Balcom went to the door and opened it. There, bobbing her head and smirking mechanically, stood that loathsome creature, Old Meg. In these rich surroundings her frightful squalor was all the more accentuated. Those at the table drew back in utter disgust as she tottered into the room. As she passed Zita she paused.
"I held you in these arms when you were but a wee baby," she muttered, hideously.
Zita drew away from her and looked at Balcom questioningly. Balcom now leaned far over the table and spoke impressively.
"Twenty years ago Brent was secretly married to his secretary. There was a child. But Brent craved money, and power that the money would bring. Saddled with a wife and child, he was barred from his ambition, which was to marry some rich woman. So he made a hell on earth for his wife until, in desperation, she consented to an annulment of their marriage."
The room was breathlessly quiet as Balcom continued.
"Years passed and then his conscience smote him. He made his own child his secretary." Then he turned to Zita, pointing at her. "There she sits," he exclaimed, "and half of the voting power of this company belongs to her—Zita Brent, Zita Dane Brent."
Instantly Locke was on his feet.
"Balcom, you lie!" he rasped.
"Lie or no lie," retorted Balcom, "as vice-president of the company I refuse to permit any action to be taken until Zita's position is legally established."