CHAPTER 34: CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR: UNANIMOUS VOTE

The boardroom was silent, but not the peaceful kind.

It was the kind that pressed on one’s chest—thick, breathless, heavy with judgment.

Morning light cut through the tall glass windows, falling in sharp lines across the table. The An Group crest gleamed on the far wall, polished to perfection. Everything in the room was immaculate—except for the air.

An Zhiguo sat rigid at the end of the table. Across from him, An Hongsheng presided with quiet authority, papers laid neatly before him.

Ever since An Hongsheng handed the company over to An Yancheng, he rarely came in. But on this very day—when the task was to cast out his own brother—he chose to be here himself.

He supposed, in a way, it was only fitting.

Perhaps, somewhere along the line, he had made a mistake too. He hadn’t been ruthless enough.

He’d known his younger brother had always felt it was unjust that the company had been handed down to him. That resentment had lingered, festering quietly over the years, taking root in places that even blood ties couldn’t reach.

He still vividly remembered how their father had once asked him—whether he intended to completely strip his brother of the company’s shares.

At that time, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He thought leaving a portion behind was an act of kindness.

Their father, however, had seen it differently. The old man had been willing to play the villain, because he understood something his sons didn’t—that it was kinder to leave a man with nothing, than to let him live with a hope he could never reach.

Even now, An Hongsheng could still recall the look in their father’s eyes before the sigh that followed—equal parts weary, knowing, and resigned

Back then, he hadn’t understood it. Now, sitting at the head of the boardroom table, he did.

That sigh hadn’t been disappointment. It had been foresight. A kind of sorrow only those who had seen too much could carry.

Because mercy, he realised now, was not always grace. Sometimes, it was simply the first mistake.

He had believed that family would be enough to hold ambition in check. He had been wrong.

The silence clung to the room like a shadow—thick, unmoving, suffocating.

No one spoke. No one dared to.

Every man seated around the long table knew what was about to happen, and yet none wished to be the one to acknowledge it aloud.

An Hongsheng’s gaze swept the table once, then settled on his brother. An Zhiguo sat perfectly still, his expression carefully composed, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him. Pride and fear rarely shared space, but both sat heavily on him now.

An Hongsheng’s fingers brushed over the edge of the document before him. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quiet—but it carried.

"An Group," he said evenly, "was built on trust. That trust was broken."

The words landed like a gavel.

"Stealing confidential data and endangering the company’s interests is not a mistake," he continued. "It is a betrayal. And betrayal, no matter who commits it, cannot be excused."

No one lifted their eyes. The board had seen scandals before—but never one dragged so publicly into the light.

He paused briefly, his next words measured. "Under ordinary circumstances, the wrongdoer would be handed over to the authorities for prosecution."

A quiet murmur stirred around the table, quickly dying when his gaze swept over them.

"However," he continued, "in light of their years of contribution to the company—and because they still bear the An name—there will be a different course of action."

The tension in the air tightened, almost audible.

"I propose that the entire second branch will be permanently removed from all company affairs," he said at last. "Their positions will be revoked, their shares relinquished, and their rights within the Group rescinded in full."

He set the papers down carefully, the sound of the folder against the table almost too soft for what it signified.

"This decision was not made lightly," An Hongsheng said. "But it must be made."

The declaration left no room for appeal; what had been said could not be undone.

An Zhiguo’s knuckles tightened against the polished wood. He didn’t speak, didn’t even flinch, but the silence around him shifted, dense and brittle, as though air itself feared to touch him.

He could feel the gazes on him, waiting for his reaction. But what was there to say?

He straightened slightly, forcing the slightest semblance of composure. Pride was the only thing he had left, and even that was crumbling beneath the weight of defeat.

The weight of decades pressed down on him—years of rivalry, of grasping at shadows that were never his to claim.

The meeting was technically over, yet no one moved—not until the ritual of voting was done.

An Zhiguo didn’t need to look up to know ho wit would end; he had predicted the outcome long before he stepped into the room.

He had spent the night before on the phone—calling, persuading, bargaining with the very directors who once backed him without question.

Some didn’t pick up. Some answered only to offer vague condolences. And the rest, the ones who had toasted him in brighter days, spoke in measured tones about "the greater good" and "public accountability."

They couldn’t vote to veto this decision, not this time. It wasn’t loyalty that swayed them anymore—it was the numbers.

A scandal this large affected not just the family’s reputation—it threatened their bottom line.

If An Group lost this bid, the blow to their profit margins would be severe—and none of the men seated here were willing to shoulder that consequence.

"All those in favour?"

An Hongsheng’s tone was calm, almost detached, as though this were any other matter on the agenda.

One by one, hands rose around the table. Hesitant at first, then certain.

No one opposed. No one abstained.

"It is the unanimous decision of the board," he said, each word deliberate, "that the second branch be removed from all company affairs—effective immediately."

A few pens clicked, papers shifted. The meeting dispersed with the quiet efficiency of habit, as though erasing a name were nothing new.

And just like that, the verdict was sealed. All those years of resentment—that lifelong sense of injustice—felt like a joke now.

In the end, it only proved their father had been right all along.