investors, Edith had been instrumental in helping Hannah throughout this whole process—from permits to securing funding. Hannah had received a large settlement after the accident but not nearly enough to open the resort on her own. Edith had made it all possible, investing heavily and bringing others on board through her vast business connections, including her friend and fellow koi enthusiast Tiger Takagi.
But the other board members seemed riveted by Tate’s commentary and suggestions.
Hannah felt like screaming.
She’d been ready for the subject of snowboarding to be addressed, had even thought about the places where she might defer—or at the very least compromise. But never once had he said he intended to recommend an overhaul of the entire resort.
He had ambushed her plain and simple.
She forced herself to remain calm, though, because in spite of his failure to disclose his intentions, she felt confident she had the votes to reject any proposals based on Tate’s recommendations. Between her, Edith and Mr. Takagi, their block was strong enough.
Upon his closing remarks, Hannah sought permission from the chairman to speak.
“Thank you, Tate, for that informative report and those interesting facts. However, I believe I have explained to you that Snowy Sky’s focus will be a family-oriented, vacation-destination type of ski resort. Skiing is not a cheap endeavor for most families and a huge part of our draw is the large amount of beginner and intermediate ski runs, affordable rentals, lodging and food. We’re not interested in attracting professional snowboarders and competitions, or replacing our prime ski runs with snowboard terrain. One half-pipe is at best cost prohibitive. Two half-pipes feels disproportionate. How would we pay for one? And where would this influx of snowboarders come from that we could possibly justify two?”
“Skiers use half-pipes now, too,” he returned.
“Not the average skier.”
“The practice is growing in popularity.” He sounded completely confident and a little dismissive as he shifted his focus back to the screen. “If you look at these numbers I’ve compiled, you’ll see...”
After he finished his rebuttal, the board began discussing his various recommendations and asking questions. The level of excitement in the air reminded Hannah of a high school pep rally.
Over the din, Tate flashed another smile at her. But this was a smile she hadn’t seen before. One of satisfaction? She should have known he wasn’t taking her seriously. She’d thought they were becoming friends, had even found herself pondering whether they could be more than that. Something she hadn’t considered about anyone in nearly three years—not since the accident. Not since Spencer.
Park was beaming. He tried to catch her eye; she ignored him. But she couldn’t ignore the enthusiastic sounds of the board members discussing the additional revenue competitions could bring. Yes, it would bring in revenue, she wanted to shout above the noise, but it would also add untold, unsound expense.
Tamping down her frustration, she reasonably pointed out, “Please keep in mind that accommodating competitions and snowboarders in this manner would be expensive and also result in keeping families and recreational skiers away.”
“I don’t agree,” Park countered. “The expense would be offset by the revenue. It’s pretty clear that we need these half-pipes.” He referenced some of Tate’s statistics and then went on in his annoyingly superior tone, “As board members, it should be our job to focus on ensuring the economic success of Snowy Sky in any way possible.”
Edith chimed in from one of the monitors, “That does not include reckless spending, Mr. Lowell. In my opinion, Hannah and the board’s existing and more conservative approach has a much better cost-to-benefit ratio.”
Tate diplomatically added that implementing his recommendations would still leave more than adequate space for the “run-of-the-mill skier.”
Run-of-the-mill? Hannah felt a spike of annoyance. “These run-of-the-mill skiers you’re disparaging are going to be our bread and butter,” she countered smoothly.
He lifted his hands, palms up. “That’s fine. That’s great. I’m not trying to insult anyone here. All I’m asking is why not aspire to more than just bread and butter?”
“I know I would,” Park chimed in. “I’d like some steak and lobster every now and then.” An overly loud guffaw made him sound like the jerk she knew him to be.
More discussion ensued until Terry, the board’s chairman, suggested a special meeting be held in the near future to address Tate’s report. This would give everyone time to read and fully digest the material. Any proposals to take Snowy Sky in a “different direction” could be presented at that time. They voted to hold it the week after Christmas.
As the meeting progressed to other items, she barely heard them because those words, different direction, spliced together with his commentary replayed in her head, each time blurring her vision for Snowy Sky—her dream, her goals, her life—a little bit more.
She felt light-headed.
Then the chairman spoke again, “Before we adjourn, Park has requested time to bring up a new issue.”
All eyes turned toward Park who made a show of clearing his throat. He seemed to have a special smirk on his already smirk-filled face. Hannah felt a fresh swirl of dread as he began to speak.
“As we all know, during the finance and construction Snowy Sky Ski Resort Incorporated has sold two blocks of shares to investment firms, each block being twelve percent of the total shares. The purchasers were Pop Bottle Inc. and L-DOG Investments. L-DOG has just purchased the shares owned by Pop Bottle, giving L-DOG twenty-four percent ownership. L-DOG is ultimately one hundred percent owned by Tate Addison who according to our bylaws is now entitled to a seat on the board.”
He made a motion for Tate’s tenure to begin immediately. It was seconded.
Hannah sat in stunned silence, even as she reeled internally. She suddenly felt invisible within her own company—the company she had created. The resort she was building. These events seemed absolutely surreal. Tate owned a quarter of Snowy Sky? How could this have happened? Why in the world would Tate want a share of Snowy Sky?
None of this made any sense.
Before Terry could proceed with the vote, a voice of reason called out from her monitor again.
“Point of order, Mr. Chairman?”
Fixing her eyes on the screen, focusing on the face of her dear friend Edith Milner, currently vacationing in the south of France, Hannah prayed she could somehow stop this nightmare.
“Yes, Mrs. Milner?”
“According to our bylaws there is protocol to be followed as to the addition of new board members.”
“But this is an exceptional case,” Park returned confidently. “Surely we can forgo the normal vetting process here. As Tate is already involved in Snowy Sky, we can assume his motives are pure.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting we make an exception to a legally binding procedure based on personal recommendations, are you, Mr. Lowell? One of our many responsibilities as board members is to keep the threat of litigation to an absolute minimum.”
Park looked flustered, and irritated.
Tate jumped in. “Not only do I think Mrs. Milner’s point is valid, I look forward to working with someone as astute as she clearly is. I suggest the vote for my tenure be tabled until the next earliest convenience.”
Edith’s voice boomed from the monitor again. “That’s a wonderful idea. I emailed you the section and paragraph number, Terry, pertaining to the procedure for adopting a new member. Please forward it to the other members, so that everyone may easily locate and review the information.”
Hannah wondered how Edith had found it so quickly, but knowing her friend the way