She sets her briefcase on the floor beside her, places the tablet on her lap, and folds her hands in front of her.
Her posture is impeccable.
Her expression is unreadable.
She is ready.
She is here for a meeting I called without warning and is prepared despite that.
The exhaustion is still there, but it no longer matters.
Across from me now is not a woman who missed sleep.
It is a lawyer who has come to do her job.
My respect for her deepens.
That is dangerous.
“I assume Diego gave you the files,” I say.
“He did.”
“And you reviewed them?”
“I started to review them.”
I lift a brow.
“I also spent the weekend reviewing all the documentation provided by your legal team,” she adds before I can ask. “And the initial reports from the risk management department. And the security contracts for the last three years.”
She did all of that since Friday afternoon.
She is either extremely efficient or extremely paranoid.
Probably both.
“I prepared a preliminary proposal,” she says, her voice calm and even. “Which I can present to you now, or I can wait until I have completed my review of the security files.”
“I want to hear your preliminary proposal.”
She nods, as if that is what she expected, and her fingers move over the tablet. The screen brightens, her face illuminated by the cool light.
Her focus shifts.
The fatigue that lingered in her face a moment ago vanishes, replaced by an intensity that is both compelling and intimidating.
She is no longer in my office.
She is in her element.
“Based on my initial assessment, your primary exposure is not in the areas you might expect,” she begins. “Your financial structures, while complex, are well-documented and defensible. Your operational security is strong, though there are gaps in inter-departmental communication that could be exploited.”
She swipes to a new screen.
“Your greatest risk is human.”
I lean forward slightly.
