CHAPTER 22 – SAWYER #2
She thought about Phoenix Ridge and Gina’s folder and the decommissioned industrial site in Tempe and the farm that had become a drainage channel in the survey notes.
She thought about Nellie standing at the tree line at seven in the morning, arguing with her like it was simply a thing that needed to be done and she was the one who had to do it.
Not because she’d been hired to, not because anyone had told her to, not because there was a salary or a title or a board that expected it of her.
She did it because she believed the ground was worth fighting for.
Fascinated and perplexed and desperate all at once, Sawyer ran numbers. This was what she did when she needed to organize her mind; she had always found the architecture of finance more legible than the architecture of her own emotions, and tonight she let that be practical.
Of course, her emotions told her that making a change might make her feel less shitty as a person.
Of course, her emotions told her that she had been too indifferent to the world around her for too long.
Of course, her emotions told her that she should do whatever she could to make Nellie Fuller less disappointed in her.
Now it was time for logic and reason to catch up.
She thought about the tax incentives for renewable energy infrastructure.
The federal credits, the state-level frameworks, the land constraints that had been making the new data centers difficult to site—and that went away, entirely, if you co-located with solar or wind.
She thought about the projections her head of infrastructure had circulated in January, which she’d declined to move on because the capital expenditure had looked aggressive at the time.
She thought about the fact that she had, give or take, eleven billion dollars and a company with the technical capacity to do nearly anything she pointed it toward and a board that had been chasing the same quarterly metrics since 2017 because she had never given them a reason to look anywhere else.
She got up, found a legal pad, and started writing.
She was still writing at two in the morning.
Returning somewhat to her natural state of sleek CEO, Sawyer walked into the office on Monday in a suit and the first pair of shoes she’d worn in a week.
Martha looked up from her desk, read the room with a speed Sawyer had spent a decade being grateful for, and simply said, “Board room at nine. I’ll send the calendar invites. ”
“Good. Get Gina in there too.”
Martha’s hand paused over her keyboard. “Looping in Gina Marsh.”
The board room held nine people: six board members, Martha against the far wall, Gina at the end of the table with her reading glasses pushed up onto her head and a leather portfolio in front of her that she’d clearly brought under the assumption this was the kind of meeting where having a portfolio made you look prepared.
Gina was going to need to revise that assumption.
Sawyer stood at the head of the table and didn’t sit down.
“I’m going to keep this brief,” she said, which in her experience was the only useful way to open a conversation with a room full of people who made their living running out the clock.
“Alburn Systems is changing its development strategy. As of this quarter, we’re redirecting our infrastructure expansion exclusively toward renewable-integrated builds.
Solar co-location on data center sites, partnership with wind energy providers for grid supply, and a full audit of our current environmental footprint with third-party verification.
I’ll have the detailed framework circulated before end of week. ”
She had fully anticipated the stunned silence that met this announcement.
Patricia Ng, who chaired the risk committee and had a thin-lipped scowl she deployed when she considered a meeting to have gone sideways, deployed it now. “You’re talking about a complete strategic pivot.”
“I’m talking about a strategic evolution.” Sawyer had chosen that word deliberately, and wasn’t going to abandon it. “The infrastructure is still being built. The capacity targets don’t change. The difference is what powers it and what it costs the environment to get there.”
“The cost to us is the number I’d like to discuss,” said Danielle Farr, who had a private equity background and a chronically high blood pressure reading that was both self-inflicted and well-documented. “Renewable co-location adds eighteen to twenty percent to the build cost on each site—”
“Offset by the federal IRA credits over a six-year window, which I factored in before I walked in here.” Sawyer produced the legal pad notes she’d transferred to a typed summary overnight and set it on the table. “The math is there. Take a look.”
Danielle looked at the summary.
“There’s also the question of the timeline,” Patricia said, picking up her copy. “If we’re mid-negotiation on the Spokane Valley site—”
“We pull the Spokane site.”
Silence. This one was sharper, more hostile.
Gina took her reading glasses off her head and put them on.
“Sawyer,” she drawled. “With respect, the board approved the Spokane Valley acquisition in February. Pulling it means we’re back to square one on the capacity timeline, which means we miss the Q3 infrastructure target, which means we’re in breach of—”
“I know what it means,” Sawyer snapped. “I wrote the Q3 target.”
“Then you understand why—”
“Gina.” Sawyer looked at her. Just looked, with the stillness she’d spent twenty years calibrating, and waited for the sentence to die naturally.
It did. “I understand the targets. I also built this company, which means I have the authority to change where it’s going. That’s not a point for discussion.”
The room didn’t exactly bristle. It did something closer to a collective intake of breath that nobody quite released again.
Danielle put down her copy of the summary and looked at Josie Barfield. Josie looked at Patricia. Patricia looked at Gina. Gina looked at her leather portfolio and then, after clicking his pen a few times and making contact with precisely no one, she looked up at Sawyer.
“I think,” Gina said curtly, “in light of the strategic and financial implications of what’s being proposed, it might be appropriate for the board to consider calling a vote.”
Sawyer raised an eyebrow. “A vote on what?”
“A vote of no confidence.”