"Enough! Not another word!" he barked at his eldest son before turning back to the table.
"Since the Chairman has returned, let's hear what he has to say. I'm sure he can provide us with some much-needed clarity regarding the recent turbulence we've faced."
Peak's face remained thunderous, desperate to keep fighting.
He firmly believed they had come too far to retreat. If they didn't push forward now, the Maddens would inevitably crush them later.
The shareholders who had supported them mere minutes ago still held enough collective shares to rival the Madden family's stake.
If they just stood their ground and forced a showdown, they might still stand a chance.
He took a step forward, but Eartha grabbed his arm, shaking her head subtly.
Eartha was practically suffocating on her own resentment. Her kidneys were failing, and she desperately needed a transplant.
Now that they had declared outright war on the Maddens—and brought down the wrath of Remington Dashiell—she was consumed by terror.
But she wasn't a fool. She knew they had walked straight into a trap.
This was not the time for a suicide charge. They had to fall back and wait for another opening.
The war wasn't over. She had survived through sheer endurance for years; she could wait for another opportunity.
As she rationalized her retreat, her perfectly manicured nails dug so hard into her palms they drew blood, her chest tightening with anxiety.
Nelson's sharp gaze swept over the Porter family, finally settling on Eartha's face. His stare grew heavy and cold, pressing down on her like a physical weight.
The sting in her palms sharpened, providing just enough grounding to keep her from flinching away from his oppressive stare.

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