“He’s a Hale,” Charlie tells Ernest. “Last time I checked, H.M.C. Philanthropies stood for Hale, Meadows, Cobalt. You’re an idiot if you think he wouldn’t be here.” Ernest’s eyes darken. “Watch yourself, Charlie.” His voice lowers. “I own the board. I could remove you tomorrow if I wanted.” “You do already want that,” he says flatly. “But you won’t. You know why?” Charlie tilts his head, avoiding a ray of sun. “Because I’m the son of Connor Cobalt. And the only reason this company hasn’t dissolved is because I’m still a part of it. I will concede—you do own the board, Ernest. I have no control
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