Chapter 6: The Vote and the Ghosts of the Past
1130 Words
Adebola’s palms were clammy as she stepped into the boardroom. The morning light reflected sharply off the polished table, bouncing off glass awards, executive laptops, and the faint hum of air conditioning.
She glanced around. Every seat seemed heavier than the last. Her aunt, Morenike, sat at the head of the table, poised, composed — a picture of confidence that made Adebola’s stomach twist. Some part of her wanted to bolt, but she couldn’t. She owed her father her fight, and she owed herself her dignity.
Chinedu stood quietly at her side, his presence grounding her. He didn’t need to speak; just the fact that he was there reminded her she wasn’t entirely alone.
The senior board member cleared his throat. “This emergency meeting has been called to reconsider the leadership of Lawson Holdings due to recent instability in management and supply chain issues.”
Adebola’s gaze flicked to Morenike. Her aunt’s expression was unreadable, but there was a quiet, dangerous satisfaction in the set of her jaw. Adebola swallowed, feeling the weight of every decision she’d made since her father’s stroke, every late night in the office, every confrontation with the board, all crystallized into this one moment.
Morenike began, her voice smooth as silk, “Lawson Holdings is at a critical juncture. Leadership requires experience — not just ambition. The board and investors are concerned about continuity. I’m prepared to step in as Executive Director to stabilize the company.”
A low murmur ran through the room. Adebola’s chest tightened. Every muscle in her body screamed that she should respond, but she forced herself to remain calm.
“I understand your concerns,” Adebola said, her voice steady though her heart was hammering. “But experience alone does not define leadership. Vision, loyalty, and the courage to face impossible choices — those are what have kept Lawson Holdings alive. I intend to continue my father’s legacy, not just protect it, but grow it.”
A few board members exchanged glances. Adebola felt a surge of pride, but it was tempered by the creeping fear that Morenike was far from done.
The vote began. Papers were passed around. Every signature, every checkmark felt like a drumbeat in her chest. Morenike’s eyes never left her, a silent promise that she wouldn’t back down.
While the vote continued, Adebola’s mind drifted.
Flashback:
She was eight years old, sitting on her father’s knee in his office. The smell of fresh leather and coffee filled the room. He had a pen in his hand, a contract spread across the desk. “Adebola,” he said softly, “a deal isn’t just numbers. It’s trust, patience, and the courage to stand firm even when everyone doubts you. Never let anyone intimidate you.”
Adebola had nodded, not fully understanding then. But today, those words echoed louder than the whispers of the board.
End flashback.
Her father’s words anchored her, and when the vote papers finally returned to the senior member, she felt a strange mix of fear and resolve.
The results were read aloud.
“Twelve in favor of Morenike… ten in favor of Ms. Lawson…”
Her chest dropped. A part of her wanted to scream, to protest. But Chinedu’s hand on hers steadied her.
“You still have leverage,” he whispered. “Don’t let her think this is the end.”
Adebola exhaled slowly, focusing on the bigger picture. Morenike’s victory on paper didn’t mean she’d won the company’s soul. Not yet.
After the meeting, Adebola retreated to her office. The hum of the city below felt like it was pressing into her skull. She sank into her chair and let herself finally breathe.
Chinedu entered quietly, closing the door behind him. “You did what you could,” he said softly.
Adebola shook her head. “It wasn’t enough. She’ll use this to push the board further. She’ll undermine me every step of the way.”
He studied her for a long moment. “Then we adapt. You’re not weak, Adebola. You’re strategic. And you have me. Don’t forget that.”
Her eyes flicked to him. She wanted to believe it — wanted to believe in him the way she’d believed in her father.
A sudden knock interrupted the tension.
Nora, her secretary, peeked in. “Ma’am… your father’s doctor just called. He wants to speak with you before making any treatment decisions.”
Adebola’s stomach twisted. Chinedu noticed immediately. “Go,” he said, stepping back. “I’ll handle anything else here.”
Adebola picked up the phone and heard the familiar calm yet urgent voice of the doctor. “Ms. Lawson… your father’s condition has worsened overnight. We need a decision on the next course of treatment. He could respond well, but the risk is high.”
Her throat constricted. She thought of her father, of the man who had taught her to fight, to lead, to be courageous. She could almost see his hand, weathered and strong, reaching out to her in guidance.
And then, for the first time in months, she allowed herself to remember her mother, who had died when Adebola was twelve. The hospital, the quiet warnings, the endless corporate fights — all of it made her feel suddenly fragile.
Flashback:
Her mother had always said, “Adebola, never let fear decide for you. Make your choices with courage, even when your heart shakes.”
End flashback.
The words from her past guided her now. She whispered softly into the phone, “Do it. Take the risk. We have to fight for him… and for our family.”
After the call, she sank back into her chair. Chinedu returned quietly, sitting across from her. He studied her, his eyes unreadable.
“You’re fearless,” he said finally, though the soft edge in his voice betrayed concern.
“I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m terrified. But I can’t let fear win. Not now.”
He leaned forward, and for a brief, reckless moment, she saw the man who had become more than an advisor, more than a friend. The air between them crackled, full of unspoken tension and fragile desire.
Chinedu’s hand hovered near hers. Their eyes met, heavy with emotion. She wanted to reach for him, to close the space between them, but a loud ring from her phone shattered the moment.
Adebola sighed, trying to steady her pulse. Her father’s condition, the board, Morenike… and Chinedu — all of it pressed down on her like the Lagos heat in July.
She knew the battles had only just begun. And somewhere deep inside, she felt the first true spark of determination she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in months.
No matter what — she would fight.
- Writer
