The Quiet Daughter

My mother watched all of this unfold, her heart breaking for me.

Late that night, she held me tightly in her arms once again, her tears soaking through the fabric on my shoulder.

“My Savannah, why won’t you speak? Even if it is just a word, just one word, I could die happy.”

I could feel her body trembling. It was the pure, unadulterated despair of a mother.

My heart, after all, was not made of stone. At that exact moment, my resolve began to waver, and I thought perhaps it really was time for me to speak. However, just as I opened my mouth, attempting to force out a long-forgotten syllable, hurried footsteps echoed outside the study.

Arthur, our butler, scrambled into the room.

“Ma’am, something terrible has happened! The people from Atlantica have arrived! That Wall Street venture capitalist, Charles King, is already at the corporate headquarters!”

My mother’s face instantly turned pale.

Charles King. That name was a dark cloud that had been looming over the Sterling Group for a long time. He was the most ruthless vulture in the financial world, a man who specialized in shorting and destroying family-owned conglomerates. In recent years alone, he had aggressively swallowed up three companies of similar scale to the Sterling Group.

“What is he doing here?” my mother demanded.

Arthur’s voice was shaking. “He… He is here to negotiate an acquisition. His language was incredibly disrespectful. He said he’s here to ensure that Sterling Group exits the world market with grace!”

My mother staggered back a step, gripping the edge of the desk for support.

A so-called “negotiated acquisition” was nothing more than a polite euphemism for a forced hostile takeover. A massive storm was about to hit us.

I looked up, staring out the window at the bleak, gray sky. It seemed like my days of peacefully playing the useless daughter were officially coming to an end.

Oh well. There would always be some inconsiderate flies who would insist on rousing a sleeping lion.

…

Up in the boardroom of the corporate headquarters, my father urgently called a meeting with every family member and core executive. I was also dragged along and left to stand in the corner. This was a family tradition, and as the eldest granddaughter, I was required to attend and observe major family matters.

In the past, I would always find a secluded corner to stand in all morning, letting my mind wander. Today, however, the atmosphere was different. The boardroom was pin-drop silent, and every person’s face was twisted into a grim, humiliated shade of pale. My father sat at the head of the table, his expression grim.

Standing right in front of him was a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a bespoke suit. Behind his gold-rimmed glasses lay a pair of eyes as sharp as a hawk’s. This was Charles King.

“Mr. Sterling, is this how the Sterling family treats its guests?” Charles spoke up, his tone sarcastic. “I flew all the way from New Atlantica, and this is what you show me?”

He extended a slender finger, pointing dismissively at the trembling executives seated around the room.

“You’re all a bunch of bookworms who only know how to read financial reports! I talk to you about capital, and you talk to me about feelings. I talk to you about market trends, and you talk to me about a century of family heritage. How ridiculous!”

He laughed out loud, a sharp, arrogant sound that echoed jarringly through the solemn, dignified boardroom.

“Mr. King!” The chief financial officer stood up, his entire body shaking with rage. “This is the board of directors of Sterling Group! We will not tolerate your insolence here!”

Charles glanced at him sideways, his face filled with utter disdain.

“Old man, I know who you are. You were the one preaching to me yesterday about how family businesses have a human touch. Let me tell you something: our rule in the financial world is that if there’s no profit, then into the grave you go! Only the weak rely on emotions to mask their own incompetence!”