Chapter 19: I Am the Chair

The Dunhill annual meeting was Thursday at ten, in the tower's glass atrium.

Six hundred shareholders sat in rows.

Forty cameras stood along the back wall, because Margaret had leaked the guardianship petition to every paper in the city.

The headline that morning said "Dunhill Heir Hides Ailing Grandmother."

I stood in a side room with Jack, reading it on my phone.

"They'll ask where Eleanor is," he said.

"Let them."

"The doctors said she shouldn't come."

"She said she would."

"Iris."

"She said it with her left hand and a pen, Jack. It took her four minutes. Then she underlined it."

He took my hands.

"Whatever happens out there," he said, "I'm standing at your left."

"Where you always stand."

"Where I always stand."

The lights dropped.

The general counsel opened the meeting.

He read the quorum, the minutes and the audit.

Then he said, "The Chair will now address the shareholders."

I walked out to the podium, and nobody clapped.

Six hundred people looked at a woman in a gray blazer with a torn cuff and wondered who had let a schoolteacher on stage.

"My name is Iris Dunhill Bannon," I said.

A murmur ran through the room.

"For two years, the Chair's office has signed your quarterly reports, your acquisitions and your payroll."

I let that settle.

"The Chair is me."

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