The boardroom of Chen Textiles smells like fear and expensive cologne.
I sit at the head of the table—not my table, but I've made it mine through sheer force of presence. Bryan Chen sweats through his tailored shirt despite the aggressive air conditioning. His CFO won't meet my eyes. Good.
"Mr. Hale," Chen begins, his voice steady but his hands betraying him with a slight tremor. "I appreciate your interest in our company, but I'm not sure—"
"Let me save us both time, Mr. Chen." I open the folder in front of me with deliberate slowness. "You're drowning. Three major clients pulled their contracts in the last quarter. Your production facility in Indonesia is operating at sixty percent capacity. Your line of credit comes due in forty-seven days, and you don't have the cash reserves to cover it."
His face goes white. "How did you—"
"I make it my business to know things." I slide a document across the polished mahogany. "This is my offer. I acquire sixty percent of your company at the current market value—which, let's be honest, is generous given your situation. You remain as CEO with full operational control. Your employees keep their jobs."
"Sixty percent?" His CFO finally speaks up. "That's—"
"Non-negotiable." I let the silence stretch, watching them squirm. This is the part I've learned to savor—not the victory itself, but the moment before. The instant when they realize they have no choice. "You have forty-eight hours to decide. After that, I withdraw the offer and let nature take its course."
"And what happens then?" Chen asks quietly.
I meet his eyes with perfect calm. "Then your creditors call in their loans. Your remaining clients—the ones I haven't already contacted—find other suppliers. Your facility closes. Two hundred and thirty-seven people lose their jobs right before the holidays." I pause. "But that's not really my concern, is it? It's yours."
The CFO looks like he might be sick. Chen's hands are fisted on the table, knuckles white.
"You're a bastard," Chen says.
"Yes." I stand, buttoning my suit jacket. "But I'm a bastard offering you a lifeline. Take it or don't. I have three other textile suppliers I can acquire if you'd prefer to be stubborn."
The lie comes easily. There are no other suppliers—not that meet my needs. But Chen doesn't need to know that. He needs to believe he's replaceable, that his pride costs more than his survival.
I'm at the door when he speaks.
"Why?" His voice is hollow. "Why my company specifically?"
I turn back, and for a moment, I consider telling him the truth. That I need his company because Eve Sinclair uses his fabrics. That I'm going to have him cancel her largest order, creating a crisis that will drive her toward me.
That he's not a business opportunity. He's a chess piece in a much larger game.
But I don't. I never reveal more than necessary.
"Because I can," I say simply, and leave him sitting there with his defeat.
***
Bjorn is waiting by the car, his face impassive as always.
"How did it go?" he asks as I slide into the back seat.
"He'll accept." I loosen my tie, feeling the familiar hollowness that follows these meetings. "They always do."
"You didn't enjoy that."
It's not a question. Bjorn has been with me long enough to read the micro-expressions I don't show anyone else.
"No," I admit. "But it's necessary."
"For Miss Sinclair."
"For Eve."
He doesn't comment on my use of her first name. Doesn't point out that I've never called her that before, not out loud. Just nods and gives the driver the address for my private gym.
