“Thank you.”
His attorney whispered:
“Richard.”
Too late.
Adrienne looked toward Marcus.
“Security.”
Richard’s face changed.
“You’re calling police?”
“I’m removing your credentials and escorting you off company property.”
“This is a business dispute.”
“No.”
“It became something else when you admitted taking personal payment for use of company assets.”
Richard stood.
“You need me.”
Adrienne stared.
He continued:
“You think the Dallas board will tolerate this?”
“You think investors want to hear their Black CEO just detonated the highest-performing region over some boarding misunderstanding?”
The room became quiet.
Marcus looked toward Adrienne.
Richard realized what he had said.
Not the fraud.
The phrase before it.
Black CEO.
He tried to recover.
“I mean the market already frames you—”
Adrienne smiled faintly.
“Keep going.”
Richard stopped.
She stood.
“You just admitted to misusing company assets.”
“You manipulated operational records.”
“You put crews at regulatory risk.”
“You suppressed passenger complaints because the same gatekeeping culture protected your side business.”
“And your argument is that I should protect you because investors might blame my identity for the consequences of your conduct.”
Richard’s mouth tightened.
“You know how this works.”
“Yes.”
Adrienne walked around the table.
“I do.”
“That’s why you’re finished.”
Richard looked toward Marcus.
“You think she’ll protect you?”
Marcus said nothing.
Richard pointed toward him.
“He knew there were problems.”
Adrienne answered:
“He will answer for what he knew.”
Richard smiled bitterly.
“Good.”
“Because you’re about to discover this didn’t stop at regional.”
Adrienne became still.
“What does that mean?”
Richard looked toward his lawyer.
The lawyer closed his eyes.
Richard said:
“Ask Stephen Harlan why internal audit stopped reviewing executive reposition legs in March.”
Adrienne felt the room tilt slightly.
No one spoke.
Richard smiled without humor.
“I told you.”
“You need me.”
Adrienne looked toward security arriving at the door.
“No.”
She said.
“I need records.”
Richard was escorted out at 10:31.
At 10:34, Adrienne called Stephen Harlan.
He answered on the second ring.
“Hey.”
Casual.
Eleven years of trust compressed into one syllable.
Adrienne looked toward the gray folder.
“Where are you?”
“Dallas.”
“For the vote.”
“Why?”
“Cancel it.”
Silence.
“What happened?”
“Return to Columbus.”
“Adrienne, the board—”
“Return.”
His voice changed.
“Is this about Richard?”
There.
Too fast.
Adrienne closed her eyes.
“You knew.”
“Wait.”
“You knew.”
“I knew there were irregularities.”
“You knew.”
“Not what you think.”
Adrienne stared through the conference-room window.
“Come back.”
“I can explain.”
“Not on a phone.”
“Adrienne.”
She hung up.
Marcus watched.
Neither spoke.
Then Adrienne said:
“How quickly can forensic accounting freeze twenty-four months of expense records?”