The rest of the drive passes in relative silence, broken only by the tap of Remy’s stylus and the occasional question she asks about client preferences or technical specifications. She asks the kind of questions that make me realize she’s been paying attention.
Damon stares out the window, not saying a word. The tension coming off him fills the car.
For a second, he looks less angry than... lost. Like he’s watching something slip away and doesn’t know how to stop it.
Then he catches me looking, and the walls slam back up.
When we arrive at the private terminal, our jet is already on the tarmac. We’re crossing the tarmac when Remy pauses to thank Joshua for the drive, shaking his hand before catching up with us.
Breck leans close to me. “Damon said she liked to play the victim. Doesn’t look like it to me.”
I don’t respond, but the comment adds to the growing list of things that don’t match what Damon told us. The Remy I’ve seen takes responsibility for things that aren’t her fault, fixes problems without being asked, and handles Damon’s subtle digs with more grace than he deserves.
The flight attendant greets us at the stairs—a woman named Emily who’s been with our aviation service for years. “Good morning, Mr. Jacobs, Mr. Jacobs, Mr. Jacobs.” She smiles at the familiar joke about our names. “And welcome aboard, Miss?—”
“Ray. Remy Ray.” Remy shakes her hand with genuine warmth. “Thank you for having me.”
“Can I get you anything once we’re airborne? Coffee, breakfast, champagne?”
“Coffee would be amazing, thank you. Black, if that’s not too much trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Emily’s smile widens, like she wasn’t expecting the kindness from Remy. I realize the flight attendant is probably accustomed to the parade of models and socialites we’ve brought on vacations or day trips, women who see the staff as part of the jet’s amenities.
We settle into the cream leather seats with polished wood accents. There’s enough space to work or sleep, depending on the flight’s purpose. Damon immediately claims a window seat and pulls out his laptop, pointedly avoiding eye contact with Remy, and radiating energy that he doesn’t want to interact with her.
It seems like the feeling is mutual.
Remy takes a seat at the small conference table built into the cabin’s center, spreading out her tablet and the revised presentation materials. Within minutes, she’s deep in work mode, making final adjustments.
I should review my own notes for the meeting. Instead, I watch her work, noticing small details. She tucks a strand of copper hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating. A slight furrow appears between her eyebrows when she’s problem-solving. She mouths words unconsciously as she reads, like she’s testing how they’ll sound when presented.
Emily returns with coffee, and Remy looks up with a genuine smile. “Thank you so much. This is perfect.”
“My pleasure.” The flight attendant smiles warmly. “Let me know if you need anything else.”
After she leaves, Breck catches my eye and raises an eyebrow. He noticed, too. She treats everyone with the same respect, regardless of their position.
Damon described her as entitled, demanding, someone who looked down on people she considered beneath her.
The discrepancies keep piling up.
The client meeting is held in a glass-walled conference room on the thirty-second floor of Chicago’s newest tech tower. The view is spectacular, with Lake Michigan glittering in the afternoon light.
Breck handles the introductions with his usual charm, and I launch into the opening remarks about Jacobs Security’s track record and capabilities. Then, I turn it over to Remy for the technical presentation.
She stands, and the room’s energy transforms. She’s confident without being arrogant, knowledgeable without being condescending. She walks them through their current vulnerabilities, showing them exactly where they’re exposed without making them feel incompetent.
“Your infrastructure isn’t bad.” She pulls up a network diagram. “It’s outdated. Think of it like living in a house built in 1995. The bones are solid, but the locks are old, the windows are single-pane, and you definitely don’t have a security system that talks to your phone. You’re not unsafe, but you’re not as protected as you could be.”
The metaphor lands. I see it in how the chief financial officer nods, how the chief technology officer leans forward.
She’s good at this. Really good.
We’re ten minutes in when Damon interjects. “What Remy’s trying to say is that your current setup is a liability. You’re one breach away from a PR nightmare.”
Remy’s features don’t change, but I catch the tightening around her eyes. “Actually, their current setup is functional but not optimal. There’s a significant difference.”
“Semantics.” Damon waves a dismissive hand. “The bottom line is they need to upgrade immediately, or?—”
