Chapter 4
One thing could be said about Nate nearly two weeks in–he was a fast learner.
Names, dates, numbers, figures, he had a good memory for the kind of information that Connor had stressed he needed to familiarize himself with before his daily meetings.
And he never seemed to balk in the face of investors, putting on a pleasant smile and conducting himself with the kind of ease that might have made up for his many shortcomings.
‘Might have’, because the one thing he couldn’t do?
“I don’t see any reason we should be alarmed by these forecasted expenses. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Ideally we’ll be seeing 12% returns if we take this approach through recruiting tech clients. Only good news over here.”
“No, I don’t anticipate we’ll be expecting personnel changes in the foreseeable future. We’re looking steady.”
Connor started taking to setting his coffee mug a little too loudly, glaring at Nate from just off screen whenever he started down the path of overpromising overly optimistic outcomes to investors.
“Stick to the memo. Nothing more,” Connor said for what must have been the umpteenth time that day.
“I’m just trying to put a positive spin on it,” Nate protested.
Connor just scowled.
“Leave that to PR. That’s Thornton’s department. Your job is to exude stability and tell them nothing.”
“How am I supposed to tell them nothing when they’re asking me such direct questions?”
Jesus Christ, you were at a VC firm, Connor wanted to yell some days. Don’t you know how to give a non-answer?
Instead, he said, “You need to practice deflecting.”
“What, like not answering?”
“No, like giving a non-answer.”
Nate grimaced.
“Like a politician. It feels like blowing them off.”
“It’s not like that.” Connor was starting to feel the edges of a headache coming on.
He regretted not accepting Junie’s offer of splitting a dimebag that morning, but he’d stopped doing that right before Devore left–and he didn’t want to start relying on it again.
Instead, Connor sipped his coffee and tried to pretend the caffeine helped.
“What did you used to say to clients at your VC firm when they weren’t getting funded?” He asked, trying to pull from something Nate would already know.
“That I’d see what I could do to make things happen for them.”
Connor pressed his lips together in a thin line. Nate could not possibly be this sincere. No one was.
“What if they didn’t have a chance in hell?”
Nate’s expression didn’t change, jaw set.
“Look, I had six clients the whole time I was there, and I fought like hell for them. I guess I put a spin on everything I told them, but they were happy. They felt like I heard their concerns. They knew I’d advocate for them. That was my goal, to make sure they felt taken care of.”
Connor's expression must have betrayed his disbelief, because Nate's eyebrows furrowed, twin vertical lines forming between them.
“Hey, I never promised them numbers, okay? I just said, you know, we’ll look into this, we’ll follow up, I’m feeling good about this. That’s normal meeting dialogue.”
“Those statements are litigable in the role you’re in now,” Connor said flatly. They were in your last role, too, he doesn’t say.
Nate was quiet for a moment. His eyebrows didn't relax.
At least Connor’s words weren't going in one ear and right out the other.
“You mean they could have sued us if what I said didn’t turn out to be true.”
“Investors are litigious,” Connor explained. “They would have sued us if we hadn’t canned Devore for stock manipulation.”
Mistake. Too forthcoming, too revealing, and Connor knew it the moment he said the words. Nate knew, too, dark eyes wide in clear surprise. Then his eyes narrowed, giving Connor a strange look. Like there was something he was trying to detect, a wolf catching the scent of rabbit in the air.
He’d be right, but Connor had no plans on letting him know that.
“Stock manipulation? I thought it was because he breached our ethics agreement, right? Something about there being an investigation.” Nate asked casually.
Too casually for it to be written off.
No doubt Nate knew his own way around playing casual, pretending not to know what it was that he knew while fishing for more information.
The hairs at the back of Connor’s neck stand straight up and he finds himself studying Nate.
What do you know? He wanted to ask. What have you been told?
And how much of it has to do with me?
Instead, he managed his way to a non-reaction. Professional. Unaffected. Unbothered.
“I imagine the two played hand-in-hand,” Connor said, as casually as if they were discussing what color pen should be used when taking notes.
Nate tilted his head to the side.
“You worked with him, right?”
There it was.
The same line of questioning Connor had faced time and time again, but he practiced his own way of giving safe answers. Answers that wouldn’t open him up to the same investigations and disciplinary action that had faced Devore.
And Nate couldn’t possibly be harder to shake than Alarie Inc.’s own internal legislative teams.
“I was Mr. Devore’s assistant, yes. I had insight only into his daily calendar and what meetings he required me to attend for notetaking purposes. I can’t say for certain what he was discussing in his own private meetings.”
Practiced, but natural.
Professional.
Maybe too much so, the shift too marked when he'd otherwise maintained such a casual air with Nate. Maybe that was his tell.
He couldn't shake the feeling that Nate knew it was as the man bit the inside of his cheek, eyebrows arching high.
Whatever he planned on saying, Connor wished he would just come out and say it. He felt a flicker of apprehension in his chest, a wave of irritation. His morning coffee threatened to turn to acid in his stomach, but his expression didn’t falter.
“That was a deflection, right?”
Not a question - just an observation. Nate sounded casual enough but Connor swallowed down his nerves.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he said flatly.
Nate looked like he wanted to press, lips parting to follow up–when they were interrupted by a knock at the door.
Not exactly an unusual occurrence, but Connor was grateful for the interruption. He crossed the length of Nate's office in a three strides, pulling open the heavy door to find Isaac Berkshire.
Chair of the Board of Directors, Isaac Berkshire.
Nate's father, Isaac Berkshire.
Berkshire seemed just as surprised to see Connor as Connor felt seeing him, the lines in his face deepening.
It wasn't a pleasant expression.
But Connor was better at masking himself, keeping his face, avoiding eye contact as he stepped aside.
“Please come in, Mr. Berkshire.”
He knew well enough to make himself scarce, disappearing around the bookshelf as Nate approached to take over.
“I didn’t realize you were coming up,” Nate said, his voice too pleasant for the unexpected visit. “It’s good to see you.”
“I thought I’d see how your quarterly report is coming. We’ll be wanting to see it during the next board meeting.”
“Yeah, that’s coming right up. I’m just waiting on a few final figures from finance. Connor, could you please follow up on that for me?”
“Right away, Mr. Santos,” Connor chirped pleasantly.
He even typed out a quick email, hesitating a moment before adding Tan Atkins to the recipients list.
Old habit. The people in finance never thought much of it–his signature was going to be needed on those expenditure totals–but that had always been a signal from Connor that he'd be coming up later for a chat.
And a handshake, while he was at it, a crisp $20 slipped into his palm and a tiny ziploc bag hidden between stacks of papers that Tan passed back to him with a knowing smile.
It was just shaping up to be that kind of day, and Connor found himself tempted for a little pick-me-up, the kind that espresso couldn’t match.
For a moment, Connor even considered offering a little to Nate, before deciding against it. That was the last thing he needed, something to rattle him up even more when he was worried about being found out for the imposter he was.
It was probably the last thing Connor needed, too.
He deleted Tan’s name from the CC field and clicked send, trying not to regret it as he did.
“Have you given any thought to our last discussion?” Berkshire asked. An underlying venom simmered in the tone of his voice, lurking in the shadows of his pleasantries.
“I did,” Nate replied. If Connor didn’t know better, he'd say that Nate sounded nervous, lacking in his usual charm. “I was thinking, maybe we’ll wait until after this quarter. There’s still a bit of, uh, institutional knowledge I’m trying to pick up on.
Can’t–uh–cut down a good tree before harvest, right? I think that's a saying.”
A long stretch of silence passed. Berkshire didn't respond. Whatever it was they were discussing, that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear from Nate.
“I assure you, I’m on board with moving forward on this, but I’ve got a few concerns about being so hasty and wasteful with the resources I have-”
“Resources are not in limited supply, Nathan. The board is concerned with the optics of delaying a fresh start. A page needs to be turned and I expect you to manage this.”
Berkshire had a way of speaking that always struck cold ice into Connor’s heart. He and Devore were similar in that regard, able to look you in the eye while speaking such kind and pleasant words that spelled out your demise. He sucked in a slow breath, his head threatening to start spinning.
Whatever it was they were talking about, he knew he didn't like the sound of it.
A fresh start was the kind euphemism he'd always heard used for terminations. Layoffs.
Not that there was anyone in Nate's department that this would apply to. He didn't oversee consultants, nor even much in the way of a team outside of–
Well. Him. Just him.
But that was impossible, so Connor reached for an explanation that made sense, like moving in new middle managers. Maybe expanding department scope.