The CarideoTech parking lot was nearly empty when I arrived. Only two other cars, including Arthur’s black BMW.
The building was quiet. No receptionist, no phones, no voices. Too early.
Arthur was waiting behind his desk, shoulders squared, hands clasped behind his back—projecting authority.
“Arthur,” I said, closing the door. “What’s happened?”
He gestured to the chair. “You should sit down.”
“I prefer to stand.”
Arthur shrugged. “The CFIUS committee has rejected the MacLeod partnership.”
I stopped breathing. Forced myself to stay still, keep my face blank.
The MacLeod deal was everything—my proof to the board that I could lead without Marco, my path to financial stability, my promise to his legacy.
“On what grounds?” My voice came out steady.
“National security concerns.” Arthur slid a thin folder across the desk. “They provided no specific reasons.”
I didn’t reach for the folder. “That’s unusual.”
“Very.” Arthur’s expression tried for concern, but his eyes were calculating. “The board meeting is in two weeks. Without the Scottish deal, your position becomes... precarious.”
There it was. The real reason for the early morning summons. Not to inform me—that could have waited. To watch me absorb the blow and crumble.
“Fortunately,” Arthur continued, “I’ve been cultivating relationships with several domestic investors who might be interested in stepping in. I can have preliminary proposals ready in time for the board meeting.”
Of course he had. Arthur had been planning this since Marco died. Maybe longer.
“Thank you for letting me know,” I said. “I’d like to see the full CFIUS filing.”
Arthur raised an eyebrow. “All four hundred pages of it?”
“Yes.”
“It’s rather technical.”
“I’m rather technical.” I held his gaze. “I’ll be in my office when you have it ready.”
I turned to leave. As I reached the door, he called after me.
“Theresa.” His voice had softened, but I wasn’t falling for his fake sympathy. “I know this is a setback, but perhaps it’s for the best. The board would understand if you decided to focus on your family for a while. No one would think less of you.”
I paused, hand on the doorknob, and looked back. “I appreciate your concern, Arthur. But I think we both know that’s not going to happen.”
The flash of annoyance across his face was quickly masked, but I’d seen it. Good. Let him know I wasn’t going to roll over.
Back in my office, I sat at my desk with the massive CFIUS filing spread before me, a cup of coffee at my elbow. The rejection letter was brief and vague citing only “national security concerns identified during review” without saying what those concerns were.
My gut said something was wrong. In the tech world, CFIUS rejections weren’t unheard of, but they typically came with clear indications of the problems. A flat denial without guidance was rare.
I reached for the phone and dialed Jim Morton, the company’s regulatory attorney. After two rings, his gravelly voice answered.
“Morton.”
“Jim, it’s Theresa Carideo. I’m looking at a CFIUS filing for our Scottish manufacturing partnership, and I need your take on it.”
