The Meeting
1549 Words
The taxi finally stopped.
I paid the driver and hurried inside.
The receptionist immediately recognized me.
“Miss Blake?”
“Yes. The meeting?”
“Third floor.”
I didn't wait for the elevator.
By the time I reached the third floor, my breathing was uneven.
I stopped outside the boardroom.
Voices came from inside.
I could hear someone speaking.
Then the door opened.
Every conversation stopped.
Every face turned toward me.
For one brief second, I stood there.
I could feel my heartbeat in my throat.
Twelve people.
Executives.
Managers.
Doctors.
People who had spent years working in this company.
People who had probably been wondering when the inexperienced heir would finally show up.
I straightened my shoulders.
Then I walked inside.
Nobody spoke.
I placed my folder on the table and took the empty seat at the head.
A man sitting across from me cleared his throat.
“Miss Blake.”
I looked at him.
“Yes?”
“We were beginning to wonder whether you intended to attend.”
“I apologize for being late.”
He nodded.
“But perhaps before we continue, there's something everyone here would like to know.”
I waited.
He leaned back in his chair.
“Do you actually understand the pharmaceutical division you're supposed to be running?”
The room went silent.
I looked around the table.
They were waiting for me to lie.
To become defensive.
To prove them right.
Instead, I gave them the truth.
“No.”
Several eyebrows lifted.
I opened the folder in front of me.
“But that's why I'm here to learn.”
I looked directly at the man who had asked the question.
“No. But that's why I'm here to learn.”
For a few seconds, nobody said anything.
The man across from me stared as though I'd just admitted to not knowing how to read.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
I had expected this.
The moment I walked into that room, I knew they weren't waiting for me to introduce myself. They were waiting for me to fail.
The man cleared his throat.
“Then perhaps we should begin with the basics.”
“Please do.”
He picked up a folder.
“This is the current report from our pharmaceutical division. Revenue has dropped by twelve percent over the last two quarters, while research expenditure has increased by almost twenty percent.”
I looked at the figures.
That didn't sound good.
“Why?”
He paused.
“Several factors.”
“Which ones?”
Another pause.
I looked up.
He exchanged a glance with the man sitting beside him.
“Market conditions,” he finally said.
I leaned back.
“That's not an answer.”
His eyebrows rose.
I pointed at the report.
“If market conditions are responsible for a twelve percent drop in revenue, then show me the figures from our competitors.”
Nobody spoke.
“Are they experiencing the same decline?”
The man shifted in his seat.
“I don't have those figures with me.”
“Then why did you bring me this report?”
His face tightened.
I looked down again.
Maybe I didn't know everything about running a pharmaceutical division.
But numbers were numbers.
And people who had spent years doing this shouldn't need me to point out something so obvious.
Another executive cleared his throat.
“The company has also experienced delays with the new cardiovascular drug.”
I looked up.
“What kind of delays?”
“Regulatory.”
“Why?”
“We're waiting for additional approval.”
“From whom?”
“The regulatory board.”
I stared at him.
“And what exactly are they asking for?”
He hesitated.
“Additional clinical data.”
That caught my attention.
“What data?”
“Patient response data.”
“Which patients?”
He frowned.
“Excuse me?”
“Which patients are we missing data from?”
The room went quiet again.
I closed the folder.
“Because if the problem is only regulatory approval, someone should be able to tell me exactly what the regulators requested. If we're missing clinical data, then I want to know why we didn't have it before submitting the application.”
Nobody answered immediately.
I glanced around the room.
Something was wrong.
I didn't know exactly what yet.
But I could feel it.
The first man who had challenged me leaned forward.
“Miss Blake, with all due respect, you've only been here for a short time. Perhaps you should allow the people who have been managing these divisions to handle these matters.”
I smiled faintly.
“That's exactly what I'm trying to do.”
His expression changed.
“I'm listening to the people who manage them.”
I tapped the report.
“I'm just asking questions.”
He leaned back.
I could tell he hadn't expected that.
Neither had the others.
I picked up my pen.
“Continue.”
The meeting went on for another thirty minutes.
They discussed production costs, distribution problems, research funding and several projects I'd never heard of before.
I wrote everything down.
Not because I understood every part of it.
I didn't.
But I understood enough to know where I needed answers.
When the meeting finally ended, the executives began gathering their papers.
I closed my notebook.
“Before everyone leaves.”
They stopped.
“I want the complete pharmaceutical reports on my desk tomorrow morning.”
One of the executives frowned.
“All of them?”
“Yes.”
“That could take some time.”
“I didn't ask how long it would take.”
He looked at me.
I held his gaze.
“I asked for them tomorrow.”
He nodded reluctantly.
“Of course.”
Everyone began leaving.
I remained seated.
There was something bothering me.
The cardiovascular d**g.
The missing clinical data.
The way everyone suddenly became uncomfortable whenever I asked specific questions.
I opened the folder again.
“Mr. Carter?”
The man who had challenged me earlier stopped at the door.
“Yes?”
“Who is responsible for the cardiovascular project?”
He hesitated.
“Dr. Ethan Moore.”
“Is he here?”
“No. He's currently at the research facility.”
“I want to meet him.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Today.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“He's very busy.”
“So am I.”
He stared at me for a moment before nodding.
“I'll arrange it.”
“Thank you.”
He left.
I waited until the door closed.
Then I exhaled.
My shoulders finally relaxed.
I hadn't realized how tense I'd been throughout the entire meeting.
I leaned back in the chair and rubbed my forehead.
“Okay,” I whispered to myself.
That had gone better than expected.
My phone vibrated.
A message from the secretary.
Miss Blake, your aunt asked me to remind you about the documents waiting in your office.
I stared at the message.
Of course she had.
I gathered my things and returned to the company headquarters.
By the time I reached my office, the secretary was waiting outside with another folder.
“This was left for you.”
I took it.
“Who brought it?”
“I don't know.”
I opened it.
The first few pages contained financial records.
Nothing unusual.
Then I reached the last page.
I stopped.
There was a project name at the top.
Project Virelia.
Underneath it was a list of research dates, approvals and signatures.
I scanned the page.
Then I saw the name at the bottom.
My mother's name.
Elena Blake.
My fingers tightened around the paper.
I read the date again.
Then again.
Something wasn't right.
I knew my mother's timeline.
At least, I knew what Grandma had told me.
She had stopped working shortly before her death.
But this document had her signature dated three months after she'd supposedly left the project.
I turned the page.
There was another signature.
Then another.
My heart began beating faster.
“That's impossible.”
The secretary looked at me.
“What is it, ma'am?”
I closed the folder.
“Nothing.”
She nodded quickly.
I looked back at the document.
For the first time since arriving in the city, my mother's death felt different.
Not just sad.
Not just unexpected.
Suspicious.
I picked up my phone.
“Get me everything related to Project Virelia.”
The secretary hesitated.
“Everything?”
“Every report. Every research document. Every approval. Every person involved.”
“Yes, ma'am.”
She turned to leave.
“And one more thing.”
She stopped.
I looked at the folder in my hands.
“Don't tell my aunt.”
Her face changed slightly.
Then she nodded.
“I understand.”
After she left, I sat alone in my office.
I looked down at my mother's signature again.
I didn't know what had happened before her death.
I didn't know why her name was still appearing on documents after she'd supposedly stepped away.
And I certainly didn't know who I could trust.
But I knew one thing.
Someone had lied to me.
And I had a feeling it wasn't going to be the last lie I uncovered.
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