The quarterly board meeting convened at two o'clock in the mansion's original ballroom, now converted into a conference space that somehow managed to be both opulent and oppressive. Twelve board members around an oval table, representing old money, new money, and institutional investors who cared only about returns. Victoria sat at the head, projecting confidence she didn't entirely feel.
"Let's begin," she said, and launched into the presentation she'd rehearsed twice that morning.
The numbers told a good story. Revenue up, margins expanding, customer acquisition costs down. They'd successfully launched in Tokyo and Dubai while maintaining their domestic market share. The holiday collection had sold out in three weeks. By every metric, Ashford & Co. was thriving under her leadership.
So why did Margaret look like she'd just tasted something sour?
"While these results are adequate," Margaret began when Victoria finished, her voice projected through the video screen with crystalline disapproval, "I have concerns about strategic direction. Specifically, this flagship renovation project seems to have stalled."
Victoria kept her expression neutral. "We're conducting thorough due diligence to ensure we select the right design partner."
"Thorough," Margaret repeated. "Or indecisive? The retail landscape is evolving rapidly. We can't afford to be left behind while you deliberate."
Robert Chen, their CFO, cleared his throat. "With respect, Margaret, Victoria's track record on major capital projects is excellent. The Boston expansion came in under budget and exceeded revenue projections by twenty two percent."
"Past performance doesn't guarantee future results," Margaret countered. "And at forty three, Victoria needs to demonstrate she understands the sensibilities of younger consumers. Perhaps we should consider bringing in consultants with expertise in millennial and Gen Z marketing."
There it was. The age card, wrapped in business jargon. Victoria had been waiting for it.
"Our customer research indicates that our brand appeals across demographics precisely because we don't chase trends," Victoria said calmly. "We represent timeless luxury, which is increasingly valuable in a market saturated with fast fashion."
"Timeless or stagnant?" This from David Kowalski, a venture capitalist who'd joined the board two years ago and still thought disruption was a personality. "Look at the data. Our customer base is aging. The average age is now forty seven, up from forty two five years ago. We're not attracting younger buyers."
"Which is why the flagship renovation is critical," Victoria replied. "We need to create an experiential environment that resonates with younger luxury consumers while maintaining the brand equity we've built."
"And you believe you're qualified to understand what resonates with twenty five year olds?" Margaret's question hung in the air like poison.
Simone, sitting to Victoria's right in her capacity as CMO, jumped in. "Victoria has assembled a team that includes significant expertise in emerging consumer behavior. We're not relying on assumptions."
"Teams are only as good as their leadership." Margaret's face on the screen was impassive. "I'm simply questioning whether we have the right leadership for this particular initiative."
The room went silent. This was more than the usual needling. This was a challenge.
Victoria met Margaret's gaze through the screen. "Are you proposing a change in leadership?"
"I'm proposing we consider all options to ensure the company's continued success."
"Noted." Victoria's voice could have cut glass. "Unless there are additional concerns, let's move to the financial review."
The meeting continued for another ninety minutes, but the damage was done. Margaret had planted seeds of doubt, questioned Victoria's relevance, suggested she was too old, too out of touch, too stuck in her dead husband's vision to lead the company forward.
The worst part was that some of it was true.
After the board members filed out, Simone lingered behind, closing the door with deliberate care.
"That was a power play," she said without preamble.
"I'm aware." Victoria gathered her materials with precise movements, trying not to let her hands shake.
"She's building a case to push you out."
"She doesn't have the votes."
"Not yet. But if you don't make a decision on the flagship soon, if she can paint you as indecisive or out of touch..." Simone trailed off meaningfully.
Victoria sank into her chair, suddenly exhausted. "What do you want me to do, Simone? Hire an unproven twenty eight year old designer just to prove I'm not risk averse?"
"I want you to hire Kieran Hayes because his work is extraordinary and because safe choices are killing us." Simone sat on the edge of the conference table. "But also yes, because you need to show the board you're still capable of bold leadership."
"Bold leadership that could backfire spectacularly if he fails to deliver."
"Or bold leadership that transforms the brand and proves Margaret wrong." Simone crossed her arms. "When did you become so afraid?"
The question landed like a slap. Victoria looked at her oldest friend and saw genuine concern beneath the challenge.
"I'm not afraid," Victoria said, but even she didn't believe it.
"You're terrified. You've been terrified since Edmund died and you realized the board saw you as the widow, not the CEO. So you've spent four years being perfect. Perfect decisions, perfect performance, perfect image. And it's suffocating you."
Victoria wanted to argue, to defend herself, to maintain the professional facade. Instead, she heard herself say, "I don't know how to be anything else anymore."
Simone's expression softened. "Then maybe it's time to remember. Meet with Kieran Hayes. Look him in the eye and tell me his work doesn't make you feel something. If you can do that honestly, I'll drop it."
"And if I can't?"
"Then maybe you take the risk. Maybe you choose the beautiful thing instead of the safe thing. Maybe you remember what it felt like to want something."
After Simone left, Victoria sat alone in the empty boardroom, surrounded by the ghosts of Ashford family portraits on the walls. Edmund's grandfather, stern and judgmental. Edmund's father, weak chinned and dissolute. Edmund himself, looking uncomfortable in his official portrait, like he was wearing someone else's life.
Which, Victoria reflected, was exactly how she felt most days.
Her phone buzzed. An email from Simone with a subject line that read simply: "Tuesday 2pm."
Victoria opened it. A calendar invitation for a meeting with Kieran Hayes. Two days from now.
She should decline. Should stick with the safe choices, the proven firms, the path of least resistance that would keep the board satisfied and her position secure.
Instead, she found herself clicking Accept.
Just a meeting, she told herself. Just due diligence. Nothing about this decision had anything to do with the way her heart had quickened when she'd looked at those renderings, or the small spark of something that might have been excitement she'd felt for the first time in years.
Nothing at all.