“Actually,” he said, tapping his lid, “Mr.Holt and I discussed this, and I believe we’ll have to table today’s discussion.”
The room went very still. Emma’s expression saying everything her voice didn’t—what the hell is happening?
Nathan kept going, syrupy smooth. “Falkirk needs to align expectations internally before we can agree to today’s talking points.”
Her timeline flashed through my head like a warning flare. Every delay cut deeper into her margin. For a fraction of a second, panic crossed her face before she smothered it and folded her hands in her lap like she’d expected this all along.
Cold and heat hit me at the same time. I wanted to humiliate him. I wanted to drag him out of the room by his tie.
Before I could move, Emma stepped in.
“Actually,” she said, voice crisp, “that’s fine with us. We were a bit rushed for time today.”
It knocked him a step off center. The people who’d leaned in for spectacle leaned back again. Maria’s posture eased into something that looked a lot like satisfaction. Tessa’s shoulders dropped.
A smile threatened, but I kept my voice even. “If we’re tabling, let’s at least leave with a date. We’ll schedule a follow-up within five business days. Shorter if needed. I’ll have legal draft a precise timeline and a weighted decision framework by tomorrow morning.”
Emma lifted her pen, eyes on me. In that look I could read gratitude, challenge, and complication. “Five business days is acceptable provided Falkirk commits to shared access to all deployment metrics effective immediately, and we establish a live reporting channel for governance.”
Nathan started to protest—something about procedure, precedent, counsel.
I cut him off, polite and final. “Counsel will be looped in. This isn’t about ceremony. It’s about preventing delays that hurt both sides. I assume we’re aligned on that outcome.”
Agreement rippled through the room. Nathan’s protest trailed off into a muttered nothing.
Emma closed her portfolio with a decisive snap. “Excellent. Then we’ll reconvene on the proposed date and move forward with the items we agreed in principle today.”
The room emptied. I watched her go—the unhurried stride, the way her hips moved like she knew I was watching. She disappeared around the corner, and the composure I’d fought for cracked wide open.
The anger came roaring back, big and bright. I turned away from the conference room and went straight where I wanted to go.
Nathan’s office.
I pushed the door open hard enough that it hit the stopper, then shut it behind me with a slam that made his glassware rattle.
“Damien.” His expression was rot. Feet up on the desk, hands laced behind his head. “Here to thank me for keeping things interesting?”
“I’ll have your head for that.” I jabbed a finger toward his throat. I meant every word.
“Oh, please.” He scoffed. “All I did was save Falkirk from embarrassment.”
“It’s my company,” I snapped. Anger blurred the edges of the room.
“It was—before you went public.”
My hands found the edge of his desk and tightened, knuckles blanching.
“Now it’s my company,” he went on calmly, “and Richtner’s, and Shores’s, and Lang’s, and—”
“Enough.” The word cut through him. “We both know I’m still majority owner.”
He leaned back, folding his fingers like a man counting down to a punchline. “Yes. And that’s all very impressive.” Sing-song. Patronizing. “But you and I both know I hold the board.”
The words landed like a physical hit.
Five to five.
The numbers had followed me through too many sleepless nights. I’d built Falkirk from nothing—late flights, ugly bets, deals signed over bad coffee at worse hours. Growth had been the god, capital the offering. I’d sold off pieces of the whole, one stake at a time, until the name on the door was more ceremonial than sovereign.
