Chapter 14: Twenty-Four Percent

The shareholders' room at Paulsen Freight had glass walls, and by nine on Friday morning half the company was standing outside them.

Dispatchers, drivers, two accountants and the girl from the front desk stood shoulder to shoulder in the hall, pretending to need the water cooler.

I sat in a chair against the back wall, Tobin's guest, with my hands folded in my lap.

Joel sat across the long table from his sister, and neither of them looked at the other.

The two independent directors sat at the ends, a retired banker and a woman from the grain co-op who had brought her own pen.

Ingrid came in last, in cream wool, with her lawyer behind her.

She smiled at everybody, even me.

"Good morning, sweetie," she said. "I'm glad you came to see how a company runs."

"Thanks for having me."

She sat down, opened a leather folder and read the motion in a bright voice.

"Sale of the Pier Nine property to Northline Terminals, for eleven million dollars. Sixty percent required. I vote yes with my fifty."

"Joel?"

"No," Joel said. "With my forty."

"Then it comes down to Tobin."

She turned to him, and her whole face softened.

"Tobin, sweetheart. You know where you stand."

Tobin was sitting very straight in a borrowed jacket.

"I vote no," he said.

The room went quiet.

"I'm sorry?"

"I vote no, Ingrid. With my ten."

She laughed, light and kind, and tapped the folder.

"You can't. You gave me your proxy. I have it right here in my safe."

"I revoked it Tuesday, at the pier gate," he said. "It was notarized in front of about thirty witnesses."

He slid a paper down the table.

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