Chapter 22: The Chair

Ingrid's POV

My father's old guard stood in the lobby at half past five in the morning.

There were six men in dark suits, with their hands folded in front of them.

I knew every one of them.

They had eaten at our table at Christmas and carried me on their shoulders at the hotel's fiftieth anniversary.

They were retired directors with no vote.

My father had brought them to sit in the lobby chairs, so the staff would see who the family stood behind.

I came out of the elevator in yesterday's dress with Mateo a step behind me.

"Gentlemen," I said. "There's coffee in the café at six. I'd have it there."

"Ingrid, dear," said the oldest. "Your father asked us to be present."

"He asked you to be furniture."

I kept my voice kind.

"At nine, nine people are going to vote on whether he stays."

I let them take that in.

"You can be heard in that room if what you say isn't about me."

They looked at each other.

The head of security had not moved from the revolving door.

Now he took one step to the side so they could walk out through it.

Four of them did.

The two who stayed sat down on the far bench.

They did not look at my father when he came out of the elevator at ten to nine.

The vote took ten minutes.

The eldest director read the motion in a dry voice, and the other eight listened.

Marisol's recordings had gone to every member by courier at seven.

Preston's loading-dock confession had gone with them, and so had a copy of the trust, marked in red where it said ceremony.

My father spoke for four minutes, kindly, about my mother and the family.

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