Chapter 27 #2
She hesitates at the door, then glances back at me. “Just… keep your feet on the ground, okay? Stars are beautiful. But they’re far. And they burn.”
Then she’s gone.
I’m alone again, the silence enveloping me .
But I don’t care.
Because this is worth the burn.
I’m certain of it.
I grab the binder Tammy brought in and head into the meeting room. Jackson’s already there, slouched in his chair like he’s waiting for a manicure, phone in hand.
Thatcher’s assistant, Hannah flips through a neatly tabbed notebook across from him. Rishi’s queuing up the slides at the front of the room.
Thatcher enters last. Calm, collected, and—per the usual—annoyingly unreadable. He takes his seat at the head of the table.
“We’re in.” I tap the binder. “Shelby Davidson personally confirmed our slot at the Cross Island Pitchpocalypse.”
That gets everyone’s attention. Even Jackson looks up from his phone.
“We’ll be one of five agencies there. Competition will be tight,” I add, scanning the room. “We’ll need to bring heat. Full firestorm.”
Rishi clears his throat. “We were thinking: clean visuals, immersive storytelling, something tactile to represent the brand’s legacy meeting the next generation of digital—”
“Good,” Thatcher cuts in. “You’ve got three weeks to perfect it. We’ll present our initial direction to Cross’s team on Friday.”
He glances at Hannah. “Prep a draft agenda and send it out before the end of day.”
She nods, already typing.
“Sounds like we have a solid start.” I rap my knuckles once against the tabletop. “Jackson. Rishi. Give us the room for a minute.”
Rishi doesn’t question it. Jackson does.
“What? You trying to corner him for extra credit?”
“Now, Jackson,” Thatcher says, his voice carrying enough steel to make even that jackass move.
Once they’re out of the room, I lean against the edge of the table and cross my arms. “We need to talk about Jackson.”
Thatcher looks up from his phone, his face stony. “Be more specific.”
“Five new firms onboarded in the past month,” I say. “All with Jackson’s name attached. All with drastically slashed service rates.”
The thick skin of his forehead creases.
I don’t wait. “Our baseline for branding packages starts at sixty. Thousand. Just in case you thought I meant sixty dollars and a Chipotle gift card. Jackson landed some of them for thirty, other for twenty. Twenty, Thatcher. That’s not a strategic discount. That’s a fire sale.”
“They’re small accounts.” He brushes it off with a wave of his hand. “Low visibility. It’s not going to affect the brand.”
“Not all the accounts were small. And it’s already affecting us.” My voice is cutting. “The Laurel Group has clued in and they’re livid. We’re undercutting the entire playing field just to flex. And worse? My team had zero knowledge of it.”
“The Laurel Group? Please. They’re a low level firm. I’m not worried about them.”
“It’s reckless,” I snap. “He’s a wrecking ball in a velvet blazer. The bigger ones on the list were Rishi’s, and Jackson undercut the rates after the pitch, usurping Rishi completely.”
Thatcher’s eyes harden.
“And you let him do it,” I continue, stepping closer. “Without telling me. Without telling anyone. You approved those rates behind my back.”
He lifts a brow. “I wasn’t aware I needed your permission.”
“I don’t care about permission,” I say. “I care that you undermined every principle this firm was built on. We don’t win accounts by slashing our value. We win them because we are the value.”
“Don’t get precious, Nolan. It’s a handful of companies.”
“A handful is more than enough,” I grit out. “Other firms are already whispering that Big Stream is pulling desperate stunts to keep market share. They’re saying we’re no longer premium, just willing to play dirty.”
“Fuck them.” He scoffs. “It’s strategy.”
“No, it’s shortsighted. It’s predatory. We don’t need to choke out the competition—we are the competition. And I’m not going to allow it to continue.”
Thatcher’s tone drops, direct and cold. “Careful.”
I stare at him. “We’ve spent a decade crafting a reputation for innovation, for elite service, for integrity. And you want to gamble it away because Jackson needed a confidence boost?”
He stands, adjusting his jacket cuffs, shrugging off the conversation. “It’s not a gamble. It’s business. And you think I don’t see what Jackson is?” Thatcher asks, almost bored. “I see him just fine. He’s serving a bigger purpose—one you’re not privy to.”
That’s the moment I clue in. Jackson isn’t some overlooked mistake. He’s an open flame, someone Thatcher will use to burn down whatever—or whoever—he needs, when the time comes.
And when the smoke clears, Thatcher won’t be the one coughing.
I want zero part of whatever he has planned.
“Some fires burn themselves out,” Thatcher says, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve. “You just have to stand far enough back.”
“At what cost?” I ask. “Your name is on the door. I’ve built the rest. You brought me in for that reason, because I gave this firm weight.
So if you’re going to let your nephew tank our legacy in exchange for a few participation trophies, or some bigger purpose, then you should ask yourself what we actually stand for. ”
The silence snaps taut between us.
“You’ve got it all wrong, Nolan.” Thatcher meets my gaze, keeps his voice low. “If you want partner, you’ll keep your mouth shut. Do the pitch. Deliver the win. And stop pretending like your morality makes you untouchable.”
A slow, bitter smile pulls at my mouth. “And here I thought the whole point of partnership was having a say.”
He doesn’t blink. “You want power, Nolan? Steal it.”
Then, as he turns to leave, his voice lands like a hammer. “But if you can’t, you’ll resign. Quietly. We won’t make it a thing.”
I glare at him.
“And if you decide to go out swinging, take this righteous crusade to the press or the industry at large…” His smile sharpens. “I’ll make sure the only job you can get is assistant social media manager for a startup that sells artisanal dog probiotics.”
A long pause.
He straightens his cuffs. “Your move.”
And just like that, I own a title that suddenly doesn’t mean shit, and work for a company that feels a little less like mine than it did yesterday.