Chapter 7 The Interception
The one-page executive summary had been an act of pure, unadulterated torment.
Leo had spent hours wrestling the fifty-page behemoth of corporate jargon into submission, a process that felt less like writing and more like performing an exorcism on a possessed business textbook.
He’d finally produced something coherent by interpreting the entire document as a very, very boring poem, and then summarizing the poem.
He’d expected Julian to dissect it with the cold precision of a coroner. Instead, Julian had read it, given a single, almost imperceptible nod, and said, "Adequate."
Coming from Julian, "adequate" felt like a standing ovation. Leo had been riding the high of that single, lukewarm word for a full twenty-four hours. It was a new record.
That high came to a screeching, catastrophic halt during the Monday morning team meeting.
"Alright, listen up," Sarah Vance announced, clapping her hands together with her usual infectious energy. "Big news on the Northwind account. The client loved the initial creative direction—" she gave Leo a theatrical wink, "—and they’ve moved up the timeline. Phase two kicks off this week."
A collective groan rippled through the room. Leo, not knowing what phase two entailed, just nodded along, trying to look both serious and creatively inspired.
"Which brings me to a small team restructure," Julian said, his voice cutting through the chatter with effortless authority.
Everyone fell silent. "Given the accelerated timeline and the specific design needs of this phase, I’ll be taking a more hands-on role.
Hayes," he said, and Leo’s stomach plummeted into his shoes.
"You’ll be reporting directly to me for the duration of this project.
Your desk is being moved next to mine this afternoon. "
The words hit Leo with the force of a physical blow. Directly to me. Next to mine. It was a death sentence delivered in a calm, professional monotone. He was no longer a distant, amusing anomaly. He was being moved to the epicenter of the volcano. The very handsome, very grumpy volcano.
This is it, his inner monologue wailed, already composing his eulogy. Here lies Leo Hayes. He flew too close to the grumpy, well-dressed sun.
He risked a glance at Maya, who gave him a look that was equal parts pity and morbid fascination, the kind of look you give a character in a horror movie who decides to check out the strange noise in the basement.
"We have a kickoff call with the Northwind team in ten minutes in Conference Room A," Julian continued, completely oblivious to the silent scream happening inside Leo’s head. "Be there."
The ten minutes passed in a blur of abject terror. Leo felt like he was walking the green mile, only instead of a priest, he had Maya whispering frantic, last-minute advice in his ear.
"Just agree with everything he says," she hissed as they walked. "Nod. Look thoughtful. If anyone asks you a question, just say you want to 'circle back after syncing with the team.' It's corporate for 'I have no idea'."
"Circle back," Leo repeated, the words feeling foreign and clumsy. "Got it."
Conference Room A was even more intimidating than Conference Room B.
It had a massive oak table and a panoramic window overlooking the city that made you feel both powerful and very, very small.
The Northwind team was already on the large screen, a trio of serious-looking people in expensive outdoor vests.
Leo sat down next to Julian, maintaining a carefully calculated distance, as if Julian’s gravitational pull might expose him as a fraud. He opened his notebook to a clean page and held his pen, poised to take notes he wouldn’t understand.
The meeting started, and Julian was in his element.
He commanded the room with an easy, confident authority, his language shifting from the internal corporate jargon to a clear, concise, and client-facing dialect.
He was brilliant. He explained complex technical concepts with a simplicity that made them seem obvious, all while making the clients feel like their ideas were the most important in the world.
Leo watched him, a strange mix of awe and terror swirling in his gut. This was what a real professional looked like. This was the man he was pretending to be. The gap between them felt less like a gap and more like the Grand Canyon.
He was so mesmerized by Julian’s performance that he almost didn't register his own name.
"—and Leo, our new Digital Experience Designer, has been instrumental in shaping this initial direction," Julian was saying.
Leo snapped to attention, plastering a smile on his face. The three faces on the screen turned their collective attention to him.
"Great to have you, Leo," said the main client, a woman named Katherine with sharp eyes and an even sharper haircut. "We were really impressed with the emotional resonance of the initial mock-ups."
"Happy to help," Leo managed, his voice sounding unnaturally high. "I just wanted to, you know, capture the soul." Oh God, shut up, shut up now.
Katherine smiled. "Well, you did. I have a question on that front. We’re considering integrating a real-time weather API to customize the landing page visuals.
From a UX perspective, what’s your take on the potential latency impact on the LCP, especially for users on lower-bandwidth connections?
And how would you mitigate that without compromising the core interactive elements? "
The question, a dense, incomprehensible brick of acronyms and technical terms, hung in the air.
Silence.
Leo’s brain went completely, utterly blank.
It was a white screen of pure, unadulterated panic.
API? LCP? Latency impact? It sounded like a problem you’d have on a spaceship.
His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of doom.
He could feel every eye in the room on him.
He could feel Julian’s stare, a physical weight on the side of his face.
Circle back, Maya’s voice screamed in his head. Just say circle back!
He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. His charming, easygoing persona had officially left the building. He was a fraud, caught in the high beams, and the only thing he could think of was that LCP probably stood for "Leo’s Career is kaput."
Time stretched into a thick, syrupy eternity. Just as the silence was becoming excruciating, a calm, low voice cut through the tension.
"That's an excellent point, Katherine," Julian said smoothly, turning his body slightly to address the screen.
He didn't even look at Leo. "And it's something we've already factored into our initial framework.
The key is pre-caching the primary visual assets and using a lightweight vector-based animation for the real-time elements.
We can implement a service worker to handle the API calls asynchronously, ensuring that the LCP is prioritized and renders in under 1.
5 seconds, even on a 3G network. The interactive elements will then hydrate progressively.
It ensures we get the 'wow' factor without sacrificing performance. "
He delivered the answer with such effortless precision that it left no room for follow-up. It was perfect. It was brilliant. It was a complete and total rescue.
"That's… perfect," Katherine said, visibly impressed. "Exactly what I was hoping to hear."
The meeting continued, the conversation flowing past the landmine that had almost detonated Leo’s entire career.
But Leo wasn't listening anymore. He was frozen, a tidal wave of relief so intense it made him feel dizzy.
His heart was still beating a frantic rhythm, but it was a rhythm of survival now, not impending death.
He risked a sideways glance at Julian.
Julian was still focused on the screen, but he turned his head just enough to meet Leo’s gaze.
He held it for only a second, but it was enough.
There was no warmth in his eyes. No "I got you.
" There was just a sharp, cool, and utterly unreadable look.
It was a look that said, I saw that. I know.
And then he turned back to the clients as if nothing had happened.
The look sent a chill down Leo’s spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
The rest of the meeting passed in a fog. When it finally ended and the screen went black, Leo let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He felt hollowed out, shaky.
"Good meeting, everyone," Julian said to the room at large, standing up. "Let's get to work."
People started to file out, chatting about their next steps. Leo remained seated, trying to get his legs to work. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Maya.
"You owe him your life," she whispered, her eyes wide.
"I know," Leo breathed.
He finally pushed himself to his feet and walked out of the conference room, his movements stiff. The gratitude he felt toward Julian was real and overwhelming. He had saved him.
But layered over that gratitude was a thick, cold blanket of dread. Julian hadn't saved him out of kindness. He had saved the project. He had saved the client relationship. And in doing so, he had just confirmed his deepest suspicions about Leo.
The thòng l?ng wasn't just tightening anymore. He could feel its rough fibers against his skin. And Julian Thorne was the one holding the rope.