The boardroom of White Pharma Inc. had never felt so charged. The air, once filled with the quiet hum of strategy and polished professionalism, now buzzed with apprehension. Twelve high-ranking executives sat around the oval table, their expressions ranging from discomfort to open frustration. The weight of the press conference lingered like smoke—Kiefer Samuel's revelations still reverberating through investor channels, media outlets, and even political circles.
Davis sat at the head of the table, jaw tight, fingers interlocked beneath his chin. He hadn't said a word since the meeting started. It was unlike him.
"She made a fool of us," Mr. Cardon, head of Legal Affairs, finally said, voice tense. "If even half of her claims check out, we could be looking at IP theft lawsuits, brand defamation, internal corruption audits—"
"The market already dipped," added Juno Li from Strategic Operations. "Three percent in one day. Shareholders want a reassurance statement, and fast."
"And what do you want me to say?" Davis's voice cut through the room, low and measured. "That we endorsed someone else's vision? That we nearly credited the wrong person for a flagship project?"
"She was credited," Juno retorted carefully, "but Katherine's connections—her family—they cushion backlash. The Samuels hold assets across biotech, defense, political lobbying. We can't afford their hostility."
Silence fell. Everyone knew it was true. Heaven Samuel wasn't just a name. He was an institution. The kind that didn't just make calls—he owned the lines they ran on.
"So what are you suggesting?" Davis asked coolly. "That I fire the woman who saved this company's face in front of the entire nation?"
"She embarrassed another board member publicly," said Leonard Royce, the oldest voice at the table. "And her relationship to you is...increasingly questioned. We've had inquiries."
Davis narrowed his eyes. "Is that your concern? Optics?"
"No," Leonard replied. "It's liability."
The word echoed.
Davis leaned back, letting it settle. Kiefer had done what no one in that room had expected—she took initiative, delivered the truth, and protected the company's vision. But now the storm she calmed was threatening to flood them from behind. Katherine's family, the whispers of favoritism, and the pressure of public scrutiny were converging.
"She hasn't signed full executive clearance yet," Royce added. "If we retract the offer—"
"—You'll destroy her credibility and mine," Davis snapped. "We'll lose every young innovator watching this drama unfold. Do you know how many applications we've had since her pitch? Ten thousand. In a week."
"And what if the Samuels pull funding from our satellite labs?" Juno asked. "Or worse—go public with their version of the story?"
Everyone turned to look at Davis again. It was clear now—this wasn't just about who was right or wrong. This was about the survival of White Pharma's future. One wrong step and they could lose trust, power, or both.
Davis finally spoke, quiet but firm. "We're not retracting anything. Kiefer earned her seat. Let the Samuels bark. We don't answer to them."
"And Katherine?" asked Juno. "She's still on the board."
"For now," Davis said. "But I'll handle her."
He stood then, signaling the meeting's end, and as chairs scraped the floor and advisors began murmuring amongst themselves, Davis lingered at the window of the boardroom, eyes on the city skyline.
In the reflection, he saw himself—split between two storms.
One, the future he believed in, embodied by Kiefer: driven, bold, and genuine.
The other, a world of legacy, bloodlines, and invisible chains—represented by Katherine and the family that had funded White Pharma from the shadows for far too long.
The cracks were showing in the ivory tower. But maybe, just maybe, the right storm could rebuild it stronger.