Chapter 6 #2
She pulls up a series of documents on her screen, charts and graphs and spreadsheets that would make a lesser warrior's eyes glaze over with boredom but which I recognize immediately as the terrain maps of our battlefield.
"Our biggest problem right now is visibility.
Nobody knows who we are or what we're offering.
The previous marketing strategy was basically nonexistent—a few sad social media posts, some outdated email blasts, a website that looks like it was designed in 2003 and never updated.
We need to change that. We need to make noise. We need to make people remember us."
"Agreed." I lean forward, studying the data she's presenting. "But how do you propose to accomplish this? Advertising campaigns require resources we do not currently possess. The budget for marketing was slashed to nothing by the previous regime."
"That's where your expertise comes in." She swivels her chair to face me, her eyes bright with the intelligence that first drew my attention to her in the boardroom.
"You mentioned siege tactics yesterday. The email thing, about bombarding enemy positions with overwhelming force until their defenses crumble.
I want you to explain that to me. In detail.
Because I think there might be something there we can use. "
I am so startled by the request that I nearly choke on my coffee.
No one—no one—has ever asked me to explain Orcish military strategy before.
In my previous corporate conquests, my methods were tolerated but never understood, my subordinates following orders without comprehending the reasoning behind them.
But this human woman, this tiny creature who bandaged my wound and made me coffee and stammered that she was entirely single while sitting on her grandmother's floral couch, she wants to understand.
"The siege approach to marketing," I begin slowly, gathering my thoughts, "is based on the principle that attention is territory.
Every moment a potential customer spends thinking about your competitor is territory they hold against you.
The goal is to reclaim that territory through concentrated, relentless pressure—not a single attack that can be deflected and forgotten, but a continuous bombardment that makes your presence impossible to ignore. "
"Keep going." She's taking notes now, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she captures my words.
"In traditional siege warfare, you identify the enemy's strongest fortifications and bypass them entirely.
You do not waste resources attacking hardened positions when softer targets offer easier victories.
The same principle applies here—we do not compete directly with Ashworth's advertising budget.
Instead, we identify the channels they have neglected and claim them as our own. "
"Like what?"
"Email." I tap the table with one finger, emphasizing the point.
"Email marketing is considered obsolete by many modern strategists, but this is a foolish assumption.
Email is a direct line to the target's personal space, a battering ram that bypasses the defensive walls of social media algorithms and advertising blockers.
Ashworth has abandoned this channel in favor of flashier approaches. We will seize it."
Cypress nods slowly, her expression thoughtful as she processes the information. "So we build a list. Target companies and individuals who might need our services. Hit them with a coordinated campaign—not spam, but actual useful content that makes them want to engage with us."
"Exactly. But the key is frequency and persistence. A single email is easily ignored. A weekly email becomes expected. A daily email becomes unavoidable—it forces the recipient to make a choice, to engage or to actively reject. Either outcome is preferable to apathy."
"That's..." She pauses, tilting her head as she considers. "That's actually kind of brilliant. Aggressive, maybe borderline annoying, but brilliant. We'd need good content, though. Stuff that actually provides value so people don't just mark us as spam and forget we exist."
"That is your domain, First Mate. I provide the strategy. You provide the execution."
She grins at me. "Then let's get to work."
The next several hours pass in a blur of activity.
Cypress compiles target lists while I review our product offerings and identify the most compelling selling points.
She drafts email templates while I critique them for strategic effectiveness, suggesting modifications that increase urgency and create a sense of scarcity.
We argue over subject lines and call-to-action buttons and the optimal time of day to launch our initial assault, and by midafternoon we have assembled a campaign that is lean, aggressive, and devastatingly effective.
We launch the first wave at exactly three o'clock, timing it to arrive in inboxes during the afternoon lull when workers are most likely to be checking their messages.
The results begin trickling in almost immediately—opens, clicks, replies requesting more information.
Not a flood, but a steady stream that suggests our siege is having the intended effect.
"This is actually working." Cypress stares at the analytics dashboard. "People are actually responding. We've had more engagement in three hours than the company had in the entire previous quarter."
"The first victory of many." I allow myself a moment of satisfaction before returning to the strategic documents spread across the table. "But we cannot celebrate prematurely. Ashworth will notice our advance and respond accordingly. We must be prepared for their counterattack."
As if summoned by my words, Cypress's laptop chimes with an incoming message. She clicks on it, and her face goes pale, the color draining from her cheeks as she reads whatever has appeared on her screen.
"Knox. We have a problem."
I am beside her in an instant, leaning over her shoulder to read the message. It is from one of our primary suppliers—a vendor who provides critical components for our flagship product line—and the contents make my blood boil with fury.
Due to recent contractual obligations with Ashworth Capital, we regret to inform you that we are unable to fulfill any further orders at this time. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause.
"They're choking our supply chain. Ashworth is buying up our suppliers and locking us out. If we can't source components, we can't fulfill orders, and if we can't fulfill orders—"
"Then our marketing campaign is worthless." I straighten, my hands clenching into fists at my sides. "This is not a siege. This is a flanking maneuver. They are attacking our logistics while we focus on the front lines."
"What do we do?"
I consider the options. Retreat is unacceptable. Surrender is unthinkable. Which leaves only one path forward—direct confrontation with the enemy on territory of their choosing.
"The vendor. Where are they located?"
Cypress pulls up the company's information on her screen. "They're exhibiting at the International Trade Expo downtown this week. They'll have a booth there through Friday."
"Then we go to them. Face to face. We make them understand that abandoning our cause was a mistake they will regret."
She hesitates, uncertainty flickering across her features. "Knox, these trade shows are chaotic. Thousands of people, dozens of competing vendors, everyone shouting over each other to be heard. It's not exactly an ideal environment for delicate negotiations."
"Who said anything about delicate?" I gather my briefcase from beside the table, feeling the reassuring weight of steel and strategic documents settle against my palm. "We are at war, First Mate. And sometimes war requires walking directly into the enemy's camp and demanding their surrender."
We arrive at the convention center forty-five minutes later, having fought through traffic that would make even the most hardened Orcish warrior weep with frustration.
The building is enormous, a sprawling complex of glass and steel that pulses with the chaotic energy of commerce in its most concentrated form.
Banners hang from every available surface, advertising products and services in fonts designed to seize attention through sheer visual aggression.
The noise is overwhelming—a cacophony of competing pitches, demonstration videos, and the relentless hum of human conversation that crashes against my ears like waves against a cliff face.
Cypress navigates the crowd with the efficiency of someone who has survived many such events, her small frame slipping through gaps that my larger body cannot hope to pass.
I follow in her wake, relying on my height to keep her in view as we push deeper into the exhibition hall, past booths selling everything from industrial machinery to artisanal snacks, until finally she comes to an abrupt halt.
"There." She points toward a booth in the far corner of the hall, a modest display bearing the logo of our wayward supplier. "That's them."
But as I follow her gaze, my blood runs cold with recognition.
The booth is not empty—far from it. Surrounding the supplier's representatives like wolves circling prey are a half-dozen figures I recognize immediately.
They are not wearing the uniforms of Ashworth Capital, but their bearing and positioning betray their purpose.
Hired muscle. Corporate enforcers. Goons in expensive suits, standing guard over their master's ill-gotten prize.
And there, at the center of the pack, wearing a smile that makes my fingers itch for violence—the rival CEO himself, Victor Ashworth, shaking hands with our supplier like they are old friends sealing a bargain.
"Knox. We might have a problem."