Chapter 114 - Again, Reyes
I recognized Thea Reyes from the back of her head.
Which was irritating.
There were at least two hundred people inside the hotel ballroom.
Executives.
Investors.
Operators.
Consultants.
Lawyers.
Several men who had apparently agreed in advance to wear the exact same navy suit.
And somehow, from across the room, my brain went:
Reyes.
I stared for another second.
She turned slightly.
Yep.
Reyes.
Years had passed since the first conference.
Carl was no longer a small child worshipping plastic container lids. He had school opinions now, which were significantly more expensive.
My companies had grown.
My management team had grown.
My tolerance for bad PowerPoint presentations had not.
I was at an investment forum because one of our businesses was exploring a regional partnership, and our CFO had insisted my presence would be "strategically useful."
This was executive language for:
There will be people here who only behave properly if the owner is visible.
I had accepted this reality.
I was standing near the coffee station when Thea turned fully.
Her eyes landed on me.
There was a pause.
Then she walked over.
"Ramos."
"Reyes."
She glanced at my coffee.
"One?"
"First."
"It's ten-thirty."
"I had tea earlier."
She looked concerned.
"Are you ill?"
"I've matured."
"That sounds worse."
I smiled.
She looked almost exactly as I remembered, except older in the way competent people often became older.
More settled.
Sharper.
Less interested in pretending to tolerate nonsense.
Very attractive.
Still.
Fine.
This was simply information.
"You're alive," I said.
"So are you."
"Good."
"I heard you sold that distribution company."
"I did."
"Why?"
"I hated owning it."
Thea closed her eyes briefly.
"Oh, no."
"What?"
"You're still like this."
"Like what?"
"You sell functioning assets because they annoy you."
"It produced excellent returns."
"That's not the point."
"It is literally the point of investment."
"You could have held it another five years."
"I could also keep shoes I don't like because they still work."
"That is an insane comparison."
"Comfort matters."
"You're comparing a company to shoes."
"You're emotionally attached to assets."
"I am financially attached to assets."
"Same disease, better vocabulary."
She stared at me.
I stared back.
Then she laughed.
"Still annoying."
"Still Reyes."
A man passed behind us, heard her surname, and visibly slowed.
Thea noticed.
I noticed her noticing.
He approached.
"Ms. Reyes?"
She smiled professionally.
Dangerously.
"Yes?"
He introduced himself.
Then introduced his fund.
Then introduced his thesis.
Then introduced, apparently, the concept of private equity.
I watched Thea's face.
It barely changed.
This was a skill.
Years of dealing with businesspeople had taught me that there were several types of listening.
Interested listening.
Polite listening.
Confused listening.
And executive listening, where your face said continue while your soul had already left the building.
The man finally said, "We're really trying to create value through operational transformation."
Thea nodded.
"How?"
He paused.
I took a sip of coffee.
He recovered.
"Well, through strategic alignment."
Thea looked at me.
I looked at her.
I had seen this exact expression before.
Years earlier.
Different conference.
Different man.
Same crime.
I asked, "Alignment of what?"
He looked at me.
Thea's mouth twitched.
"Operational priorities," he said.
"With what?"
Another pause.
Thea picked up a pastry from the nearby tray.
I saw her bite the inside of her cheek.
The man cleared his throat.
"With the long-term growth strategy."
I nodded.
"And what changes operationally?"
He looked between us.
This had become unfair.
I almost felt bad.
Almost.
"Well, that would depend on the business."
Thea finally rescued him.
"Send us the deck."
He brightened.
"Absolutely."
He handed her a card.
Then me.
He walked away.
We waited until he was out of earshot.
Thea looked down at the card.
"He has no idea."
"None."
"He used transformation three times."
"Four."
"You counted?"
"I have hobbies."
She picked up another pastry.
I looked at it.
"Is that lunch?"
"No."
"You were very emotional about this last time."
"About what?"
"Conference food."
Recognition appeared.
"Oh."
She stared at the pastry.
Then at me.
"The mushroom tart."
"The manipulated mushroom tart."
"It was good."
"You resented it."
"I still resent it."
"Growth."
"Consistency."
A bell chimed, announcing the next panel.
Neither of us moved.
Thea checked her phone.
"What are you doing for lunch?"
"Eating."
"Excellent. We share a vision."
I looked at her.
She gestured toward the ballroom.
"I refuse to eat another decorative object."
"Fair."
"There's a restaurant upstairs."
"Actual portions?"
"I checked."
"You researched lunch?"
"I invest professionally."
"That is not related."
"Due diligence applies everywhere."
I laughed.
"Fine."
We had lunch.
Not a dramatic lunch.
Not a secret lunch.
Not an emotionally complicated lunch.
We sat near the window, ordered actual food, and spent the first fifteen minutes complaining about conference catering.
Then we moved on to business.
Thea remembered our argument.
Of course she did.
"You were wrong about management attention."
I nearly dropped my fork.
"That was years ago."
"I've had time to confirm it."
"You remembered?"
"You were very confident."
"I was correct."
"You were loud."
"I was sitting down."
"Conceptually loud."
I leaned back.
"Fine. Defend your position."
She did.
In detail.
She argued that I had underestimated how much senior leadership could expand organizational capacity when governance was designed properly.
I argued that capacity still required judgment about whether an asset deserved that structure in the first place.
She argued that I was too willing to sell.
I argued that she was too willing to tolerate complexity.
She called me impatient.
I called her a collector.
She looked offended.
"I do not collect companies."
"You absolutely do."
"I build portfolios."
"That's rich-person language for collecting."
"You own multiple businesses."
"Yes, but I complain about them."
"That does not improve your case."
A server placed our food down.
Thea waited until he left.
Then she said, "How many businesses do you own now?"
I told her.
She stared.
I ate.
"That's more than me."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"Interesting."
"You called me a collector."
"I contain multitudes."
"You contain hypocrisy."
"That too."
She laughed again.
It was still easy.
That was the interesting part.
Not romantic.
Easy.
Some people required translation.
With Thea, I could say something halfway and she would already be arguing with the second half.
We discussed logistics.
Then staffing.
Then a manufacturing acquisition she was considering.
She gave me almost no identifying details.
I listened anyway.
"Don't buy it," I said.
She stared.
"You don't know the company."
"I know your face."
"What does my face have to do with valuation?"
"You hate it already."
"I don't hate it."
"You've complained about the founder, customer concentration, maintenance backlog, and union issues."
"All manageable."
"So?"
"So it may still be worth buying."
"Do you want it?"
"That is not the question."
"It is literally my favorite question."
"You ask emotionally irresponsible questions."
"You look tired just describing the asset."
"I'm sitting here eating grilled fish."
"Emotionally tired."
She pointed her fork at me.
"You sold a business because you didn't like owning it."
"Yes."
"That remains economically offensive."
"And yet you're having lunch with me."
"Professional charity."
"Tax deductible?"
"I'll ask legal."
I smiled.
She ate another bite.
Then she said, "How's your son?"
I stopped.
"You remember Carl?"
"The child with the plastic lid."
I stared at her.
She shrugged.
"It was memorable."
"That was years ago."
"You showed me a photo of a child wearing one sock and no pants."
"Fair."
"Is he still anti-pants?"
"No. He has entered an expensive shoe phase."
"How old?"
"Nine."
Thea winced.
"Dangerous age."
"He discovered brands."
"Condolences."
I took out my phone.
"I'll show you."
I opened my photos.
The most recent one was Carl at a school activity, standing beside a small cardboard model of what was apparently meant to be a convenience store.
Thea studied it.
"What is this?"
"Entrepreneurship project."
Her eyebrows rose.
"Your child?"
"Apparently."
"What did he sell?"
"Fake snacks."
"Margins?"
"They were fake."
"That is not an answer."
I laughed.
"He charged his classmates pretend money."
"Smart."
"He also tried to increase prices because demand was high."
Thea looked impressed.
"No."
"What?"
"Do not encourage him."
"He understands pricing."
"He's nine."
"Exactly. Early mover advantage."
I took the phone away.
"You're banned from mentoring my child."
"I didn't ask."
"Good."
"Although if he needs capital..."
"No."
"Seed round?"
"No."
"Convertible note?"
"Thea."
She smiled.
"Fine."
I put my phone down.
"Do you have kids?"
She shook her head.
"Not currently part of the plan."
"Fair."
No explanation demanded.
No strange pause.
No projection.
Current information.
That was all.
She took a drink of water.
"Your wife?"
"Layla's good."
"Still winning negotiations?"
I frowned.
"What?"
"Pants."
I laughed so suddenly I almost inhaled water.
"You really remember that?"
"It was a strong story."
"She'll be thrilled."
"You told her about me?"
"Of course."
That made Thea pause.
Not dramatically.
Just surprised.
"What did you say?"
"That I met a terrifyingly competent woman at a conference who disagreed with everything I said."
"That's inaccurate."
"Which part?"
"I didn't disagree with everything."
"Most things."