'I'm screwed.'
That was the only thought running laps through Callum's mind as he adjusted his tie, the silk knot pulling a little too tight against his throat. He tugged at it again, trying to give himself room to breathe, but the feeling didn't ease. It wasn't just the tie. It was everything.
The hallway leading to the Catalyst boardroom had never felt so long. Or maybe he'd never felt so small.
The glass doors loomed ahead. Inside, ten board members sat in their leather chairs, murmuring to one another in low tones. A few glances flicked his way as he stepped in. Most impassive. One or two openly judgmental. He kept his chin high and nodded, forcing himself into a neutral expression.
Ryan met his gaze with a familiar, easy smile—the kind that usually made Callum feel like maybe he wasn't totally alone at that table.
Today, it just made him uneasy.
Callum slid into his seat, third to the left from the head of the table—his father's seat. Still empty. He swallowed hard.
The last board meeting had been brutal, but he'd left it with a tenuous thread of hope. Howard's push to sell Catalyst to Wellspring Capital had failed. 'By one vote,' a tiny voice in his head reminded him.
He shoved the thought down.
With twelve people on the board, it was clear that those six votes against the sale were from good people. Loyal people. People who were focused on the vision Catalyst was built on. They believed in his leadership—despite the bad press, despite the bar fight, despite every personal failing he hadn't quite managed to outrun. They saw it as a rough patch, not a death spiral.
Still, the words looped in his mind again.
'Your job is on the line.'
Callum ran a hand through his hair, like he could scrape that fear away with his fingers.
He was fine. He had to be. This was still his company. He'd started it. He'd carried it. The original game—the one that got them their first real funding—was his. His design, his world, his code. He just had to remind the board of that. He just had to—
The door swung open with a practiced bang.
Howard Pierce stepped in, exuding his usual effortless superiority. His secretary, younger and visibly flustered, rushed in behind him, clutching a stack of documents. She barely managed to keep pace as he strode to the head of the table and sat down like he was king.
"All board members present and accounted for," Howard said with no apology for his tardiness . He didn't even spare a glance toward Callum.
Callum swallowed hard. 'Always a pleasure to see you, father.'
The secretary began circulating the documents. Stapled packets, thick with dense legal text. Callum took one without looking at her, his eyes locked on the bold lettering stamped across the front.
Contract of Sale of Business
His stomach turned.
Howard waited until silence settled over the room like a shroud before speaking. "Good morning, members of the board. I believe today will be a historic day for this company."
No one responded. They were too smart for that. His father liked to talk in crescendos. He liked attention to be focused completely on him when he spoke.
Callum always thought that it made him look like a douche.
"I believe you've all received and had the chance to review the contract Legal finalized over the weekend. That same agreement now sits before you. It also includes the bullet points for those who need the terms simplified, but I believe you'll find it... favorable."
Callum stared at the document, reading the words he already knew by heart.
'Purchase Price: $385 million, payable in full upon closing.'
'All employee contracts terminate upon closing, except those expressly retained by Buyer.'
'All intellectual property, including unreleased projects, transfers unconditionally.'
He clenched his jaw.
That was everything. His projects. His work. All of it—wiped off the map or absorbed into a company that didn't care about it. About them.
He spoke before he could stop himself. "Wait. That IP clause—those projects are my work."
Howard didn't even blink. "No, they're the company's work, and therefore transferable. If you have an issue with it, feel free to consult Legal. But the terms are airtight." His steely gaze raked over every face in the room. "This is a generous offer. The price alone is a 48% premium over our last valuation. To reject it would be—quite frankly—negligent."
The words dropped like a hammer. Around the room, murmurs rose like steam—uncertain, calculating.
Callum sank back in his chair.
He hated to admit it, but his father wasn't wrong. Catalyst wasn't worth nearly as much as Wellsprings was offering. Damian was overpaying—and that made the deal irresistible. Hard to justify walking away from that kind of money. A few naysayers were likely second-guessing themselves now.
Howard let the silence stretch before pulling the original contract from a slim folder. "Let's not waste time. I think it will be in all our best interests if we sign this today."
Fuck that.
Callum scoffed, just loud enough. "The board still hasn't agreed to the sale."
Howard smiled. Not the warm kind.
"Then let's put it to a vote."
Callum's throat went dry.
Twelve board members. He needed six to block the vote. The last six to six vote had pissed his father off, sure. But ultimately, he hadn't looked too bothered. Howard Pierce never looked 'bothered'. And now Callum seemed to be the only anxious one.
Howard raised a hand. "All in favor of the sale of Catalyst Games to Wellspring Capital, indicate by show of hands."
Hands went up. Callum counted.
One. Two. Three.
Four. Five. Six.
Same as last time.
He exhaled.
"Don't you see, Father? This deal is frankly absurd and—"
A seventh hand went up.
Callum's words died on his tongue. Ryan looked bored as he held his hand up long enough for his vote to be counted.
Disbelief paralyzed Callum. "Ryan? What are you doing?"
Ryan didn't meet his gaze. "No hard feelings, Cal. It's just business."
Howard's voice rang out, gloating. "Pursuant to Section Three of our bylaws, a majority vote of the board is sufficient to approve this transaction. Let the record show that seven members have voted in favor. The motion carries. The sale is approved."
Callum's ears rang.
He couldn't move. Couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.
This had to be some kind of mistake.
"You—" he began, but the words stuck in his throat. The betrayal burned hotter than rage, sharper than anger. It was grief. It was heartbreak. "You're voting yourself out of a job, Ryan."
Ryan's lips curled into a cruel, small smile. "No. I'm voting myself into yours."
Callum blinked. "What?"
Ryan turned to him at last, eyes gleaming. "Even if the board overlooked all the messes you've made—do you really think my half brother would leave me stuck under you?"
The room blurred.
'Brother?'
Callum repeated the word silently, trying to make sense of it. Ryan didn't have a brother. He didn't have any siblings. Callum knew this. The two of them had laughed about it, bonded over shared the shared absurdity of it all. In college, they were the 'Only child that hates their parents' club. Callum had been to Ryan's house, seen the family portraits, heard the stories of cold parents and colder holidays.
Ryan had no brother.
He had no…
Damian Wells.
Wells. Like Ryan Wells.
It had always been there.
He just hadn't thought about it. 'Wells' was a common name, heck if he had to count the amount of unrelated 'Pierce's' in their city alone, he would be stuck counting all day. Besides, Ryan had never made any indication of knowing Damian. He'd never said anything…
"You bastard," Callum breathed. "You son of a bitch."
Ryan chuckled. "You're half right. Same bastard. Different bitch. Wait—is that sexist?"
Callum slammed a hand on the table. "This is a conflict of interest! His vote's invalid—he's directly related to the buyer!"
Howard waved him off. "Director Wells disclosed his familial ties in an addendum to last quarter's ethics filing. No one here raised an objection. Perhaps you missed it, while you were busy brawling in clubs, Callum."
Callum bit down hard on his lower lip until he tasted copper.
"This isn't right," he said hoarsely.
Howard's voice was ice. "I don't care what's right, son. I care what's legal. And by every letter, this deal is."
Callum's shoulders sagged forward, bones heavy, eyes unfocused. The words on the page blurred, doubling, then swimming. He blinked. Hard. But they wouldn't settle. It was done. Everything he'd built—taken. And no one in this room cared.
Howard pressed on, cold and crisp. "Now, if Director Pierce is done causing disorder, we still have one final duty to perform. Per Section 6.1. We retain executive control until the buyer's wire clears, and continuity is paramount."
Callum didn't look up. He didn't want to.
"I do not believe my son is capable of managing this company until the ink dries. Therefore, I propose Ryan Wells as interim CEO."
Callum didn't even have the strength to protest. His hands had gone numb. He clenched them under the table anyway, digging his fingernails into his palm just to feel something.
What was it that Damian had said? That he would take everything away from him?
From the day they'd met, Damian had been open about his desire to make Callum's life miserable.
And Callum didn't even know why.
"All in favor," his father said, "indicate by show of hands."
Eleven hands moved.
Callum's didn't.
They didn't need his vote.