Chapter 112 - Reyes
There were few things in life more dangerous than giving businesspeople lanyards and free coffee.
By nine in the morning, everyone became an expert.
By ten, everyone had disrupted something.
By eleven, at least three men had said the word ecosystem without referring to an actual ecosystem.
I sat at a round table near the back of the ballroom and considered leaving.
Not because the conference was bad.
It was actually useful.
Mostly.
The morning panel had been about regional expansion, supply-chain resilience, and capital allocation. Three topics I genuinely cared about.
Unfortunately, one of the speakers had spent fourteen minutes answering a four-minute question.
That should have been illegal.
Beside me, Carlo from our finance team leaned over.
"If he says synergy again, I'm resigning."
"He's not our employee."
"I'll resign from the industry."
The speaker smiled at the audience.
"What we've really learned is that sustainable growth requires synergy across the entire stakeholder ecosystem."
Carlo closed his eyes.
I patted his shoulder.
"Thank you for your service."
He whispered, "Tell my mother I tried."
I bit the inside of my cheek.
We had been invited because our company had grown enough to become interesting to people who liked using words such as scalable and strategic while standing near expensive coffee machines.
I didn't hate events like this.
They were useful.
You met suppliers.
Operators.
Investors.
People who had made mistakes you hadn't made yet.
Sometimes you learned something valuable.
Sometimes you learned which people never to accept money from.
Both were useful information.
The moderator finally thanked the panel.
Everyone applauded with the deep gratitude of hostages hearing a door unlock.
Carlo stood immediately.
"Coffee."
"You've had three."
"I need four to survive networking."
"You're thirty-two."
"That's why I know my limits."
He disappeared into the crowd.
I checked my phone.
There were three messages from Layla.
The first was a photo of Carl sitting on the kitchen floor.
He had a plastic container lid on his head.
The same type he'd been obsessed with for months.
The second message said:
Your son has entered fashion.
The third:
He refuses removal.
I smiled before I could stop myself.
I typed:
Don't suppress the artist.
Layla replied almost immediately.
You bought him actual hats.
Apparently my procurement strategy failed.
He has also rejected pants.
I stared at the message.
Then typed:
I'm in a conference. I cannot manage this remotely.
Weak leadership.
I laughed quietly.
"Something funny?"
I looked up.
A woman stood beside the empty chair across from me.
Tall.
Sharp blazer.
Dark hair pulled back neatly enough to suggest competence without suggesting she had spent an hour making it look competent.
Pretty.
Very pretty, actually.
The kind of pretty that made my brain acknowledge it before politely returning to scheduled programming.
She gestured toward the chair.
"Taken?"
"No."
She sat.
Her badge turned toward me.
THEA REYES.
I recognized the surname before the person.
Not personally.
Professionally.
Reyes had come up in conversations about investments, acquisitions, logistics, and a few companies I'd looked at but never pursued.
Whether she was that Reyes, I didn't know.
And I had learned several lifetimes ago not to build people out of surnames.
She looked toward the stage.
"Did I miss anything important?"
"Depends."
"On?"
"How emotionally attached you are to synergy."
Her mouth twitched.
"Not very."
"Then no."
That got an actual laugh.
Small.
Controlled.
But real.
"Good," she said. "I was worried I'd missed the transformation of Philippine industry."
"It happened around nine forty."
"Damn."
"You can catch the replay."
"Do I have to?"
"No. I think legally one exposure is enough."
She looked at me properly then.
Not flirtatiously.
Assessing.
I knew that look.
I used it too.
"You're Ramos."
"Lia."
"The customization company."
"Among other things."
"I've seen your fulfillment numbers."
That made me raise an eyebrow.
"My fulfillment numbers?"
"You were in a case study last quarter."
"I was?"
"Apparently."
"Nobody asked me."
"Maybe the case study was about consent failures."
I laughed.
"Excellent academic rigor."
Someone approached our table offering miniature pastries.
I took one.
Thea looked at the tray.
"What is that?"
The server smiled. "Truffle mushroom tart."
Thea looked at the object.
It was roughly the size of a five-peso coin.
She looked at me.
"Where's the rest?"
I nearly choked.
The server maintained impressive professionalism.
Thea took one anyway.
When the server left, she inspected it.
"This is not food."
"It's networking food."
"What's the distinction?"
"You're supposed to remain hungry enough to keep moving."
"Efficient."
"Very."
She took a bite.
Paused.
Then frowned.
"What?"
"It's good."
"You sound offended."
"I don't like being manipulated."
"By pastry?"
"It knew what it was doing."
I liked her.
That was immediate.
Not in a dangerous way.
Not in a something has changed way.
She was simply enjoyable.
There were people you had to drag conversation from.
People who made every discussion feel like pushing a refrigerator uphill.
Thea was the opposite.
She listened.
She answered the thing you actually said.
And when she disagreed, she didn't soften it into uselessness.
We ended up talking about acquisitions.
I mentioned that too many founders waited until a business was already breaking before considering whether they still wanted to own it.
Thea leaned back slightly.
"You sell quickly?"
"If the asset stops making sense."
"That can destroy long-term value."
"So can emotional attachment."
"Depends on the reason you bought it."
"Exactly."
She tilted her head.
I continued.
"If I buy a company because I understand the operation and think I can improve it, fine. But if three years later the market changes and I'm spending eighty percent of my attention protecting a business that contributes ten percent of the value, why am I keeping it?"
"Because you might be able to recover it."
"Fixable doesn't mean worth owning."
Thea went quiet.
Not offended.
Thinking.
Then she nodded once.
"I disagree with your threshold."
"Good."
That surprised her.
"You don't want me to agree?"
"I've been here since eight-thirty. Everyone agrees with everyone."
She glanced around the ballroom.
"They're networking."
"They're lying politely."
"That too."
"So disagree."
Her mouth curved.
"All right. Your problem is you're treating management attention as fixed."
"It is fixed."
"You can hire."
"You can."
"Delegate."
"Yes."
"Build stronger governance."
"Yes."
"Then attention isn't the constraint. Organizational design is."
I shook my head.
"Still attention."
"Why?"
"Because somebody has to design the organization."
"That doesn't have to be you forever."
"No. But if I'm still the person constantly repairing the structure required to justify owning the asset, I bought myself a hobby I hate."
Thea stared at me.
Then laughed.
Not polite conference laughter.
Real laughter.
"All right."
"What?"
"That was good."
"Thank you."
"I still disagree."
"Less good."
She smiled.
I noticed her eyes when she smiled.
That was inconveniently attractive.
Again, noted.
Filed.
No emergency meeting required.
A man stopped beside our table.
I vaguely recognized him from one of the earlier panels.
"Reyes."
"Thea."
He shook her hand, then mine.
"Ramos, right?"
"Lia."
"I've been wanting to meet you."
This sentence was almost never followed by peace.
He sat without being invited.
"Actually, perfect that you two are together."
Thea and I exchanged a glance.
That should have warned him.
It did not.
"I'm advising a group looking for operating partners. Consumer products, logistics, light manufacturing. We're building an integrated platform."
There it was.
Platform.
Conference bingo was progressing beautifully.
He continued for five minutes.
I knew because I checked the clock.
Twice.
Thea asked one question.
"What's the current EBITDA?"
He hesitated.
I looked at her.
She looked at me.
Interesting.
He recovered.
"Well, on a normalized basis..."
Thea took another tiny tart.
I drank water.
Ten minutes later, the man finally stood.
"I'll have my team send over materials."
"Please do," I said.
Thea nodded.
He left.
Silence.
Then Thea said, "There is no EBITDA."
"There is hope."
"Hope is not EBITDA."
"They have a platform."
"They have a PowerPoint."
"A very integrated PowerPoint."
She looked down.
I realized she was trying not to laugh.
That made me laugh first.
Carlo returned carrying two coffees.
He stopped when he saw me.
Then Thea.
Then the empty chair occupied by the man's abandoned brochure.
"I leave you alone for fifteen minutes."
"This is Thea."
"Thea Reyes."
Carlo blinked.
He knew exactly who she was.
To his credit, he recovered quickly.
"Carlo."
They shook hands.
He gave me one coffee.
"I brought yours."
Thea glanced at the cup.
"What number is that?"
"Two."
Carlo said, "She has self-control."
"You're on four."
"I have responsibilities."
"You're drinking whipped cream."
"It's morale."
Thea nodded solemnly. "Important operational expense."
Carlo pointed at her.
"Exactly."
Then his phone rang.
He checked it.
"Excuse me. Our supplier has apparently discovered a new way to misunderstand email."
He walked away.
Thea watched him go.
"I like him."
"He's good."
"You keep people long?"
"When they want to stay."
"Good answer."
"It's also true."
She looked at me again.
There was something unusually easy about the conversation.
I had lived long enough to recognize compatibility in many forms.
Friendship.
Business.
Romance.