“Her mother was Martha Tennant,” Bauer replied, his tone dropping three degrees. “The sole surviving heir to forty-eight percent of the voting stock, which she quietly placed into an irrevocable family trust managed exclusively by—let me check the registry here—ah, yes. Clara Tennant herself. You didn’t fire an employee, Mr. Vale. You terminated your landlord.”
Silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating.
Sarah Vance, having finally emerged from the restroom with damp paper towels pressed to her forehead, raised a trembling hand. “Martin… there’s something else.”
“What?!” he snapped.
“I… I looked at the logistics master lease for the central distribution hubs this morning after you left the room,” she whispered. “The warehouses in Chicago, Savannah, and Dallas… they aren’t owned by Tennant Logistics.”
