7. CHANCE

Sara suddenly looks a little green for some reason. But I can’t focus on that right now.

Desmond is right: Sully would have called his family crazy if they passed up that kind of money. I used to joke with him that he was the only Scottish Irishman I ever met.

But at the same time, he was as invested in Atlas as I am. We built it with our own hands, and he of all people understood how important the company is, not just to the Sullivans but to the entire world.

He also knew something about the company that none of his family knows – something I can’t tell them. That’s going to make this more difficult than I thought. I never would have believed Pearce would be offering this kind of money.

I have to convince them not to sell. There’s no other choice.

“I get that, Des,” I say. “It’s like winning the biggest Powerball jackpot in history. But really, are you doing so bad right now?”

Dory, Sully’s oldest, winces at that, and I realize too late that I’ve set her up to say something I don’t want Pearce to hear. Shit.

“That’s the thing,” she says. “We’ve got all these shares, but we’re not getting much out of them. I know we’re not poor, but we’re not exactly rich, either.”

God damn it. Now Pearce is going to smell blood in the water. But Dory’s right – the dividends from the shares have always gone back into the company, particularly the last five years as we expanded. The Sullivans might clear half a million a year each after taxes. Sully left them each an inheritance, but that’s their savings. The shares are their only income, outside of investments.

I know half a million a year seems like a fortune to a lot of people – hell, even to me, since I grew up dirt poor – but Pearce is offering them enough to buy a private island.

Tre chimes in: “There’s an easy fix for that. The board can vote to increase the dividends. Everyone gets a raise.”

That’s why he’s the president of Atlas. Like I said, he’s smarter than me.

“Yes,” says Pearce, pouncing like a cat. “But those dividends are tied to profits. The minute your profits go down, so does your income. Sell to Empire and you know exactly how rich you’ll be for the rest of your lives.”

God, I hate this prick. What the hell is Sara doing with a clown like him?

Des turns to Agnes. “What do you think, Mom?”

“I think we all need some time to think,” she says. “This obviously isn’t a decision we’re ready to make today.”

God bless you, Aggie. I knew I could count on you. Of course, it would have been better if you’d told Pearce to go pound sand up his ass, but I’ll take what I can get.

Across the table, Pearce’s eyes narrow. He obviously thought he had a slam dunk with the Sullivans. He thought wrong.

“This offer isn’t open-ended,” he snips. “I told you, it’s all or nothing.”

“You said we all had to sell, Mr. Pearce,” says Agnes. “You didn’t give us a timeline.”

Pearce turns to Karen, the secretary who’s been silently taking notes on the meeting.

“I want this clearly in the minutes,” he says. “This offer expires in thirty days.” He checks his watch. “At precisely 8:43 a.m. on the 17^th of September. Until then, my due diligence team will need access to Atlas’s offices.”

Jesus, the guy doesn’t even try to ingratiate himself to the board. The only language he speaks is money.

Agnes stares at him for several long moments. I’d like to think the fucker is squirming inside, but somehow I doubt it. Beside him, Karen just sits there with her hands under the table, wincing every now and then.

“All right, then,” says Agnes. “I’ll make the motion that Atlas allows Empire’s team access to our offices for the next thirty days. All in favor?”

All eight of the Sullivans raise their hands. I don’t, just to make sure Pearce – and Sara – know exactly where I stand.

“And we’ll schedule another emergency board meeting for 8:00 a.m. on September 17^th,” Agnes continues. “You’ll have your vote then, Mr. Pearce.”

I glance at her and she nods.

“Meeting adjourned,” I say.

Pearce and Sara pack up their things as I step over to Agnes. I keep my voice low so they can’t overhear.

“We need to talk about this,” I say.

“Well, duh. I may have been a housewife instead of a hotshot super solider, Chance, but I’m not stupid.”

I wince inside. She wasn’t a housewife, she was a Dartmouth grad who stayed at home to raise her Irish brood. At times like this, I still feel like a punk kid around her. I suppose it’s only natural – she’s one of the two women I consider a mother. The other is Tre’s mom.

She must see it, because she takes my hand.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “This whole thing has me on edge. Obviously, this is life-changing and the stakes are high.”

“Agnes, I can’t lose Atlas to someone like Quentin Pearce.”

“At the risk of being blunt, dear, you have more shares than any of the rest of us, plus a very lucrative CEO’s salary, plus an expense account, the company jet…”

I hold my hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it.”

“I know you earn every penny, but the fact remains that you’re making a lot more money than we are. You can’t blame us for being tempted.”

She’s right. But that doesn’t change the fact that I can’t lose the company to Pearce, or let anyone dig too deeply into Atlas. There’s too much at stake.

“What if I came up with a better offer?”

The words just come out of my mouth, independent of my brain. What the hell am I talking about? How am I going to come up with a better offer?

“Better than a hundred million each?” Agnes asks, eyes round. “If you can do that, I say bring it on. But if you can’t, I’m afraid we’ll have to sell. If that happens, I’d advise you to do the same, before Pearce can fire you.”

I nod, trying to look confident despite the fact I have absolutely no idea how to follow through on this.

“I’ll see you in thirty days,” I hear myself say.

She leans in to give me a peck on the cheek.

“Good luck, sonny boy,” she whispers. “I’m rooting for you.”

Across the room, I see Pearce scowl. At least I have that much satisfaction.