1. Marcus #2
A few people at the table shift subtly after that, the kind of movement meant to look accidental even when it isn’t. Sloane steps away from the screen behind her, slow enough to feel deliberate. Not aggressive. Worse. Controlled.
“Because from the outside,” she says evenly, “they look exactly the same.”
There’s no heat in her voice. That’s what makes it worse. Sloane doesn’t argue emotionally. She argues like she’s removing weak boards from a structure and waiting to see whether the rest of it can still stand.
I hold her gaze for a second longer than necessary. “We lock external access, trace the source, warn legal, contact investor relations directly, and shut down amplification before lunch.”
“And when every reporter who already has the photos asks why Crossridge leadership is refusing comment?”
“We refuse to comment.”
“That works for twenty minutes.” She steps away from the end of the table, the movement controlled but not casual. “Maybe thirty, if we’re lucky. After that, every non-answer becomes the answer.”
I should let Graham decide the direction and move forward. Instead, I hear myself say, “Not every situation requires public contrition.”
She stops. Her expression doesn’t change much, but something in the room does.
When Sloane speaks again, her voice is quieter. More precise. “Acknowledging reality isn’t contrition.”
No one moves. I know exactly why she chooses that wording. Because suddenly the argument isn’t only about the leak.
Sloane built her reputation on refusing to clean up other people’s lies unless she can stand behind the language used to do it.
She came to Crossridge with that reputation intact, after a very public implosion at her former agency that half the city still pretends not to remember in front of her.
She hates spin when spin becomes cover. Hates being told perception matters more than truth.
And if there’s one thing Sloane Parker never does, it’s hide the shape of her contempt when she thinks someone is asking her to.
I know that. I also know this company doesn’t survive by reacting emotionally every time someone tosses fuel at it and waits for a spark.
“Reality,” I say evenly, “is that there’s no misconduct here.”
“Reality is also that perception doesn’t care.”
“Then we don’t reward it.”
Her eyes hold mine. “Sometimes control looks exactly like fear from the outside.”
Something tightens, quick and unwelcome. Maybe because she means it professionally, or maybe because for half a second it doesn’t feel entirely limited to business.
I push back from the table and stand. The motion is enough to shift the room with me. Sloane doesn’t move, but I can feel attention snapping tighter across the boardroom now, legal anticipation settling into something more personal.
I brace one hand on the polished surface between us and keep my voice level. “You want to issue a statement before we know where the leak came from?”
“I want to establish credibility before someone else establishes motive.”
“You think speaking early gives you control.”
Sloane holds my gaze without blinking. “I think credibility is control.”
She says it like credibility and control were never separate things to begin with.
I look at the coverage again, at the headlines multiplying by the minute, at the curve on the market screen that hasn’t recovered nearly enough, at the room full of people waiting for someone to decide which instinct wins.
Then I look back at Sloane.
She’s not backing down. Not softening the recommendation because I’m standing now and most people in this room instinctively recalibrate when I do. If anything, she looks more certain. More fixed in place. Like the pressure clarifies her instead of wearing her down.
That should make this easier.
It doesn’t.
Because the worst part of a problem isn’t always the problem itself. It’s recognizing, in real time, that the strategy you trust most may not be enough to solve it.
Graham rises slowly from his chair. “Both of you. My office. Now.”
Declan mutters something that sounds suspiciously like there it is under his breath as he reaches for his coffee.
Sloane steps back first, already reaching for her tablet, already moving. Her team follows her without question, and within seconds, the room is in motion again. Calls are being placed, messages sent, external council looped in, calendars shifted, pressure redistributing instead of disappearing.
I stay where I am for a second longer while my phone lights up again on the table.
Another alert, another pickup, another version of the same story is spreading faster than it should be. Fix it. That has always been enough. Identify the weakness. Cut off the risk. Control the variables. Move.
Only now, standing in the middle of a boardroom that suddenly feels too full of noise and screens and people pretending not to watch, I know exactly what I’m looking at.
Not just a leak. Not just bad timing. Not just a mess that needs containing, but a situation that isn’t responding to the way I handle problems.
For the first time since this started, I’m not looking at the screens.
I’m looking at Sloane Parker as she steps through the boardroom doors ahead of me, already moving like she expects me to challenge her again the second I catch up.
And realizing that fixing this might require something I don’t do.
Let someone else take control.