjoy being described that way?”
“I’ve been called homicidal.”
“Are you?”
“Occasionally emotional.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Then the broadcast changed.
Breaking news.
Federal investigators had opened a preliminary inquiry into Moretti Maritime.
Roman’s amusement disappeared.
Sofia swore.
“What inquiry?”
The reporter continued.
Evidence allegedly connecting Moretti-controlled companies to cargo irregularities at Northstar Terminal.
Historical and current.
I looked at Roman.
“Current?”
“Impossible.”
“Unless…”
He understood.
Preston had planted evidence.
Sofia’s phone rang.
She listened.
Her face changed.
“Agents are at Pier Seven.”
Roman stood.
“What did they find?”
“Containers.”
“What containers?”
She swallowed.
“Unregistered pharmaceuticals.”
I stared at Roman.
“Are they yours?”
“No.”
I believed him immediately.
That frightened me.
Roman looked at Sofia.
“Who had access?”
“Operations management.”
“Names.”
She read them.
One stopped Roman cold.
Matteo Moretti.
His cousin.
His oldest friend.
His chief operating officer.
Roman’s expression became unreadable.
I asked, “You trust him?”
Roman stared toward the harbor.
“With my life.”
Sofia answered quietly.
“Maybe that was the problem.”
May you like
And suddenly the war was no longer only inside my family.
Someone inside Roman’s was working for Preston too.
