She began typing on her phone again.
The screen showed tools most of these board members had never personally used.
Bloomberg Terminal.
Reuters.
Federal Reserve economic data.
Institutional financial platforms costing more per month than many people's salaries.
They were still staring at her jeans.
"Ma'am, you're in violation of corporate security protocols," the security chief announced. "You need to leave immediately."
"I'll need your badge number, too," Angela responded. "For the documentation."
"What documentation?" Webb demanded.
Angela didn't answer.
She began photographing each person in the room methodically.
Like she was building a case file.
The legal counsel approached nervously.
"Miss, I don't know who you are, but this is a private corporate meeting. You could be charged with trespassing."
"Could I?"
Angela's voice carried a hint of amusement.
"That's interesting. What's your bar number?"
The lawyer blinked.
"My what?"
"Your state bar number. I'll need it for the countersuit."
Two more security guards arrived.
The boardroom was now crowded with people trying to remove one woman in jeans and a turtleneck.
The irony was becoming impossible to miss.
Angela's phone rang again.
This time she glanced at the screen and answered.
"Hi, sweetheart. Yes, I'm still at the meeting. No, it's going exactly as we expected."
She paused, listening.
"Tell Professor Martinez I'll be there for your presentation tomorrow. Love you, too."
She hung up.
The board members exchanged confused glances.
"Your daughter?" Hawthorne asked, temporarily distracted from his rage.
"Columbia University. She's defending her honors thesis tomorrow."
Angela's voice carried quiet pride.
"Economics and social justice. She's studying corporate discrimination patterns in Fortune 500 companies."
The room temperature seemed to drop several degrees.
"How convenient," Hawthorne muttered.
Eight board members.
Six security personnel.
Two legal assistants.
All focused on removing one woman who refused to acknowledge their authority.
"You have exactly 30 seconds," Hawthorne declared, his face flushed red. "Explain who you are and why you're dressed like a college student in my boardroom, or I'm calling the police."
Angela closed her notebook.
Stood slowly.
The simple black turtleneck caught the light differently now.
The fabric's quality became undeniable to anyone actually looking.
"Mr. Hawthorne, before we continue, I need to inform you that this conversation is being recorded."
"Recorded?"
The security chief stepped forward.
"Ma'am, that's illegal without consent."
Angela tilted her head slightly.
"Actually, New York generally permits a participant in a conversation to record it with that participant's consent. That would be me."
She paused.
"Also, as of 9:52 this morning, I have corporate authority to document activities in this boardroom."
She pulled out her phone.
The recording app showed 43 minutes and counting.
"Corporate authority?"
The legal counsel's voice cracked.
"Under what authority?"
"Under Thornfield's governing documents and applicable Delaware corporate law. My shareholder rights now supersede the authority you're assuming I don't have."
The words hung in the air like smoke after a discharged weapon.
Majority shareholder.
Webb's laugh sounded forced.
"Lady, I don't know what game you're playing, but..."
"51.3%," Angela interrupted.
The room went still again.
"Acquired through seven holding companies over 18 months. The acquisition was completed at market close yesterday."
She placed another document on the table.