Chapter 11: The Inheritance
[Sarah]
The October rain drummed against MIT’s lecture hall windows as the professor explained neural networks. My hand froze mid–note as my phone buzzed – Sullivan MedTech’s general counsel.
“Miss Sullivan?” His voice carried an urgency that made my stomach clench. “The board has called an emergency meeting. We need you here within the hour.”
“I’m in class-”
“It’s about the company’s debt situation. Your presence is… essential.”
I gathered my things, fighting another wave of morning sickness. The baby – no, babies – made their presence known at the most inconvenient times. As I hurried through the rain to my car, I couldn’t help thinking of my father’s last words about failing the company. What else had he left unsaid?
The Sullivan MedTech tower pierced the slate–gray Boston skyline, its familiar silhouette both comforting and intimidating. My hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel as I pulled into the underground parking.
“Please, please let it be something manageable,” I whispered, pressing my palm against my churning stomach. The elevator seemed to crawl between floors, each ding making my
heart race faster.
The lobby’s eerie silence hit me like a physical blow. Gone was the usual energy of innovation and purpose – replaced by clusters of employees speaking in hushed tones, conversations that died the moment they saw me. Their pitying glances made my skin
crawl.
“Miss Sullivan.” Our receptionist’s voice cracked. She’d been here since I was a child. “They’re… they’re waiting for you.”
The boardroom felt like a funeral parlor. Empty chairs stretched along the massive oak table like missing teeth, the few occupied seats only emphasizing how many had jumped ship. Our general counsel Michael stood at the head, his normally immaculate appearance showing subtle signs of strain – crooked tie, jacket slightly rumpled.
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Chapter 11: The Inheritance
“The situation,” he began, then had to clear his throat. “The situation is dire. We’re facing $800 million in debt. All our credit lines are frozen.”
The number hit me like a punch to the gut. Eight hundred million. My vision blurred, the projection screen swimming before my eyes.
“That’s impossible.” My voice came out as a whisper, then rose sharply. “That’s IMPOSSIBLE! We were stable – I saw the reports myself just months ago!”
Michael’s jaw clenched so tight I could see a muscle jumping. “Your stepmother’s family. They’ve been systematically draining accounts through shell companies. By the time we discovered the transfers…” His hands clenched into fists. “They’d already fled the
country.”
The room spun sickeningly as Katherine’s words at the hospital crashed back: “couldn’t afford the experimental treatment anyway.” Ice flooded my veins, followed by white–hot
rage.
I choked on fury, half–rising from my chair. “She knew. She watched our father die knowing they’d stolen-” My voice broke.
“The neural network system,” I grasped desperately. “The diagnostic software – it’s nearly complete, isn’t it? We could-”
–
“Three months from completion.” Michael tugged at his tie a nervous habit I’d watched him develop over two decades of board meetings. “But Sarah…” The use of my first name made me flinch. “Without immediate funding, we’ll have to declare bankruptcy within
weeks.”
I stared at the company logo behind him – the same one Dad had proudly shown me sketches of when I was ten. All his dreams, his innovations, the lives we could save with our technology… thousands of employees who’d trusted him… all of it balanced on a knife’s edge.
Something shifted inside me, grief crystallizing into steel determination. Dad had built this company from nothing once. I could save it now.
“No.” My voice came out stronger than I’d felt in weeks. “We are not declaring bankruptcy.
I’ll handle it.”
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Chapter 11: The Inheritance
Michael’s eyes widened slightly. “Sarah-”
“Send me the complete financials.” I stood, surprised to find my hands steady. “Every detail, every account, every contract. I want it all.”
“What are you planning?”
“Whatever it takes,” I said quietly. “This company will not fall. Not on my watch.”
–
As I walked out, I heard whispers following me wondering if the Sullivan heir could
really save them. I lifted my chin higher. They’d see. We all would.
Back in my car, I let out a shaky breath. The rain had intensified, matching my inner
turmoil. My phone buzzed with a text from Theodore: “Dinner at seven. Don’t be late.”
I almost laughed. Of course he already knew about Sullivan MedTech’s crisis. Theodore probably knew before I did.
The next forty–eight hours passed in a blur of rejection. Eight banks, eight variations of
“given the company’s current situation…” Even my father’s old contacts wouldn’t take my
calls.
By Friday evening, I was in my apartment’s home office, surrounded by financial reports and trying not to throw up – morning sickness didn’t care what time it was. My phone lit
up with a message from our VP of Finance: “Two more possibilities. Both presidents
willing to meet privately.”
I knew those companies. Everyone in Boston’s financial circles did. They specialized in “rescuing” struggling companies, usually by stripping them for parts.
My phone buzzed again. Theodore: “You missed dinner. Again.”
I ignored it, focusing on the VP’s message. The bank presidents‘ reputations made my skin
crawl, but what choice did I have? Sullivan MedTech needed funding within weeks, not
months.
Across town in Pierce Technologies‘ executive suite, Theodore Pierce sat in his wheelchair, staring at surveillance photos of my meeting requests. I couldn’t see his reaction, but
according to Mrs. Thompson’s later gossip, he shattered a crystal tumbler.
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Chapter 11: The Inheritance
“She’ll come to you,” Marcus Cross predicted, lounging in one of Theodore’s visitor chairs. “The Pierce name could save Sullivan MedTech with one phone call.”
“She won’t.” James Grant’s voice carried an odd note of respect. “She’ll try everything else
first.”
“Care to make it interesting?” Marcus smiled. “Say… five million?”
Theodore’s voice cut through their banter like ice. “Both of you, out.”
Later that night, I sat in my darkened office, hand pressed against my still–flat stomach. “I’ll fix this,” I whispered to my unexpected passengers. “I promise.”
My phone lit up one last time. Theodore: “Whatever you’re planning, don’t.”
I turned the phone face–down. He didn’t get to give orders about this. Sullivan MedTech was my inheritance, my responsibility. If saving it meant dealing with sharks, so be it.
The rain finally stopped as midnight approached. I opened my laptop and typed two emails, scheduling private dinners with two presidents. Their quick responses came with suggested meeting places – exclusive, discrete restaurants perfect for negotiating desperate deals.
In his penthouse office across the city, Theodore received the automated alerts about my calendar updates. According to Mrs. Thompson, who brought his evening medication, she’d never seen him so still, so coldly furious.
But he didn’t call. And I didn’t explain.
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He already hates her for the position she has him in, married against his will, with a pregnancy. does he really think she will ever go to him for help?? He locked her in a room like a child for u…
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