Chapter 3
CYPRESS
The folder hangs in the air between Victor Ashworth's manicured fingers and Knox's green hand, which has not moved to accept it, and in that suspended moment I watch the smugness spreading across Ashworth's face like oil across water.
He thinks he's won. He thinks he's walked into a slaughter and found nothing but easy prey, a green Orc who doesn't understand the intricacies of human corporate law and a bunch of terrified employees too shell-shocked from the hostile takeover to mount any kind of defense.
He doesn't know about the three years I spent in the legal department before transferring to accounting because the pay was marginally better and the hours were marginally less soul-crushing.
My hand shoots out before my brain can talk me out of it, snatching the folder from Ashworth's grip with enough force that the papers inside rustle sharply.
His eyebrows climb toward his artificially youthful hairline, and behind me I hear Knox make a sound that might be surprise or might be the beginning of a territorial growl, but I don't have time to worry about either of their reactions because I'm already flipping through the documents, my eyes scanning the dense legal text with the kind of desperate speed that only comes from genuine panic filtered through years of corporate document analysis.
Foreclosure notice. Debt acquisition paperwork.
A truly staggering list of outstanding loans that the previous management somehow failed to mention during literally any of our budget meetings.
And there, buried in the fine print of the debt transfer agreement, a single clause that makes my heart stutter and then start beating again with renewed vigor.
"Section 14.7.3 of the Regional Commerce Stabilization Act, states any debt holder seeking to foreclose on a business entity that has undergone ownership transfer within the previous fiscal quarter is required to provide a thirty-day grace period during which the new ownership may demonstrate financial viability through documented profit generation. "
Ashworth's smile flickers, just for a moment, like a fluorescent bulb with a bad connection. "I'm sorry, who exactly are you?"
"Cypress Evans. First Mate of the Ledger.
" The title feels ridiculous coming out of my mouth, but I refuse to let that show on my face.
"And according to Section 14.7.3, which I notice your legal team conveniently failed to reference in their foreclosure documentation, you can't touch this company's assets for thirty days.
Not the building, not the equipment, not the tragically outdated computer systems. We have one month to turn a profit, and if we do, your debt claim gets restructured into a standard repayment plan with court-mandated interest caps. "
The silence that follows my little speech is thick enough to cut with one of Knox's probably-very-sharp ceremonial daggers.
Ashworth's lawyers exchange glances that suggest they are rapidly recalculating their billable hours for this particular engagement, and Ashworth himself has gone slightly pale beneath his expensive spray tan.
"That clause," he says slowly, "applies to hostile takeovers that result in employee displacement. This was a board-approved acquisition."
"No, it wasn't." I flip to the third page of the foreclosure notice and tap my finger against a specific paragraph.
"Your own documentation states that the acquisition was completed via emergency shareholder vote triggered by imminent insolvency.
That's a Section 12 hostile action, which means Section 14's protections apply regardless of whether the previous board technically approved the transfer.
Your lawyers should have caught that. Maybe you need to reconsider your retainer arrangements. "
Behind me, Knox makes a sound that I can only describe as a rumble of pure, unadulterated satisfaction, the kind of noise that a large predator might make when watching a smaller predator successfully defend territory against an intruder.
The sound vibrates through the air and settles somewhere in my lower spine, warm and unsettling in ways I absolutely do not have time to examine right now.
Ashworth's mask of smug confidence has cracked completely, revealing something harder and colder underneath, the face of a man who did not become a corporate predator by accepting defeat gracefully.
"Thirty days, you think you can turn this disaster around in thirty days?
This company has been hemorrhaging money for eighteen months.
The client base is eroding, the infrastructure is crumbling, and your new boss doesn't even understand how human tax codes work. "
"I understand enough. I understand that you came here expecting an easy victory, and instead you have found a fortress defended by warriors who know the terrain better than you anticipated.
I understand that thirty days is more than sufficient time to rally our forces and demonstrate the profitability you believe impossible.
And I understand that when those thirty days have passed and this company stands victorious, your foreclosure notice will make excellent kindling for the ceremonial fire in which I burn the remnants of your ambition. "
Ashworth's jaw tightens, but he does not retreat.
Instead, his eyes move from Knox's face to mine, and something calculating flickers in their depths.
"Thirty days, then. I look forward to watching you fail, Miss Evans.
And when you do, when this whole enterprise collapses under its own incompetence, remember that I offered you a way out.
Ashworth Financial is always looking for talented accountants who understand the value of backing the winning side. "
The implication lands like a slap, the suggestion that I might abandon Knox and this disaster of a company for a position with his firm, and I feel my spine stiffen with an anger that surprises me with its intensity.
"I'll keep that in mind," I say flatly. "Now get out of our records room. Some of us have work to do."
For a long moment, Ashworth doesn't move.
His eyes flick between me and Knox, assessing, calculating, and I can almost see the gears turning behind his artificially smooth forehead as he recalibrates his strategy.
Then he smiles again, but it's a different smile this time, sharper and more dangerous.
"Thirty days," he repeats, and turns on his heel, his lawyers falling into step behind him like well-trained hunting dogs.
The sound of their footsteps fades down the hallway, and I don't realize I've been holding my breath until it rushes out of me in a long, shaky exhale that leaves my knees feeling distinctly unreliable.
"VALKYRIE!
The word explodes out of Knox with enough force to rattle the filing cabinets, and before I can process what's happening, his green hands are clamping down on my shoulders with a grip that should probably be painful but somehow manages to land on the exact line between overwhelming and supportive.
His face is inches from mine, I can see the intricate patterns of his braided tusks and the way his golden eyes are practically incandescent with what I can only describe as gleeful battle fervor.
"A valkyrie of commerce!" he bellows, and the grin splitting his face is so wide that I can count every one of his very large, very sharp teeth.
"A chooser of the profit-slain! You have faced down an enemy warrior in his moment of perceived triumph and turned his own weapons against him!
This is the kind of tactical brilliance that songs are written about!
When I return to my clan's great hall, your name will be carved into the Wall of Honored Allies alongside the greatest financial minds of our generation! "
"I just cited a bylaw. It's not that impressive. Anyone with a legal background could have—"
"Anyone with a legal background did NOT," Knox interrupts, giving my shoulders a little shake that makes my teeth click together.
"Those fancy lawyers standing behind Ashworth like decorative shields, they did not catch this bylaw.
Your former CEO, who signed the documents that allowed this debt to accumulate, he did not catch this bylaw.
Only you, my brilliant First Mate, had the wisdom and the courage to identify the weakness in the enemy's formation and exploit it without hesitation! "
He releases my shoulders only to step back and throw his arms wide, nearly knocking over a precarious stack of filing boxes in the process.
"This calls for celebration! In my clan, such a victory would be honored with three days of feasting and ritual combat!
But we do not have three days, so instead we will honor your triumph by immediately beginning our strategic counteroffensive! "
My face feels hot, and I'm acutely aware that my heart is pounding in a way that has nothing to do with the confrontation with Ashworth and everything to do with the way Knox just called me brilliant like the was simply an objective fact rather than a compliment.
"We need a workspace. Somewhere we can spread out the financial documents and start building a profit strategy.
The main conference room is probably still occupied by my unconscious former boss, and the executive offices are going to be crawling with confused middle management for the rest of the day. "
Knox nods sharply, his braids swinging with the motion. "A war room. Yes. An excellent priority. Where in this building can we establish a secure command center?"