A pause. “The MacLeod deal? I thought Arthur was handling that filing.”
“He was. It just got rejected with no specific reasons given.”
“That’s unusual,” Jim said. “They almost always provide a path for mitigation or clarification.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“Let me know if I can help pinpointing it down.”
“Thanks. I’ll give it a read first, though.”
After hanging up, I turned back to the massive binders. If there was a security concern, it would be buried in the details.
Two hours and three cups of coffee later, I found it—a small section referencing “abandoned military research notes from 1991.” The notation was brief, just a paragraph mentioning early research into glucose monitoring for combat applications, but it was enough to set off alarms.
I remembered those notes. They were from the very earliest days of the company, when Marco was still exploring potential applications for his technology. The military angle had been deemed impractical and abandoned almost immediately, with the company pivoting entirely to medical uses.
But here in the CFIUS filing, the military research was mentioned in detail without any of the follow-up documentation that would have shown it was a dead end. Without that context, it looked like we were transferring dual-use technology with military applications to a foreign entity.
My hands went cold. Arthur had included the erroneous military research notes on purpose.
His offer to handle the paperwork hadn’t been collegial—it had been a trap. He’d set up a failure that he could then solve with his “domestic alternatives.” Alternatives he would control.
I leaned back in my chair. The board meeting was in two weeks. Without the Scottish deal, I had nothing to counter Arthur’s narrative that the company needed experienced leadership—his leadership—to navigate these waters.
The phone rang. I picked it up.
“Theresa Carideo.”
“Theresa, it’s Duncan MacLeod.” His Scottish brogue was recognizable, though his usual warmth was gone. “I’ve just received word about the regulatory complication.”
“Duncan, I was just about to call you. Yes, there’s been a hiccup with the CFIUS approval, but I want to assure you we’re addressing it immediately.”
“I see.” The pause was heavy. “And what is the nature of this... hiccup?”
I considered how much to reveal. Duncan was a potential partner, not a confidant. The last thing I needed was to air CarideoTech’s internal power struggles.
“It appears some old military research notes were included in the filing without proper context,” I said. “We’re preparing a supplementary filing that will clarify the situation.”
“Military research?” Duncan’s tone sharpened. “Theresa, are we talking about something that could genuinely pose a security concern?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “This was research that was abandoned years ago. It has no bearing on the current technology.”
Another pause.
“I have to consider the timeline here. My board is expecting movement on this deal within the month.”
The implied deadline meant,fix this quickly, or we walk away.
“I understand,” I said. “And I appreciate your patience. I believe we can resolve this quickly.”
“Very well. Keep me informed of your progress.”
After we hung up, I sat back in my chair, the binders spread across my desk like a paper explosion. Outside my window, the sky was a dull, overcast gray, the kind of morning that couldn’t decide if it wanted to rain. It was barely noon, and the day had already come at me sideways—but I wasn’t about to let that knock me off balance.
I had two weeks to fix this and show Arthur exactly who he was dealing with.
I pulled out a fresh legal pad and clicked my pen, the sound loud in the quiet office. At the top of the page, I wrote “COUNTER-STRATEGY” in block letters.
