Chapter 50 · Grant's Term Sheet

"Forty percent doesn't get you a chair at this table, Ms. Santos." Grant Whitfield slid a folder across the boardroom glass so hard it hit my knuckles. "It gets you a seat. There's a difference."

"Then explain the difference to my mother's name," I said, flipping the folder open with one finger, "since it's printed right there on your cover page."

Corazon Tan-Velasco didn't look up from her tablet. "Let's not turn this into a family reunion. Grant, walk the board through the term sheet."

He did. Fast, like he wanted it over before anyone read the fine print twice. Forty meters of shoreline behind the east wing, sold to a resort consortium out of Cebu. Thirty-one staff positions cut before the quarter closed — housekeeping first, because housekeeping doesn't file grievances, it just disappears.

And a rebrand. Luna Bay Grand would die on paper and come back as something with Grant's fund's name buried in the trademark filing.

"You're selling the land under our own kitchen," Jae Min said. He hadn't touched his copy.