Single Dad Left Waiting at His Own Office — Then He Fired Them All

“Richard,” Beatrice said.

Her voice was smooth, chilling, and instantly recognizable to anyone who read the Wall Street Journal.

A choked gasp came from the speaker.

“M-Ms. Croft?”

“I’m sitting in a diner eating cold toast with your majority shareholder,” Beatrice said, casually lying about the toast.

“I find your lack of faith in him… tedious. Mr. Hayes just pitched me a restructuring plan that makes Derek’s spreadsheet look like a child’s homework.”

“Ms. Croft, I assure you, the board is entirely committed to—”

“Shut up, Richard,” Beatrice interrupted softly.

The sheer dominance in those three words made Percival raise an eyebrow.

“I don’t do business with cowards who threaten their founders with psychological evaluations. I am injecting fifty million dollars into Vanguard Logistics. The term sheet is signed. But it comes with a stipulation.”

She paused, making them wait for it.

“I am taking two board seats,” Beatrice continued.

“And since Mr. Hayes is retaking the CEO position, we are going to need to clear some dead weight. Richard, Gregory… consider your resignations accepted. I want your equity shares liquidated and surrendered by end of day, or my legal team will look into those Cabo trips Mr. Hayes mentioned.”

“You can’t do this!” Gregory shrieked.

“It’s already done,” Percival said, taking back the conversation.

“Pack your things, Richard. Vanguard is going back to hauling freight, not funding your golf trips. We’re done here.”

Percival reached forward and tapped the red button.

The call disconnected.

The diner returned to its normal background noise—the clatter of plates, the sizzle of the grill, the low murmur of tired people avoiding the cold.

Percival exhaled.

He looked at the phone for a second, then slid it back into his pocket.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Percival said to Beatrice.

“I had them handled.”

“I know you did,” Beatrice said, picking up her leather handbag.

“But I have a very low tolerance for parasites. Consider it a signing bonus.”

She slid out of the booth and stood up, smoothing the front of her pristine white suit.

She looked down at Percival and the little girl happily chewing on a chocolate chip pancake.

“Your lawyers will have the paperwork by 8:00 AM tomorrow, Percival. Clean up the mess today. Tomorrow, we go to war.”

“I’ll be ready,” Percival said.

Beatrice Croft gave a single, sharp nod, turned on her heel, and walked out of the diner, leaving a trail of expensive perfume masking the smell of old bleach.

Percival sat in the booth for a long time.

He watched Lily trace a syrup stain on the table with her finger.

“Daddy?” she asked, looking up.

“Are you going back to work?”

Percival reached across the table and ruffled her hair.

“Yeah, bug. Daddy’s going back to work.” He grabbed the check.

“But first, we need to go buy a lot of mops. We have a big mess to clean up.”