For several seconds, Martin did not speak. The silence felt different from the one that had followed Hawthorne's insult. He turned a page, checked the signatures, checked the filing reference number, and asked Evelyn for his laptop. Then he read the acknowledgment attached to the written shareholder consent.
"Richard," he said, and his voice was no longer steady, "we need to stop this meeting."
"Because she brought paper?" Hawthorne demanded.
"Because the filing is genuine," Martin answered. "And the voting shareholders have already acted."
Graham opened his laptop, found the morning disclosure, and stared at the screen. He had heard rumors about a potential ownership challenge for months, but the controlling investment had seemed dispersed among funds and affiliates whose names he did not recognize. The disclosures had been made through the appropriate regulatory channels as holdings changed, yet the board's senior leadership had assumed Apex was merely another activist investor that could be managed or ignored. The previous day's block purchase had ended that assumption without asking for permission.
"Fifty-one point three," Graham whispered. "Richard, she controls the voting stock."
Angela remained standing beside the chair. "I have not asked anybody to accept my word. The stockholder action was drafted under your bylaws, reviewed by Delaware counsel, and delivered through the registered office. The consent removes the directors identified in its schedule and elects a replacement board. Corporate counsel has copies of everything."
Hawthorne stared at her. "Who the hell are you?"
"Dr. Angela Morgan," she said. "Managing partner of Apex Strategic Partners."
Webb's expression changed first. He had spent enough years in private finance to know the firm, even if he had not recognized its founder without a photograph in a business magazine. Graham followed, then Martin, whose eyes moved abruptly from her face to the signatures on the documents. Hawthorne was slower, perhaps because recognizing the name meant recognizing how badly he had misjudged the woman standing before him.
"You bought Thornfield?" Hawthorne asked.
"My investment group acquired a controlling voting interest," Angela replied. "And the first thing your former board chose to do when the new controlling shareholder entered this room was threaten to have her removed for wearing jeans."
Outside the glass walls, Manhattan continued with its business. The traffic moved, aircraft crossed a cold sky, and somewhere below, thousands of people worked for a company whose leadership had just changed. Inside, eight men looked toward a woman they had treated as an intruder. The security chief lowered his radio without being told.
Angela picked up her notebook and looked directly at Hawthorne. "Now that we've clarified who is authorized to be here, shall we discuss the Henderson acquisition? Or would you prefer to spend a few more minutes talking about my clothes?"