“Well, I won’t keep you,” he said, already turning toward the door. “Until next time, Ms.Sinclair.”
“Until next time, Mr.Holt.”
Then he was gone, the door clicking shut as the room exhaled.
I stood there for a moment, hand resting on the back of my chair, letting the still spread across the table. Two months. An actual path. Something that looked dangerously close to the miracle Davidson had demanded and insisted didn’t exist.
My phone buzzed where it sat by my notes.
From: The Desk of Damien Holt
Subject: Falkirk & Elion—Discussion Recap
I opened it.
Elion’s clarity, cohesion, and readiness were evident and appreciated.
Alignment… accelerated two-month execution schedule… Elion’s foundation is technically strong and strategically agile. We see high potential in this partnership.
Specifics. Dates. Actions. Legal review starting next week. Documentation deadlines. Preliminary agreement targeted in thirty days.
Five minutes. That was how long it had taken to arrive. Maybe less.
The familiar chorus stirred—not vicious but wary.Too fast. Too good. They’re setting you up.
“Not now,” I muttered.
Another knock, and Sarah leaned in. “Ms.Sinclair, the investors are on a conference call. They’re asking for an update.”
Of course they were.
“Patch them through to Conference Room 2,” I said. “I’ll take it there.”
***
The smaller conference space felt less grand, but the moment my laptop connected and three rectangles populated the screen, the old pressure slid right back into place.
“Good afternoon.” I forced brightness into my tone.
“Emma,” Harrison rumbled, inclining his head. “You look… tired.”
“Long day,” I replied. “But productive.”
Margaret’s face appeared next. Calm and composed, framed by the pale light behind her. Davidson joined last, camera slightly too close, smile stretched a little too wide.
“We wanted to touch base,” Margaret said. “How did today go?”
“It went well,” I said, keeping my tone even. “Falkirk and Elion are aligned on structure and pace. I believe this will become a strong partnership.”
“Believe,” Davidson repeated, dragging the word out. “Last time we spoke, I believe we asked for something more concrete than belief.”
I hit the forward button on Holt’s email, punctuating the keystroke with a mentalfuck you.
“I’ve just forwarded you an email from Damien Holt. It outlines Falkirk’s intent, their internal timeline, and an accelerated execution window.”
A brief shuffle, the muted click of a trackpad as they pulled it up on their end.
“Hm,” Harrison murmured. “This is… encouraging.”
