There would be eight votes cast. The even number created the possibility of a tie. To win, the candidate must receive five votes. Looking around the room, I didn’t believe that the result was a foregone conclusion. Writing my own name, I decided that before I could ask the others to believe in me, I had to believe in myself.
Folding the paper, my gaze met Van’s.
“I love you,” he whispered. “You can do this.”
Lena walked around the room in her high heels, stunning business attire, and jingling bracelets, collecting papers. When she reached the head of the table, she took a breath. “I want to say that I have faith in Wade, and before looking at these votes, I have faith in our new chairperson.”
One by one, she opened the papers.
“Ana.”
I inhaled.
Not a great start.
“Julia.” Lena continued, showing a steel-faced determination. “Ana. Ana. Julia. Julia. Julia.” She lifted the last paper. “If this election ends in a tie, we will need to take another vote.”
“Or,” my mother said, “Julia and I could work together, as Gregg and I have done.”
Can I do that?
I could glean from her experience.
Will she really let me lead?
Lena opened the last paper, and my questions were moot. “Julia.”
The pressure of Van’s hand on my back intensified. Turning to him, I saw his approval.
“It seems,” Lena said, “the executive board of Wade Pharmaceutical has a new chairperson. Congratulations, Mrs. Sherman.” She gestured to where she stood. “Madam Chairperson, the floor is yours.”
Stepping away from Van’s touch, I took my place, my rightful place, the place my grandfather wanted me to be, at the head of the Wade executive board. “Thank you for your confidence.” I turned to my parents and back to the assembly. “I could go on for hours about Wade Pharmaceutical, my desires for this company’s future” —I looked at Skylar— “or how it’s time for a new generation. I won’t. I won’t because a wise, wonderful man, who has shown and taught me so much, once said that when it comes to dollars and cents, flowery words are unnecessary. We here at Wade Pharmaceutical have a dollars-and-cents crisis on our hands.”
Going on, I laid out our plan about selling our Alzheimer research to Biogen. I explained that contacts had been made with members of the Biogen executive board, and the proposal I was sharing had merit and steam. Wade’s legal team would need to work the numbers. As chairperson, I promised that there would be clarity on everything with all board members. Once we began working on this deal, every member of the board would be kept up to date on all aspects, from R&D concepts to projections. Nothing was set. There would be negotiations, but to do nothing would be Wade’s end. We couldn’t let that happen.
“And then what?” Mom asked. “How will Wade survive without our research and the new line of drugs?”
“Our first priority after getting Wade back in the black should be insulin.”
Mom’s lips pursed as she shook her head. “We tried that.”
My gaze went to Van. Without a word, he was telling me I could do this. “Then we will try it differently. We will evaluate our methods to see if costs can be cut. We will take our own compound generic, lowering the cost.”
“Low costs don’t make money,” she said.
I looked out at the room. “We, everyone in this room, are the future of Wade. Our jobs are not to look back at failures, but to look ahead for opportunities.”
“Repeating mistakes isn’t the answer.” Mom shook her head. “You don’t know the first thing about pharmaceuticals, Julia.”
“I’m willing to learn.”
“From whom? You’re kicking us out.”
“From a new generation.” Again, I addressed the group. “Damien Sinclair of Sinclair Pharmaceuticals in Indiana, not far from here, is willing to help.”
“Why?” Mom asked. “That merger didn’t happen.”
Be the calm.