Her company, Carter Meridian Holdings, controlled investments in clean manufacturing, supply-chain technology, aviation infrastructure, and specialty finance.
Estimated personal net worth varied depending on which publication guessed.
Three-point-two billion.
Four-point-one.
Four-point-six.
Naomi never corrected any of them.
Wealth estimates entertained journalists more than they informed anyone.
What mattered to Naomi was control.
Voting rights.
Debt structure.
Liquid reserves.
Board composition.
Who could make decisions when markets turned ugly.
That was real power.
Most summit guests knew the name Carter.
But photographs of Naomi were less common than one might expect.
She avoided magazine covers.
Rarely attended red carpets.
Refused most television interviews.
Her company’s website displayed no oversized founder portrait.
If someone recognized her, it was usually because they had done business with her.
Naomi preferred it that way.
She reached Table Fourteen.
A reserved place card sat beside an empty chair.
N. CARTER
No company listed.
Interesting.
Onyx settled beside the chair.
Naomi placed one gloved hand on his head.
“Stay.”
His ears shifted.
Nothing more.
A waiter approached.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Still.”
He poured.
Naomi checked the time.
10:16.
The trustee had told her to arrive by ten.
The private board session began at eleven-thirty.
Everything before then was technically optional.
She had considered arriving only minutes before the meeting.
Then she decided against it.
Her mother had spent twenty-three years being absent from rooms where decisions were made partly with money that had originally belonged to her.
Naomi intended to see the room.
All of it.
She turned toward the stage.
A woman in an ivory pantsuit stood near the podium speaking with three men.
Silver hair twisted into a smooth low chignon.
Perfect posture.
Pearl earrings.
No visible notes.
Naomi recognized her immediately.
Margaret Whitmore.
Chairwoman of Meridian Global Investment Consortium.
Sixty-four.
Former private-equity partner.
Board member of six public companies.
Philanthropic foundation chair.
Known in financial media for her calm command of rooms filled with aggressive men.
Naomi had never met her in person.
She knew Margaret’s voice from archived board meetings.
Her mother had known it too.
That mattered more.
Margaret turned.
Their eyes almost met.
Naomi still wore sunglasses.
Margaret looked away after only a second.
No recognition.
Good.
Naomi had no intention of introducing herself yet.
A man approached from behind.
“Ms. Carter?”
She turned.
Tall.
Mid-forties.
Black tuxedo.
Earpiece.
Security.
“Yes?”
“Could I speak with you privately?”
Naomi glanced toward Onyx.
Then toward the man.
“About?”
“The dog.”
Of course.
“He’s authorized.”
“I understand there is a notation on your access card.”
“There is.”
“We’ve been asked to verify authorization with summit operations.”
“Then verify it.”
The security man paused.
Naomi watched his face.
He expected her to follow.
She did not.
He said, “It may be easier if you come with me.”
“For whom?”
His eyebrows lifted.
Naomi’s tone remained polite.
“If you need to verify my credential, you have my name.”
“Yes.”
“You have summit communications.”
“Yes.”