The Angels' Share (The Bourbon Kings #2) - J. R. Ward Page 0,84

I kicked them all out of here?”

There was no shake of the hands. No formalities honored or exchanged. But then good ol’ Steadman was not used to be anyone’s second-highest priority and clearly his Brooks Brothers boxers were in a bunch.

Then again, he had just learned he was sitting at the head of the table at a very bad time in BBC history. And Lane could sure as hell relate to that.

With a sweep of his hand, Lane indicated the way to the back door of the business center and he let the two of them in with the new pass code. Turning lights on as they went, he led the way into the small conference room.

“I’d offer you coffee,” Lane said as he took a seat. “But I suck at making it.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

“And it’s a little early for bourbon or I’d be drinking some.” Lane linked his hands and leaned in. “So. I’d ask you what’s on your mind, but that would be rhetorical.”

“It would have been nice if you’d have given me a heads-up on the article. On the issues. On the financial chaos. On why the hell you locked senior management out.”

Lane shrugged. “I’m still trying to get to the bottom of it myself. So I don’t have a lot to say.”

“There was plenty in that damned article.”

“Not my fault. I wasn’t a source, and my no comment was as bullet-proof as Kevlar.” Although the reporter had given him quite a bit to go on. “I will say that a friend of mine, who is an investment banker who specializes in evaluating multi-national corporations, is here from New York, and he’s figuring it all out.”

Steadman seemed to compose himself. Which was a little like a marble statue struggling to keep a straight face: Not a lot of work.

“Lane,” the man started off in a tone that made Walter Cronkite seem like Pee-wee Herman, “I need you to understand that the Bradford Bourbon Company may have your family’s name on it, but it’s not some lemonade stand you can shut down or move at your will just because you’re blood. There are corporate procedures, lines of command, ways of—”

“My mother is the single largest shareholder.”

“That doesn’t give you the right to turn this into a dictatorship. Senior management has an imperative to get back into this facility. We have to convene a search committee to hire a new CEO. An interim leader must be appointed and announced. And above all, a proper internal audit of this financial mess must be—”

“Allow me to be perfectly clear. My ancestor, Elijah Bradford, started this company. And I absolutely will close it down if I have to. If I want to. I am in charge, and it will be so much more efficient if you recognize this and get out of my way. Or I’ll replace you, too.”

The WASP equivalent of murderous rage narrowed Steadman’s baby blues. Which, again, was not much of a change. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

“And you have no idea how little I have to lose. I will be the one to appoint a successor to my father, and it will not be any of the senior vice presidents who came in here every morning to suck up to him. I will find out where the money went, and I will singlehandedly keep us in business if I have to go down and run the sills myself.” He jabbed a finger into Steadman’s flushed face. “You work for me. The board works for me. Every one of the ten thousand employees getting a paycheck works for me—because I’m the sonofabitch who’s going to turn everything around.”

“And exactly how do you propose to do that? According to that article, there are millions missing.”

“Watch me.”

Steadman stared across the glossy table for a moment. “The board will—”

“Be getting out of my way. Listen, you each get paid a hundred thousand dollars to sit around and do absolutely nothing. I’ll guarantee every one of you a quarter of a million dollars this year. That’s a one hundred and fifty percent raise.”

The man’s chin went up. “Are you attempting to bribe me? Bribe us?”

“Or I can shut the board down. Your choice.”

“There are bylaws—”

“You know what my father did to my brother, correct?” Lane leaned in once more. “Do you think I don’t have the same contacts my old man did in the States? Do you honestly believe I can’t make things very difficult for the lot of you? Most