"I know exactly where I'm meant to go," Angela said.
The corporate secretary, Evelyn Park, stood near the doorway with a tablet pressed to her chest. She was the only person in the room who seemed troubled by the fact that Angela had been escorted upstairs through the executive entrance rather than appearing by accident. Evelyn had received two encrypted communications from outside counsel that morning, both marked urgent, and the chairman had ordered her not to interrupt preparations for the Henderson vote. She had also noticed that the visitor's name on the authorized-access list was not merely Angela. It was Dr. Angela Morgan, authorized by the shareholder transition team.
Evelyn made one more attempt. "Mr. Hawthorne, I think we ought to confirm the morning's ownership notices before proceeding."
"Later," Hawthorne snapped. "We have a dress-code problem to resolve first."
The chief financial officer, Graham Bell, entered carrying a binder full of acquisition projections. He stopped when he saw Angela at the head of the table. "Who is this?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "Are we dealing with a campus protest?"
"You are dealing with a shareholder," Angela answered.
"Then you can make an appointment with investor relations," Graham replied. "This session is restricted."
The men around the table looked relieved to have somebody put the matter into a familiar category. Shareholders complained. Shareholders requested information. Shareholders waited outside while boards made decisions on their behalf. In their minds, the hierarchy had been restored, and Angela was simply refusing to recognize it.
Angela opened her notebook. The first visible page contained a hand-drawn map of Thornfield's subsidiaries, with revenue streams, operating margins, litigation reserves, and lines marking the movement of cash between divisions. On the next page was a list of names, dates, and employee complaints. Graham was close enough to see that the figures were organized with the rigor of someone who understood the company well, but he did not look down long enough to notice.
"Professional clothing would have been a reasonable beginning," Hawthorne said. "We have standards here."
"Standards are important," Angela agreed. "I came to discuss yours."
She set a fountain pen across the notebook. Its black barrel was unmarked except for a narrow silver band, and it had been a gift from her daughter when Angela completed her last major acquisition. The pen cost more than Hawthorne would have guessed, but that was not why Angela carried it. Her daughter had once said that a signature mattered more than the label on the instrument used to write it. Angela had kept the pen ever since.
"This is serious business," Webb said, pulling his jacket straight. "You appear to have confused a board meeting with an opportunity to make a social statement."
"It's possible to do serious business and understand social consequences at the same time," Angela replied. "In fact, your company might be healthier if somebody had tried it sooner."