Somewhere off the coast of Lakewood
"We don't take her out so often these days," shouted Ian Ashburn, ex-footballer, who was standing behind the wheel of the yacht. "Father's usually got no time these days, and nor do the rest of us."
"Then why did you bring me out here?" yelled Ted Pressley in return.
"Because you're back in Tumbra, and we need to talk shop," replied Ian. "And also I know you've never been on ol' Aquarius before."
"You know I'm not a fan of the high life."
"You might not be, but your boyfriend might," he said as he brought the yacht to a stop on the still waters. "You've never brought him to Tumbra? Glorious Lakewood?"
"Dunno whether I'd call Lakewood glorious."
"Hey, it's home to one of the most successful clubs in Tumbran football, don't knock the city," Ian replied, playfully, as he stepped down onto the foredeck, where Ted had been standing. "So. No surveillance devices, nothing, just the two of us." He produced a sandwich from...somewhere, and munched down on it. "So, the general meeting's coming up. Planning to make an appearance? Or planning to let me handle everything again?"
"I'll be in Esmerel," Ted stretched a little. "It is my full-time job. And the one I actually want to do."
"Yawn, yawn. Like it or not, this other one's your responsibility too, and I won't be around to do it for you forever. But I assume you're okay with the plan that we've cooked up."
"We've been over this countless times."
"I don't like to be in the dark, especially when it comes to dealing with Mister T K over here," said Ian. "Our case is watertight, and this time next week the team will be back to being called Pressley Racing Engineering again, and from next season we'll have two, maybe three new sponsors who don't want to turn this company into an electric car company but will pay just as much. Hopefully. He probably knows by now that something's happening."
Ted yawned, evidently bored by all the business talk.
"Alright, alright. Let's eat..."
Grantfeldt
"Thank you all." Polite applause from the crowd as Ian Ashburn, interim CEO of Pressley Racing Engineering, finished presenting the financial reports for the year. "Now I believe our Secretary would very much like to go ahead and conduct the first of many votes we have lined up today. Thankfully, our votes will be conducted all at once, and we've got new vote-counting software — thank you, Research — so we'll be able to find out the results at the end of today. But I do believe that our Special Advisor, and one of the biggest investors in the team, Mr. Thomas Kim, has a presentation of his own he'd like to make." Ian smiled, but it was a false one; by the end of today, Kim would be out on his arse, to be involved no more in the inner workings of a team he'd so badly wanted to disrupt and revolutionise, but had just ended up disrupting instead.
"Thank you, Ian," Kim stepped onto the stage, casually. "Now, everyone will know by now that there are two slates of candidates for each position on the board; both have competing visions for the future of Pressley. This," he said with a flourish as his slides came on screen, "is mine."
There were murmurs in the conference hall as Kim's first slide appeared — PRESSLEY RACING: THE ELECTRIC LAP. Ian looked nonplussed; he'd expected this already.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the future of Pressley Racing is electric. Here's how I see it; the internal combustion engine is on its way out. Smelly, dirty, relies on a resource we know will run out some day, and so twentieth century. Under my leadership, we'll dedicate new resources to an electric division; for technology that won't just be used for our racing division, but also for a future road car division..."
The room was abuzz. Kim had just presented a revolution in how the team was to commit to its operations; electric cars? A fully-electric WGPC effort? It certainly sounded interesting, but was the team ready to make the leap? Voter after voter filed into the booths set up outside the conference room to cast their votes; the 20% of minor owners' votes would be voting on, amongst other things, a scheme to offer them double the price that they originally paid for an ownership stake in the team to relieve them of said stake, with the CEO taking control of those shares.
A lengthy afternoon full of breakout sessions and other corporate nonsense later, the conference reconvened in the main room to view the results. Kim and Ashburn would be
"I can now announce the results for the position of Chief Executive Officer," said the secretary, a graying man who'd been with the team since its foundation. "Ian Ashburn — 1,085 votes. Thomas Kim, 723 votes."
Polite applause as Ashburn stood up and bowed at the assembled crowd, while Kim crossed his arms angrily. How did none of the 20% of minor owners not vote for him?
"Results for the position of Board Member," droned the secretary. "The top seven vote-getters shall be elected to the position of Board member."
Name after name was read; every candidate from Ashburn's slate had been elected with at least 900 votes. Kim had been whitewashed; he'd received 897 on the dot, which wasn't enough to even get him a proper seat on the Board. He'd still have one, by virtue of the fact that he was a Special Advisor, of course, but he'd been stripped of actual power. The buyback option had passed, too; every single one of the minor shareholders was apparently content enough to let go of their ownership stock. Cash, as ever, was king. By the end of it Kim seemed incensed; and when Ashburn took the stage to deliver a congratulatory speech, he was tempted to storm off.
"Thank you to everyone who put their faith in me to bring the long-term racing plan we have to fruition," began Ian. "But first, we've got some other housekeeping matters to do. I move to temporarily suspend the rules on the issue of voting on a suspension; for the reason of allowing the Chief Executive Officer to implement a suspension on all rights and duties of Special Advisor Thomas Kim, for misconduct."
Murmurs.
"For nearly a year now, Mr. Kim has actively worked to foster a hostile working environment in Pressley Racing's headquarters, be it through incessant meddling, threatening emails, and dangling job cuts to serve his own selfish agenda, which he so kindly told us about earlier."
The murmurs were getting louder.
"This is, firstly, beneath the expected standards of behaviour of a Board Member, and secondly, unhelpful for our long-term goals of WGPC, WGP2, and Tumbran Super Formula competitiveness," continued Ian, adding fuel to the fire. "From the day I ascended to the position of interim CEO, I have been assailed with emails from our staff on how Mr. Kim has continually assailed them with emails asking them to, for example, detail what they've done for work that week. Continually assailed them with offers of an early retirement, voluntary quitting, and so on. I have put a stop to this, but it is clear that the only way to stop this is to stop it at its roots."
Now audible words.
"I call now for a voice vote on the matter."
But it was clear what the result had would be.
Somewhere on a golf course
After the Esmerel race
"...And then he was threatened — sell it at beneath the market rate, at a price we quoted, or go through litigation and have it taken from him," Ian said, lazily, eating yet another sandwich as he sat in a golf cart.
"And he chose the former?"
"Obviously. I'd say thirty cents on the dollar was a good deal. And the immediate funding gap has been plugged through an infusion of funds from yours truly," he said, making a little bow as Ted teed off, somewhat awkwardly. "Mm. Bad form. It's alright, we'll get you mingling with us in no time."
"And the funds from overseas?"
"Those will be a next-season thing, Ted. But congratulations. You now own an additional eleven percent of Pressley Racing. Isn't that grand?"
All Ted could do was groan slightly.
