“I figured if I was going to fail, I wanted it to be because I wasn’t capable—not because I wasn’t prepared. So I spent three years making sure I was prepared for anything.”
Derek smiled. “That’s the difference between us. You prepared for success. I prepared for failure.”
“It’s not too late to change that.”
“Is it really not too late for us?” he asked. “I mean… as siblings.”
The question hit deeper than I’d expected.
“Derek,” I said, “I never wanted to compete with you. I just wanted to be good at something.”
“I know,” he said. “And I turned it into a competition because I was insecure about not being as naturally good at this as you were.”
“You’re good at other things.”
“Am I, really?”
“You got Mrs. Patterson to renew her contract when she was furious about the billing errors. You convinced the Morrison team to give us another chance after the quality problems. You’ve salvaged more client relationships than anyone else in this company.”
“I never thought of that as a skill.”
“That’s because you were too busy thinking you needed to be me.”
Derek was quiet for several minutes, processing that.
“Can we try again?” he asked finally. “As colleagues this time, instead of competitors.”
“I’d like that.”
“Good,” he said, and a spark lit behind his eyes. “Because I have an idea about the Henderson account that I think you’ll like.”
For the next hour, we talked business—real business, not family politics or power struggles. Derek had genuine insights about client needs and market opportunities. I had operational solutions and implementation strategies.
By the end of the conversation, I realized something important: we worked well together when we weren’t trying to work against each other.
“Derek,” I said as he prepared to leave.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for coming back.”
“Thanks for letting me.”
After he left, I sat in my office thinking about how much had changed in just a few weeks.
The company was running better than ever. My relationships with my brothers were improving. Even my parents seemed to be adjusting to the new reality.
But there was still one more test coming.
Tomorrow, the board of directors was meeting to formally approve the leadership transition. It would be the first time I’d have to defend my position to people who had the power to remove me from it.
Everything I’d accomplished so far had been internal: family dynamics, employee relationships, operational improvements.
Tomorrow would be about external validation—about proving that I could handle not just the job, but the politics that came with it.
As I packed up my things for the day, I felt that familiar flutter of nervousness mixed with excitement.
Some tests you can study for. Others you just have to trust that you’re ready.
Tomorrow, I’d find out which kind this was.
The board meeting was scheduled for ten a.m. in the company’s main conference room. I arrived thirty minutes early to review my presentation materials and settle my nerves.
The quarterly reports looked good on paper—better than good, actually. Revenue was up. Costs were down. Employee satisfaction had improved across every department.
But I knew the board’s concerns wouldn’t be about numbers. They’d be about confidence. About whether a 24-year-old woman could command respect from clients, competitors, and industry leaders. About whether my success so far was sustainable or just beginner’s luck.
“You ready for this?” Marcus asked, appearing in the doorway with two cups of coffee.
“Define ready,” I said, accepting the coffee gratefully.
“Ready enough to convince twelve successful business people that they should bet their investments on you.”
“When you put it like that,” I said, “it sounds terrifying.”
Marcus sat down across from me. “Can I tell you something? Something I’ve never told anyone.”
“Of course.”
“I’ve been in dozens of board meetings over the past two years, sitting in the back, taking notes, watching how these conversations work. And… I’ve never seen any of them ask Derek or me the kinds of detailed questions they’re probably going to ask you today.”
That wasn’t reassuring.
“They assumed we knew what we were doing because we were the heirs. But they’re going to make you prove you know what you’re doing because you’re not what they expected.”
“Thanks for the pep talk,” I said dryly.
Marcus laughed. “That’s not supposed to discourage you. That’s supposed to remind you that you actually do know what you’re doing. When they ask you detailed questions, you’ll have detailed answers. Derek and I never would have.”
At ten sharp, the board members filed into the conference room—twelve people who collectively controlled millions of dollars in investments and decades of business experience.
Grandpa took his seat at the head of the table.
But this was my show.
“Good morning, everyone,” I began, standing at the front of the room with my presentation materials. “Thank you for taking the time to formally review the leadership transition.”
I clicked to my first slide.
“Three weeks ago, I became CEO of Montgomery Industries. Today I’d like to show you what we’ve accomplished in that time, and outline our strategy going forward.”
The next twenty minutes were the most intense of my professional life. I walked them through the quarterly improvements, the operational changes, the client satisfaction increases. I explained my vision for growth, my plans for expansion, my strategies for maintaining competitive advantage.
But more than that, I answered questions—detailed, specific, challenging questions about everything from supply chain management to regulatory compliance to market positioning.
“Miss Montgomery,” said Helen Crawford—Robert’s wife and a board member in her own right—“these results are impressive. But how do we know they’re sustainable?”
“Because they’re based on systematic improvements, not quick fixes,” I replied. “We identified underlying problems and addressed root causes. The efficiency gains aren’t temporary cost-cutting measures. They’re structural improvements that will continue generating value.”
“What about client relationships?” asked James Morrison. “Many of our partners have worked with this family for decades. How do we maintain those connections under new leadership?”
“By continuing to deliver excellent results and maintaining the personal relationships that matter. In fact, Derek will be transitioning into a client relations role specifically to preserve and strengthen those partnerships while I focus on operations and strategy.”
“And your brother Marcus?”
“Strategic planning and investor relations. We’re aligning roles with individual strengths rather than trying to fit people into predetermined positions.”
The questions continued for another thirty minutes—technical questions about manufacturing processes, strategic questions about market expansion, financial questions about budget allocation and profit margins.
I answered every single one with specific examples and concrete data.
Finally, Robert Crawford leaned back in his chair.
“Ms. Montgomery, I have to admit… when your grandfather first announced this transition, I had reservations.”
“What kind of reservations?”
“Age. Experience. The optics of such a dramatic change in leadership.” He paused, looking around the table. “But frankly, you’ve just demonstrated a deeper understanding of this business than I’ve seen in previous presentations from this company.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” he said, though he was smiling. “I have one more question.”
“Go ahead.”
“Where do you see Montgomery Industries in five years?”
It was the kind of question that could make or break the entire meeting.
I took a breath and looked around the table at these twelve people who held my company’s future in their hands.
“In five years, I see Montgomery Industries as the industry standard for operational excellence and client service. I see a company that’s grown not just in revenue, but in reputation—a company that competitors study and clients recommend to others.”
I clicked to my final slide.
“But more than that, I see a company that people want to work for, where talent is developed, innovation is rewarded, and success is shared. Because sustainable growth isn’t just about profit margins. It’s about building something that attracts the best people and gives them reasons to stay.”
The room was quiet for a beat.
Then Helen Crawford started clapping slowly. The rest of the board joined in.
“Well,” Robert Crawford said, “I think we’ve heard enough for now.”
The board members filed out to deliberate privately, leaving me alone with Grandpa and Marcus.
“How do you think it went?” Marcus asked.
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “They could vote me out or give me a raise.”
Grandpa smiled. “They’re not going to vote you out.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve been watching their faces for forty years,” he said. “And that was the look of people who’ve just been impressed despite themselves.”
Twenty minutes later, the board returned. Robert Crawford stood up.
“Miss Montgomery, the board has reached a unanimous decision.”
My heart stopped.
“We hereby formally approve your appointment as CEO of Montgomery Industries, effective immediately.”
The relief was overwhelming.
“Furthermore,” he continued, “we’re authorizing a budget increase for the operational improvements you’ve outlined, and we’d like to schedule quarterly reviews to track progress.”
“Thank you,” I managed. “All of you.”
“Don’t thank us,” Helen Crawford said. “Thank yourself. You’ve earned this.”
As the board members left, Grandpa approached me.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“Terrified and exhilarated,” I said honestly.
“Good. That means you understand what you’ve taken on.”
“Did you know they were going to approve it?”
“I hoped they would,” he said, “but you’re the one who convinced them.”
He put his hand on my shoulder.
“Your parents are going to want to celebrate tonight. Your choice whether you’re ready for that.”
I thought about it. “Actually, I think I am. For the first time in weeks, I think I’m ready for whatever comes next.”
Grandpa chuckled. “Even if what comes next is your mother planning another party.”
I laughed. “Especially that.”
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