Chapter 5 - THE BOARD MEMBER WHO WANTED ME GONE
The metadata led to Victor Hale.
Vice chairman.
Fifty-eight.
Polished.
Patient.
The kind of man who rarely raised his voice because he had spent thirty years arranging for other people to do unpleasant things.
Victor had opposed my appointment as CEO.
Publicly, he called it “timing concerns.”
Privately, apparently, he had been building another plan.
I called him into my office.
He arrived smiling.
“Lena.”
I did not invite him to sit.
“Did you create this?”
I placed the resignation draft on my desk.
His smile disappeared.
“What is that?”
“Wrong answer.”
He looked at Shiaoza, who stood by the window.
Interesting.
Victor addressed him.
“Do you know what she’s accusing me of?”
My husband said:
“She asked you a question.”
Victor’s jaw tightened.
Good.
He had expected Shiaoza to mediate.
The old structure.
Man to man.
Woman as dispute.
Not today.
Victor looked at the document.
“I may have reviewed something similar.”
“For whom?”
“Secretary Jang.”
“Why?”
“She said you were considering leaving.”
“I wasn’t.”
“That’s what she told me.”
“And you drafted a resignation letter with my signature?”
His face hardened.
“I did not add the signature.”
That detail mattered.
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
I believed he might be telling the truth.
Not enough.
“Why would a vice chairman help a secretary draft the CEO-elect’s resignation?”
Victor’s expression changed.
“Because I did not believe you should become CEO.”
There.
Simple.
“Why?”
“You have spent too much time outside headquarters.”
Interesting.
“And Shiaoza?”
“He understands this office.”
I almost laughed.
The same office where his secretary controlled elevator access and personnel recommendations without him noticing.
Victor continued.
“The company needs continuity.”
“Meaning him.”
“Yes.”
“Did Shiaoza know?”
My husband spoke before Victor could.
“No.”
Victor glanced at him.
I looked at Shiaoza.
His face was furious.
Not defensive.
Good.
I continued.
“Did you promise Tong Tong a role if Shiaoza became CEO?”
Victor hesitated.
“Yes.”
“What role?”
“Chief of staff.”
“Why?”
“She knew everything about his operation.”
Shiaoza laughed bitterly.
“That was the problem.”
Victor ignored him.
I looked at the resignation draft.
“So you had a succession plan.”
“Yes.”
“Without the board.”
“No.”
He met my eyes.
“With part of the board.”
My stomach tightened.
“How many?”
Victor smiled faintly.
There it was.
The arrogance returning.
“Enough to create difficulty.”
I sat.
Finally.
“Thank you.”
He frowned.
“For what?”
“For telling me this isn’t a personnel problem.”
I pressed the intercom.
“Daniel, please bring the governance counsel in.”
Victor’s face changed.
The next seventy-two hours became war.
Not criminal war.
Corporate war.
In some ways, more exhausting.
Three board members admitted Victor had encouraged them to delay my appointment.
Two claimed Tong Tong supplied “evidence” that I intended to reduce my involvement.
Another had been told my marriage was unstable and I planned to relocate permanently.
Private information used as strategy.
I looked at Shiaoza.
“How much did you tell her?”
His face tightened.
“Too much.”
“What?”
“About us.”
I waited.
He hated answering.
Good.
“Our arguments.”
“Yes.”
“My travel.”
“Yes.”
“The fact you had considered moving to California full-time.”
I had considered it for six weeks three years ago.
Nothing more.
“What else?”
“That we hadn’t decided whether to have children.”
My stomach turned.
“That was private.”
“I know.”
“Did you tell her why?”
He looked down.
After two miscarriages, we had stopped discussing children for almost a year.
Nobody at work knew.
Apparently Tong Tong did.
My voice became quiet.
“You told her about the miscarriages?”
His eyes filled.
“Yes.”
I stood.
He did too.
“Lena.”
“Get out.”
His face broke.
“I’m sorry.”
“Get out.”
He left.
That night, I did not go home.
I stayed at a hotel.
Not ours.
A small place downtown where nobody recognized me.
For the first time in ten years, I slept without my husband knowing where I was.
At 1:40 a.m., he texted:
I won’t ask where you are. I only need to know you’re safe.
I stared.
Then replied:
I’m safe.
He answered:
Thank you.
Nothing else.
No pressure.
Small.
But correct.
The next morning, the governance counsel recommended an independent investigation.
I agreed.
Including my husband.
Including me if necessary.
Victor objected.
Of course.
“You’re destabilizing the company.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
“I’m finding out how unstable it already was.”
That line made the room quiet.
Chairman Park backed me.
Two board members who had supported Victor changed sides once they saw the forged resignation.
By Friday, Victor resigned as vice chairman pending investigation.
He did not do it gracefully.
He called me vindictive.
He called Shiaoza weak.
Then he made one final mistake.
He said:
“This company was built by men who understood loyalty.”
Chairman Park looked at him.
Then said:
“No.”
Everyone turned.
The old chairman continued.
“It was built by people who worked.”
He pointed toward the hallway.
“Most of whom you never learned the names of.”
Victor went silent.
I loved that.
After he left, Chairman Park looked at me.
“You have another problem.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course.”
“Your husband.”
I looked toward the window.
“What about him?”
“The board will ask whether he should remain president.”
I nodded.
“They should.”
Chairman Park studied me.
“You know this will become public.”
“Yes.”
“Your marriage too.”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Can you separate them?”
I thought.
“No.”
He frowned.
I continued.
“But I can refuse to let one protect the other.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
The independent report took six weeks.
During that time, Tong Tong remained suspended.
Then terminated for falsification, unauthorized expenditures, retaliation, and misuse of access.
Criminal investigators reviewed the forged signature and expense records.
I did not control that process.
Good.
Victor faced civil claims related to governance violations.
Again, not mine to decide.
The report on Shiaoza was worse emotionally than legally.
No evidence he stole money.
No evidence of physical affair.
But clear evidence of negligent oversight.
Preferential treatment.
Poor boundaries.
Failure to act after complaints.
Approval of improper personnel decisions without adequate review.
The board meeting lasted four hours.
I recused myself from the final employment vote.
When I returned, Shiaoza was standing alone outside.
He looked at me.
“They removed me as president.”
My chest tightened.
Not because I disagreed.
Because I remembered the man he had been when he earned the job.
“How do you feel?”
He laughed once.
“Like I deserved it.”
That surprised me.
“What happens?”
“I stay as senior strategy advisor for six months during transition.”
“Then?”
“I leave executive management.”
I nodded.
He looked at me.
“I voted for it.”
I stared.
“You’re on the board.”
“Yes.”
“You voted against yourself?”
“For accountability.”
The phrase sounded rehearsed.
Maybe therapy.
He had started three weeks earlier.
Individual.
Not couples.
I appreciated that.
He continued.
“I spent years telling myself Tong Tong’s behavior was hers.”
He looked toward the elevator.
“But people tolerated her because of me.”
“Yes.”
“I signed things.”
“Yes.”
“I enjoyed being the center of her world.”
My throat tightened.
“Yes.”
“And then I expected you to believe that because I never slept with her, I was still loyal.”
He looked ashamed.
“I wasn’t.”
There it was.
Finally.
The right sentence.
I did not forgive him.
But I heard it.
That evening, I went to my mother-in-law’s house.
She made dumplings.
Badly.
She blamed arthritis.
We both knew she had always made terrible dumplings.
She asked:
“Are you divorcing him?”
I looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
Then:
“Good.”
I frowned.
“Good?”
“You shouldn’t know yet.”
That was wiser than most advice.
She continued.
“People think happy endings require fast decisions.”
She shook her head.
“Usually fast decisions are how unhappy stories begin.”
I smiled.
Then my phone rang.
Emily Chen.
The employee from the elevator.
“Ms. Lee?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry to call late.”
“What happened?”
She sounded like she had been crying.
“I got promoted.”
I smiled.
“Congratulations.”
“No.”
She laughed through tears.
“I mean the promotion they canceled two years ago. HR reopened the review.”
My throat tightened.
“That’s good.”
“And eleven other people had cases reopened.”
I sat back.
The company was changing.
Not because Tong Tong was gone.
Because people had begun questioning rules that only survived because everyone was afraid.
Emily continued:
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“The service elevator.”
I frowned.
“It broke.”
I almost laughed.
“Okay.”
“No.”
She laughed too.
“Everyone above sixty-three used the executive elevators today.”
“And?”
“Nothing happened.”
I smiled.
She continued.
“No civilization collapse.”
“Impressive.”
After we hung up, I sat quietly.
For the first time since my first morning as CEO, I thought about the elevator without anger.
A tiny system had revealed a giant one.
Who was allowed upstairs.
Who had to take the stairs.
Who could question power.
Who was punished for trying.
My husband’s secretary had tried to throw me out because she thought I was beneath her.
Instead, she accidentally gave me the clearest possible view of the company I had inherited.
And the marriage.
The difference was—
I knew how to fix company policy.
May you like
I still did not know whether I wanted to fix us.
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