Chapter Two
Gabriel
Most boardrooms reeked of fear. This one, with its fifteen-foot ceilings and thirty-thousand-dollar conference table, reeked of something more dangerous, ambition on overdrive.
I watched the glass walls as they reflected every twitch and tic, every micro-expression, every failure to blink at the wrong time. You could see someone’s entire career burn down in the time it took to pour a cup of coffee. However, I liked it that way.
I was in control of the flame. “Let’s open with the Saito deck.
” I rapped my knuckles against the table, never loud enough to seem insecure, always enough to reset the tempo.
The board of directors, senior members, and Reeves clustered as they watched the PowerPoint, ready to peck at the corpse of my acquisition.
The exception sat to my right–Eliza Reeves in an immaculate navy suit, hair pulled back in a punishing bun and eyes dark as malice.
Her portfolio was closed, her pen aligned parallel to its edge.
She was unreadable, in the way of only the very clever or the truly bored.
I’d put money on the former, but the day wasn’t over yet.
“The board has concerns about executive attrition post-close,” I said, nodding toward the C-suite fossils at the far end. “Ms. Reeves, you’re closest to the ground. What are your thoughts?”
Her gaze flicked up, totally disinterested, until it wasn’t.
“Your culture assessment assumes static incentive models. That’s…
quaint.” The corners of her mouth didn’t move, but there was a smile in her voice.
“If you want them to stay, flip the equity vesting schedule. Six-month cliff, heavy front load. They’ll eat glass to hit the first quarter’s numbers. ”
And here was a pause. Her brother—Calvin Reeves, my best friend—blinked like he’d just heard the sun insult his mother.
I watched her hands. Not fidgeting. Not even pretending to take notes. She didn’t need the armor of movement, which meant she wasn’t afraid of anyone here, including me.
“Interesting,” I said. “Of course, it assumes Saito’s C-suite are coin-operated and not, say, mission-driven.”
“Everything is coin-operated,” she said, “if you use enough coins.”
The table stifled a laugh. No one wanted to be the first to side with the junior. Not in this room. Not with me in charge. Still, I let it ride. Better to let her show off now, burn off the bravado before the real games began.
I toggled to the next slide, the profit-loss model I’d slaved over until two this morning. “Let’s discuss the synergies,” I said, letting the word hang in the air just long enough to make the consultants twitch.
I waited for the old men to finish their ritual mutterings about brand alignment and workforce redundancies. Calvin Reeves, Eliza’s brother, technically my peer but functionally the family’s designated distraction, leaned in, his blue eyes darting from me to his sister.
“I think what Valor’s getting at,” Calvin said, “is that with the projected cost savings, we should see a six percent lift by Q3, not four. Unless I’m missing something?”
He was. But it wasn’t the numbers.
I watched Eliza. She didn’t look at her brother, just adjusted her cuff as if prepping for a blood draw.
“You’re assuming Saito’s existing contracts transfer without a loyalty tax,” she said. “They won’t. We’ll lose at least two in the first ninety days. Maybe more if they sense we’re slow-rolling the integration.”
“Not if we get in front of the narrative,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ll be point on that, Ms. Reeves.”
She matched my stare and held it. “You want me to babysit the transition?”
“I want you to own it.”
She smiled and this time she didn’t even bother to hide it. “You always delegate the fun stuff, don’t you?”
I didn’t miss her pointed call back to our conversation that morning.
A shock of laughter rippled from the cheap seats at the far end, quickly choked off. I felt the pulse of it—momentary disorder, quickly re-contained.
“I always delegate to those most likely to execute,” I said. “Unless you’d prefer someone else?”
“Not necessary,” she said. “But I’ll need unfiltered access to Full data. No PR sandbagging.” She was pushing and I liked that, even though it irritated me also.
I considered her for a moment, all sharp angles and sharper intellect, and then I just nodded. “Done. Next.”
I moved to the financial projections, expecting pushback. Instead, the room went silent as Eliza scanned the spreadsheet. Her pupils dilated; she saw something.
“You have personnel expenses trending flat after consolidation,” she said still looking at the sheets. “That’s not going to happen unless we automate the bottom quartile.” She didn’t phrase it as a question. She knew.
I waited half a beat, then said, “That’s proprietary, but yes. Model assumes phased automation.”
Finally, she set her pen down. “It’s optimistic but the implementation will get ugly.”
“Which is why I want you managing it,” I said.
She just shrugged, as if to say: of course, you do.
Across the table, one of the old guards, a gray slab of a man named Hastings, cleared his throat. “I have a question about this line item,” he said, jabbing at his printout. “The amortization rate here is… aggressive. Is that intentional, or a copy-paste error?”
Suddenly all eyes were on me. I felt the prickle of sweat at my collar but I ignored it and said, “It’s deliberate. We’re front-loading capex to maximize tax exposure this fiscal.”
He wasn’t convinced. “Still, it’s a significant deviation from last quarter’s assumptions.”
I glanced at the footnote. The spreadsheet labeled ‘Eliza Reeves, Draft 2.’ Cute. I turned towards her and asked. “Ms. Reeves, did you prep this model?”
She looked at it and shrugged. “That’s not my version.”
“But it’s got your header.” Hastings pressed.
“Then someone’s making me smarter than I am.
If I’d run the numbers, I wouldn’t have lowballed the attrition costs.
” She said and she didn’t even blink. She slid the paper across the table.
My hand reached to take it, our fingers touched, slightly, but it was electric—enough to make me forget for a nanosecond that there were witnesses.
She didn’t flinch, her eyes locked on mine, daring me to call her a liar.
“We’ll cross-validate after,” I said as I retracted my hand first.
Calvin, ever the white knight, jumped in. “We can run a three-way compare. Maybe have Eliza work it up with someone from your team, Valor?”
His tone was all innocence, but the implication wasn’t lost on anyone; put her under watch. I caught the smirk he shot me, barely there.
“Fine,” I said. “Let’s sync after lunch. My office?”
Eliza nodded, unbothered. “Don’t forget snacks.”
She was still needling me about that morning. I liked her, and that was a fucking problem.
The next agenda item was vendor transition, boring, but necessary. I let the chatter roll, content to watch her as she fielded questions with surgical precision.
She didn’t grandstand or ramble, she appeared unaffected by the pressure. It was impressive and disconcerting. She was the only one here who could win a battle without even entering the arena.
I dismissed the room with a nod, then leaned back in my chair. The room emptied, leaving only Eliza, still gathering her things.“You torpedoed Hastings in there. That was intentional.” I spoke.
She zipped her portfolio, slow and deliberate. “He came at me with a butter knife. I brought a scalpel.”
I let my gaze linger. “Why not take credit for the model? You could have scored points.”
“Maybe I don’t need points.” She cocked her head.
Or maybe you don’t want to owe me anything.
She hovered at the door, backlit by the migraine-white of the hallway. “One more thing,” she said. “Next time you want to test me, do it directly. I’m not here to dance around spreadsheets with your ghosts.”
It stung but only a little. Mostly, it made me curious to see what she’d do if I pushed harder.
I let her leave without answering and watched the place where her shadow lingered a moment too long.
I wondered if I was looking at my next protégé, my next adversary, or both.
There was something dangerous about her. Something familiar, too.
I only really knew her as my best friend’s sister. Sure, we crossed paths in school, mostly in events that mixed grades because I was two years older than her, but still.
Maybe she was as brilliant as the rumors said. Or maybe she was just very, very good at bluffing. Either way, I had to find out.