I turned to Jennifer first, extending my hand. “Ms.Capolli. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”
“You as well, Mr.Holt.” Her expression was the professional version of a blade—polished, effective.
Then Broughton. Smith. Names, handshakes, the choreography of corporate civility. Smith carried a faint scent of baby formula, cloying and sour at the edges. I wondered how much sleep he’d lost this week. Tessa would notice it—she missed nothing. Maybe she’d use it later as an icebreaker; she had a way of disarming people with the smallest observations.
Emma had already shifted to Maria and Tessa, exchanging pleasantries with that effortless grace she weaponized so well.
Then Nathan.
“Good afternoon, Mr.Bell,” Emma said, perfectly polite, not a trace of the disgust I knew sat under her skin.
“Good afternoon, Ms.Sinclair,” he replied, tone flat, making no move to offer his hand.
She didn’t falter. Didn’t blink. If anything, the lack of contact seemed to please her—a still victory tucked beneath immaculate control.
God, she is magnificent.
“Please, take a seat.” I gestured toward the mahogany table that cut through the center of the room like an altar.
Maria, perceptive as ever, had already shifted her things down the row, leaving Emma’s chair open across from me. Emma took it without hesitation, smoothing the fabric of her skirt as she sat. The gesture was unhurried, deliberate—command disguised as poise. In the same motion, she flipped open her portfolio, pen poised in her hand, already the woman who could dismantle a boardroom with a single well-placed sentence.
“Today I’d like to address a few key points,” I began, taking my seat across from Emma. “Primarily—distribution of power.”
She glanced up, sharp and unreadable. “That works well for us. Elion’s ready to move into the finer details of our potential partnership.”
At the far end, Nathan leaned forward, mouth parting, ready to infect the conversation with whatever toxin he’d prepared.
I didn’t give him the chance.
“Falkirk is proposing shared command during the transition period,” I continued, tone even. “After integration, operational oversight would shift to our infrastructure division, while Elion retains management of its core systems.”
Emma didn’t look up right away, her pen moving in slow looping strokes. “Shared command,” she repeated, light but thoughtful. “And after integration?”
“Our logistics teams would take lead. You’d still hold advisory control—regular updates, review access.”
“Advisory control sounds like a polite way of saying we’ll be watching from the sidelines.”
I leaned back, letting one corner of my mouth lift. “Depends on your vantage point. Some people find oversight to be a position of power.”
Her expression glinted—amusement and challenge braided together. “And others prefer to be the ones giving the orders.”
Beside me, Tessa cleared her throat, pretending to rearrange her notes. At the end of the table, Nathan shifted, irritation rolling off him in waves at being excluded.
I ignored him and kept my focus where it belonged. “If control is the concern, Ms.Sinclair, Falkirk is open to discussion on weighted decision rights. Strategic calls could require joint approval in the first quarter. Equal power. Equal accountability.”
Nathan’s chair creaked as he leaned in, the sound sudden as a snapped branch. “Splitting control?” he repeated, incredulous. “That isn’t how these things work, Damien. Especially not with a company of Elion’s size. It’s… unprecedented.”
There it was. The baked-in condescension. Smaller therefore lesser.
Emma didn’t flinch. She finished the note she was writing, then looked up, cool and unbothered. “Unheard of doesn’t mean unwise, Mr.Bell,” she said, unyielding. “The structure we’re discussing supports integration while maintaining accountability on both sides. It isn’t about size. It’s about competence.”
Tessa’s fingers curled against the notepad. Maria’s lips twitched, amusement barely contained.
Nathan’s jaw ticked. “Competence isn’t the issue, Ms.Sinclair. Scale is. Falkirk operates on a global platform. Elion’s reach barely skims a fraction of that.”
“Then you should be relieved,” Emma replied, pleasant as honey. “We’ll only be taking responsibility for the systems webuilt—systems your global platform now depends on. I’d call that a fair division of power.”
Nathan blinked, thrown off by the clean hit. His mouth opened. Closed.
