A few hours later, Synder Business Complex, at the 4th floor of Building 1, a smaller conference room that felt intentionally chosen was currently host to Darian and a few others.
It was brighter than the executive chamber upstairs, with floor to ceiling windows that let in the late afternoon sun and a long oval table that seated no more than eight. Darian preferred it this way. No spectacle. No audience. No unnecessary weight.
Seated across from him were three people he had worked with for years, though never like this.
To his left sat Amara Voss, General Counsel of Synder Enterprises. In her early forties, with dark hair pulled into a precise bun and thin rectangular glasses perched low on her nose, Amara had a reputation for being relentlessly thorough and painfully honest. She had survived three CEOs and every board reshuffle, largely because no one could ever catch her unprepared.
Next to her sat Caleb Horne, Chief Accounting Officer. Late thirties, slightly rumpled suit, fingers already stained with ink from annotating printed spreadsheets even in a digital age. Caleb spoke little in meetings but when he did, it was usually to correct someone, politely and with devastating accuracy.
On Darian's right was Lena Whitmore, Director of Human Resources. Mid thirties, sharp eyed, composed, and far more perceptive than most people gave her credit for. She had built her department quietly, avoiding politics while learning exactly who wielded influence and how.
Sitting slightly apart from the table, almost blending into the room itself, was a fourth figure.
Mason Synder wore an old gray suit that looked like it had been tailored decades ago and maintained carefully ever since. His hair was fully silver, his posture straight but unassuming. Though he technically belonged to his grandfather's generation, he had been closer in age to Micah Synder and had outlived most of that era by simply staying quiet. Mason held no executive title. He was present because he had always been present.
He said nothing.
Darian folded his hands on the table and looked at each of them in turn.
"Thank you for coming on such short notice," he said evenly. "I'll be direct. As of this morning, the shareholder buyback is complete."
None of them spoke, but all three executives stiffened in the same instant. Mason only watched.
"There are no external shareholders left," Darian continued. "No board. No proxy influence. Synder Enterprises is now wholly owned by Synder Holdings. By me."
Amara was the first to recover. "Then congratulations are in order," she said carefully. "And paperwork."
A faint smile crossed Darian's face. "A great deal of paperwork."
He leaned back slightly. "Amara, I want legal to begin immediate consolidation of all five primary business lines under a single holding structure called Synder Enterprises. No legacy shells. No board era carve outs. Clean, unified ownership."
Amara nodded, already making notes. "And shared services?"
"Formalize them," Darian said. "HR, IT, Accounting. Service agreements drafted, standardized, and enforceable across every subsidiary. No exceptions."
Amara's pen paused briefly. "Understood."
Darian turned to Caleb.
"Accounting needs to prepare a full, exhaustive report on every business line," Darian said. "Revenues, expenditures, overhead, labor costs, debt obligations, internal transfers. Everything. I want it detailed enough that nothing can hide in the margins."
Caleb finally looked up, eyes sharp. "That's not a summary report," he said. "That's an autopsy."
"Yes," Darian replied. "And then a blueprint."
Caleb exhaled once and nodded. "Four weeks?"
Darian met his gaze. "Four weeks."
Finally, Darian turned to Lena.
"HR will conduct a full employee survey," he said. "Engagement, morale, reporting lines, informal influence. I want to know how this company actually functions, not how it looks on an org chart."
Lena tilted her head slightly. "And after the survey?"
Darian paused, choosing his words carefully.
"There are behaviors," he said calmly, "that were rewarded under the previous structure. Loyalties. Practices. Expectations that no longer align with where this company is going."
Lena's expression did not change, but her eyes sharpened.
"I trust your judgment," Darian continued. "If you find individuals who are unable, or unwilling, to adapt, I expect recommendations. Discrete. Professional. Lawful."
"Of course," Lena said. "We'll let the data speak."
Darian nodded once. "Good."
He looked around the table again, his voice steady and resolute.
"You have four weeks. I know this is a significant ask, but I wouldn't be asking if I didn't believe you were capable of it."
For the first time since entering the room, Darian allowed himself a trace of warmth.
"I won't be hovering," he added. "And I won't second guess you. Don't let me down."
Amara closed her notebook. "We won't."
Caleb gathered his papers. "You'll have numbers you can trust."
Lena stood last. "Change like this always leaves echoes," she said quietly. "We'll find them."
One by one, they left the room.
Only Mason Synder remained.
He had not moved, not taken a note, not reacted outwardly to anything that had been said. When the door finally closed and the room settled into silence, Mason rose slowly and walked closer to the table.
"You handled that well," he said, his voice soft but steady. "How are you feeling, Darian?"
Darian stood and looked out through the windows at the city below. The buildings looked smaller from up here. Manageable.
"For the first time in years," Darian said, "the company was quiet."
He turned slightly, just enough for Mason to see his expression.
"And finally, it was listening to me."
Mason watched Darian in silence for a long moment before turning and walking past him toward one of the paintings on the wall. He studied it as if it held some private memory, then spoke without looking back.
"Our family was never so fragile that you needed to carry this alone, Darian. You could have let it go. Lived quietly, like the rest of us, away from prying eyes." He paused. "You are the last of your line. Is it really worth it?"
Darian glanced over his shoulder at the old man standing before the painting and let out a slow breath.
"I do not know, uncle," he said. "I am tired. There was a moment where I almost walked away from all of it. I would not have minded."
He fell silent for a heartbeat, then continued more quietly.
"But something stopped me. And now…"
Darian hesitated, then allowed a faint smile.
"Now I just want to see how far I can take it. If it all fails, maybe I will finally join the rest of you."
Mason gave a low, humorless sound.
"Your grandfather said the same thing after your parents died," he said. "Always trying to save what is already gone. This company is an empty husk of our history, and we do not need the pittance it produces."
He turned then, fixing Darian with a measured look.
"So be it. What do you need from me?"
Darian chuckled softly at the familiar tone.
"Thank you for understanding, uncle. Not much. I need recommendations for a new advisory board. People with experience and influence. People who will give me leverage." He added, almost casually, "It will be a compensated role. I will not be giving up any stake."
Mason snorted as he turned toward the door.
"I will recommend a few friends," he said. "Just take care of yourself, boy. I have grown tired of burying people, and I would rather not outlive you as well."
Darian watched the thin frame of his granduncle disappear down the hall. For a brief moment, the way Mason walked reminded him of his grandfather. Of Micah.
He was not sure if that resemblance was real, or simply something his mind wanted to see. He truly missed them.