Compositional Defiance

Part 1: Let's Push The Limits!

Stop shaking, I tell myself as I wait in the chair Dad sat in for twenty-eight years before me. He is--was--the CEO of Intrepid Airways, a job I now have to manage somehow.

I distinctly remember what it was like to come through those white double doors as a little girl, not at all minding that Dad was in the middle of a board meeting, and I remember, despite my rude interruption, seeing Dad's smiling face at the end of the table in front of the picture window looking out onto Chicago's skyline. The board members would all scowl at me, but I never minded. I was Dad's princess, he told me every day, so even though all I had to ask him was whether or not I could use one of his notebooks for drawing, he answered me with a gentle 'yes' before kissing me on the forehead and sending me back to his office.

Now, as I countdown the minutes until the start of my first board meeting as CEO, all I can hope is that all of this is one huge mistake, one huge mix-up in the paperwork. Dad and Mom didn't die in a skiing accident in Telluride. They are on some secret getaway trip and have become the victims of a horrible case of mistaken identity. Apart from all the sheets of profit and loss statements I don't understand, there's something else I can't wrap my brain around: How could my parents be gone just like that?

What am I going to do now?

The double doors open, startling me from my thoughts. In pours the board members of Intrepid Airways, nearly all the same as I remember from my childhood, only a little grayer now. Men and women who had always just been faces at seats, even recently, are now my employees, and the realization grips at my neck a bit. I take a gulp from my lime green Art Institute of Chicago water bottle, then tuck it beneath the table. No need to remind them how recently I finished my education, or that my degree has nothing to do with business.

The boardroom table stretches almost the entire width of the room, one big cherry wood oval, and the members all take their seats around it. One familiar face sits directly beside me, a Mr. Stirling. He used to come over for poker nights with Dad, until we stopped inviting him. Apparently his poker face was so good, Mr. Stirling would clean Dad out every game. I see that not much has changed in that department. He sits down, his short silver hair up in spikes on his head and his thin face stoic.

It seems like as soon as he takes a seat, the rest of the board silences, as if he had silently commanded them to do so by his gesture. Although it is strange that they all walked in together. Perhaps directives from Mr. Stirling weren't so silent, he is, after all, way more qualified to take over as CEO than I am. Who am I? Just the boss's artsy daughter who occasionally interrupted meetings.

I gulp again, but don't dare take a swig from my water bottle. All eyes are on me.

"Do you have meeting agendas for us?" Mr. Stirling asks. He purses his lips as if from impatience, even though they all just sat down.

"Agendas?" I ask.

He nods, only this time a little smile creeps into the corners of his lips. He's trying to catch me unprepared, and unfortunately, he's succeeded. How was I supposed to know I was supposed to make copies of what I planned to talk about? I thought Dad always just talked, but if I were to really rack my brain, I'm sure the memory of boring white papers would surface. My stomach sinks, but I do my best to save the situation.

"I figured we all had enough papers to look through with these profit and loss statements, you didn't need anymore. Besides, this meeting is really just to introduce ourselves to each other and to catch me up to speed on everything."

Way to play it, Adalie, I tell myself. But Mr. Stirling catches me.

"We already know each other. We've all been working together for at least ten years. That was when the newest member joined. So why don't you just introduce yourself, as we haven't known much about you outside of knowing that you were Logan's daughter."