Two days later, the boardroom was full before ten o'clock, and the air in it felt different. The windows stood open, and a breeze from the river moved through the room, carrying the smell of the water and the faint sound of a boat's horn from the quay below. The chairman's chair still stood at the head of the table, but today it did not look like an accusation. It looked like a question, and the room was waiting for the answer.
Zane rose as I entered, and the others rose with him. I took my seat halfway down the table, the same seat I had taken two days before, and I waited for them to sit. Zane remained standing.
"Before we begin," he said, "there is a matter the board must settle, and it should be settled first." He looked around the table, meeting each member's eyes in turn. "The chair of this company is empty. It has been empty since Rhys resigned, and before that it was held by a man who failed in his duty. This company was founded by the woman sitting at this table, and it was nearly stolen from her while she was presumed dead. I propose that Theodora Haversham resume the chair of the Haversham Danube Line, effective immediately, and I ask for a vote."
Silence followed, but it was not the silence of doubt. It was the silence of people who had already made up their minds and were waiting for the formality of the words. One by one, around the table, hands went up. Every hand in the room went up, including Zane's. I sat very still and felt the weight of it settle on my shoulders, not as a burden but as something familiar, like a coat I had worn for forty years and set aside for a season.
"Then it is settled," Zane said quietly. "Theodora Haversham is chair of this company once more." He gestured toward the head of the table. "The chair is yours, Theodora. It always was."
I rose and walked the length of the table, my footsteps loud in the quiet room. The chairman's chair was tall and dark, its leather worn smooth by decades of hands. Nelson had sat in it first, in the early years, when the company was two boats and a borrowed office. I had sat in it after him, through the good years and the lean ones, through storms and strikes and the slow rebuilding of the fleet. I placed my hands on its back, as Rhys had done two days before, and I felt the wood warm under my palms.
"I accept," I said, and my voice carried clearly across the room. "But I want you all to understand what I am accepting. I am not coming back to be a figurehead, and I am not coming back to settle scores. I am coming back to rebuild this company properly, and that will mean change. The books will be opened to an independent audit. Every contract will be reviewed. The sale of the boats will be undone, and the men who tried to sell this company from under us will answer for it in full. If any of you cannot stand behind that, say so now, and leave with my thanks."
No one moved. No one spoke.
"Then we begin," I said, and I sat down in the chairman's chair.
The meeting that followed lasted three hours, and it was the hardest work I had done in years. We went through the company's position line by line: the debts Landon and Xavier had run up, the contracts that had to be renegotiated, the staff who had been frightened and the passengers who had been misled. I listened more than I spoke, and when I did speak, I spoke plainly. We would pay what was owed. We would tell the truth about what had happened. We would not hide behind lawyers or press releases. A company that lies to its passengers is a company that has already sunk, and I would not captain a sunken ship.
When the meeting ended, Zane stayed behind. He stood by the window, looking out at the river, and I joined him. "Nelson would have been proud of you today," he said. I shook my head. "Nelson would have told me I took too long," I said, and Zane laughed. "He would have said that too," he admitted.
We stood together in silence for a while, watching the Danube Empress at her mooring, her decks busy now with crew preparing her for the next sailing. Below us, the quay was coming alive with passengers, families with children, old couples holding hands, young people with cameras. They did not know what had happened in this building, or what had nearly been lost. They knew only that the boats were sailing, and that was enough for today.
I thought about the long road that had brought me back to this chair: the cold water, the lock-keeper's hands, the cottage above the river, the long nights of gathering proof while my own son told the world I was dead. I thought about Nelson, and the promise we had made to each other when we founded this company with two boats and a dream. And I thought about the work ahead, which would be long and difficult and worth every hour of it. The chair was mine again. The company was mine again. And this time, I would make certain that no one could take it from me while I still drew breath.
Chapter 39
— The Fleet Restored