Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

Gabe

W hile my Mardraggon ancestors settled in Shelby County, Kentucky, and opened our bourbon distillery in Shelbyville, our main offices have been in Frankfort for the last forty years. My grandfather took advantage of a good land grab as he wanted to expand our footprint and he felt it was important to be nearer to the state's capital because politics have always been soaked in the alcohol industry.

Mardraggon Enterprises takes up the top three floors of a ten-story building in the historic downtown area that was built in 1906, which has been renovated to suit my father's particular tastes.

It takes me thirty minutes to drive from my new home to the office, a place I haven't stepped foot inside of since my father's arrest. I've been working remotely, not because I'm ashamed or hiding out, but because my father has too many people loyal to him and I've been working in the shadows.

Dressed in my best bespoke suit, a fresh haircut and ten-thousand-dollar cuff links sparkling at my wrists, I enter the boardroom thirty seconds before the meeting is set to start. I purposely did this to avoid conversation. I have no desire to discuss my father, his arrest or the future of the company with most of the people here. The important conversations have already been conducted via phone or personal visits away from this building.

The Mardraggon Enterprises board of directors numbers a total of eighteen, but only twelve are needed today to carry a vote. My father, Lionel, serves as the chairman of the board, which means he's actively involved in the day-to-day management of the company and is directly accountable for the company's performance and reputation. His brother, my uncle Terrance Mardraggon, serves as the chief executive officer, a role that would normally provide insights into the company's everyday operations, challenges and strategic direction, but good old Uncle Terrance is a bit of a doormat, so my father also covers most of those functions. I'm the chief operations officer, responsible for managing the administrative and operational functions of the business, and I've served in this role for the past three years. Prior to that, I was the vice president of operations.

What do all these titles mean?

Probably not much after this meeting concludes.

My eyes immediately lock onto my father, sitting in the largest leather chair at the end of the massive table that seats twenty-five. Terrance sits to his left and my seat is normally to his right.

Lionel looks like he's aged ten years in the two weeks since his arrest. I haven't seen him in person and only saw a glimpse of him on the nightly news when he got out of jail on bond a week ago. But that's not to say he looks frail. His jaw is set in a hard line and his eyes are glacial as they bore into me. I let my gaze slide to Terrance who quickly looks away.

Everyone in this room knows what we're doing here because I called the special meeting under the bylaws of the corporation. Everyone moves to an empty seat and I glance around at the various members—our chief financial officer, C-level executives who head up operations, marketing and human resources, and a roster of independent directors who are not part of the company's day-to-day management but rather have been chosen for their expertise in relevant fields such as finance, business strategy, law and international markets. There are other members of the board who weren't invited today, mainly because they don't have voting rights. But every one of the twelve members present will have the right to cast their choice regarding the direction of this company.

I don't take the seat next to my father but rather the one on the opposite end of the table, a massive slab of dark polished wood. I feel the weight of ancestral eyes from the portraits lining the walls, not nearly as heavy as the gazes from all the people now staring at me.

Half expecting my father to lodge an objection, I don't wait for him to take the opening. Instead, I draw first blood by giving him a polite incline of my head. "I'm glad your house arrest orders allow you to attend this meeting."

It's a stinging reminder that he's in a free fall from grace.

"This meeting is a farce," he growls.

Leaning back slightly, I interlace my fingers in front of me, maintaining my composed demeanor. "It's allowed under the bylaws," I reply coolly. "And no one provided any objection once the meeting was noticed, also required by the bylaws. You didn't even bother to object." My eyes briefly meet each board member's before settling back on my father, challenging him silently.

"I'm objecting now," he says, slamming a fist down on the table. Uncle Terrance jumps in his seat.

I glance over at Christian Radcliffe, a non-voting member of the board who is here to advise us on legalities. I lift an eyebrow and he says, "If objection is not lodged within twenty-four hours of notice, it is deemed waived."

My father mutters curses at his end of the table and I ignore him. "As you know, I noticed this meeting of the shareholders and I'd like the record to reflect that we have twelve members here today with voting privileges, which is a proper quorum." It's absolutely astounding to me that had my dad not shown up today, there would not have been enough people to allow for a vote but I know his ego wasn't about to let him miss this. He thinks he's going to be able to control everyone here.

"I am making a motion to remove Lionel Mardraggon from his role as chairman of the board and to prevent him from having any seat on this board of directors in either a voting or non-voting capacity. My reasoning is simple… he cannot be trusted to make good decisions for this company when he's already shown to exhibit not only poor but reprehensible judgment. On top of that, our company cannot afford the damage to our reputation if we allow him to remain involved."

Clara Bennett, our company's chief financial officer and a third cousin of my father's, with her steel-gray hair impeccably coiffed, eyes me with skepticism. Michael Forbes, the youngest board member, offers a nod of support, his sleek, modern look a contrast to Clara's traditional attire. My eyes roam around the table and I note some folks look at me in support while others don't meet my eyes at all.

"I oppose this move," my father rumbles, standing from his chair and placing his hands on the table. "I am innocent until proven guilty and until such time as I'm able to show my innocence, I'm completely able to run this company. I plan on asking the court for more leniency on my house arrest so I can travel as needed. My attorneys expect that will be granted."

I glance around, spreading my hands. "Anyone else agree with this?"

Clara bristles. "Gabe, your father helped build this empire. We shouldn't dismantle his work over unproven accusations."

"It's about the company's integrity," I counter. "His alleged actions endanger everything we stand for."

Michael leans forward, his hands clasped. "The public's trust in us is at stake. Lionel's continued leadership could irreparably damage our reputation."

"But what of loyalty? Of family?" Clara retorts, her voice rising. "This is the Mardraggon legacy we're talking about!"

"The legacy doesn't excuse criminal behavior, Clara," Michael interjects firmly. "Our allegiance is to the company first."

"I'm innocent until proven guilty," my father repeats in a booming voice in a manner that's clear he means to quell the argument. The room buzzes with tension, members exchanging uneasy glances as they weigh the gravity of the decision and I start to see a triumphant glow in my father's eyes because he thinks he's in command.

But then all hell breaks loose as everyone starts arguing. No one is saying anything new or innovative, just regurgitation of what's already been laid on the table. Fingers are pointed, voices are raised and harsh, and I merely sit back in my chair and watch it all.

This goes on for almost fifteen minutes and I don't say a word. When people start to lose steam, I say, "I think everyone has had a chance to speak. I propose we vote on the removal of Lionel Mardraggon as CEO, given the severity of his charges."

I call for the vote, my heart racing. "We'll go around the room and record each vote. Aye if you're in favor of removing Lionel Mardraggon as chairman of the board. Nay if you oppose. I'll start. Aye."

I look to my right and in turn, each member declares their stance in order.

Clara's nay is adamant, but Michael's aye is equally resolved.

By the time my father is adding his own nay, it's clear we're going to have a vacant position to fill. None of this is really a surprise to me as I've been working eight of the board members sitting here today hard. I came into this meeting knowing I'd get the simple majority, but it's just icing on the cake seeing the stricken look on my father's face when Uncle Terrance adds his own aye.

The last vote is recorded and I stand from my chair. "The vote is carried. Lionel Mardraggon has been removed as chairman of the board. I'll now ask that you vacate this room immediately."

My father's icy eyes pin to me and within those depths, I can see the promise of murder. If I had any doubts about his ability to harm Sylvie, they're completely demolished now. Shoulders stiff and spine still ramrod straight, my father strides from the boardroom without a backward glance. There's a collective sigh of relief and the tension seems to dissipate.

"I'd like to make a motion to name Gabe Mardraggon as the new chairman of the board for Mardraggon Enterprises." This comes from my uncle Terrance and was not unexpected either. He and I have spoken several times over the past two weeks about this well-planned takeover event.

There's some argument—mostly from Clara—but eventually a vote carries, and I'm installed as the new chairman. We have other matters to attend to, namely filling my position as COO, and that ends up going to Michael. When the meeting concludes, Clara storms out but everyone else is at peace with the decision, even the other two who voted with my dad and Clara. We shake hands and plan another meeting tomorrow to discuss this company's future.

The room empties and I'm left alone. I walk to the windows and gaze out to the streets of downtown Frankfort, contemplating the monumental task ahead of rebuilding the legacy and the bridge between past and future. I don't have an ounce of guilt or regret doing that to my father—his betrayal to our family was far worse. The burn of fury that he tried to kill his own granddaughter—Alaine's daughter and my niece—hasn't lessened since I found that prescription pad in his office and realized what was going on.

Pulling my phone from my inside jacket pocket, I dial my attorney. "I need an amendment to Sylvie's trust. Remove the reversion clause in its entirety."

His hesitation is palpable, even through the phone. "Gabe, are you certain? If Sylvie were to pass, the financial implications…"

Rubbing a hand at the back of my neck, I turn from the windows. "I'm aware, but Sylvie's sense of security is more important. It's about doing what's right, not what's profitable."

There's a very long beat of silence and I'm sure I've shocked him. I doubt he's ever heard a Mardraggon choose to do what was right over profit. Finally, he makes a sound of reluctance but says, "All right, Gabe. I'll prepare it."

As I end the call, the weight of my decision settles in. It's a move away from the Mardraggons' ruthless legacy.

A shift in my own personal business style.

A step toward something better for Sylvie.

Maybe for all of us.