Chương 11
I remembered slide twenty-three.
His folded hands.
Mara's foot pressing against mine beneath the table.
At the time, the answer had felt principled because it was hypothetical.
Principles became less elegant when payroll entered the room.
"I have to go," I said.
"All right."
"Tomorrow stays professional."
"Yes."
I ended the call before either of us could make the conversation more complicated.
Mara came into my office thirty seconds later.
"You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"Was that him?"
"Yes."
"What did he want?"
"To tell me not to soften the Bellwether conclusion."
She leaned against the doorframe.
"That's not nothing."
"No."
"Did he tell you why?"
I hesitated.
Mara noticed.
"Oh, good."
"Don't."
"There is definitely more."
"He approved the original minority investment despite concerns."
"His own concerns?"
"Apparently."
"And Eleanor's."
"Yes."
Mara stared at me.
"That is materially relevant."
"I know."
"Did he tell you anything else?"
"Personal history."
Her expression changed.
"I don't want to know."
I blinked.
"Really?"
"If he told you privately, I don't want it contaminating my judgment tomorrow."
I looked at her for a long second.
"That was annoyingly ethical."
"I contain multitudes."
She picked up her bag.
"Go home."
"I have another hour."
"No, you have a martyr complex inherited from your father."
"Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
I stiffened.
Mara immediately regretted the wording.
I could see it.
She looked down.
"That came out badly."
"It came out exactly how you meant it."
"Eve."
"No."
I started closing files.
"If you want to tell me I work too much, say that."
"I do."
"If you want to tell me I'm scared of losing the company, say that."
"You are."
"Do not turn my father into a diagnosis."
Mara's face tightened.
"Fine."
I shut the laptop harder than necessary.
The sound echoed in the small office.
Neither of us spoke.
She adjusted the strap of her bag.
"Nine."
"Eight fifteen."
"Right."
She left.
I hated myself before the elevator doors closed behind her.
Not enough to call her back.
That was the ugly part.
I went home angry at Mara, Adrian, Preston, Bellwether, my father, and the insurance company whose renewal notice had arrived three weeks earlier.
It was an efficient distribution of blame.
At eleven, I finally texted Mara.
I was unfair.
Her reply came ten minutes later.
You were.
I stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
So was I.
I wrote, Eight fifteen.
She answered, Coffee.
That was enough.
Thursday morning, Sterling Capital felt different before anyone said a word.
The receptionist's smile was too careful.
Two men from legal were already inside the conference room when Mara and I arrived.
Diane sat near the head of the table with a yellow pad covered in handwriting.
Martin Hale stood by the windows talking quietly to Adrian.
Eleanor was nowhere in sight.
Adrian looked at me once.
No smile.
No recognition beyond what would have been appropriate for a client meeting.
I was grateful.
It also bothered me.
Mara placed our folders on the table.
Martin sat across from us.
"I've read your memo."
His tone suggested that reading it had been an act of personal suffering.
"Good morning to you too," Mara said.
Diane's mouth tightened.
One of the lawyers looked down.
Adrian took the chair at the head of the table.
"Let's start."
I opened our presentation.
Martin interrupted before the first slide finished loading.
"Before we waste everyone's time, I want to understand whether Mercer & Vale is actually recommending that we walk away."
Mara glanced at me.
I answered.
"We're recommending that you pause until the workforce data is reconciled."
"That's not what your memo says."
"Our memo says the current valuation isn't supportable on the available operating data."
"So walk away."
"At the current price, yes."
Martin leaned back.
"There it is."
Diane turned toward him.
"Martin."
"No, let's be clear."
His eyes stayed on me.
"They've had internal files for less than forty-eight hours and they've decided eight months of work is wrong."
"Some of the internal files are fourteen months old," I said.
The room changed.
Not much.
Enough.
Martin's jaw tightened.
One of the lawyers made a note.
Diane looked at Adrian.
Adrian did nothing.
Martin folded his arms.
"What exactly are you implying?"
"Nothing."
"You brought up the age of the files for a reason."
"Because it matters."
"Why?"
"Because these aren't just current variances from an old forecast."
I advanced the slide.
A table appeared showing contractor spend, vacancies, turnover, and management projections across seven quarters.
"The labor issue persisted through multiple reporting periods."
Martin looked at the screen.
"We knew staffing was under pressure."
"That's not the same as modeling recovery without evidence."
His gaze snapped back to me.
"Management expected recovery."
"Management had expected recovery for three consecutive quarters."
"That's common."
"So is being wrong."
Mara shifted beside me.
Martin's expression cooled.
"Consultants always have the luxury of hindsight."
"No."
I kept my voice level.
"We have the luxury of not being paid if you disagree with us."
One of the lawyers coughed into his fist.
Adrian still said nothing.
Martin turned toward him.
"Is this really what we're doing?"
Adrian's face remained unreadable.
"What do you mean?"
"We're letting an outside firm that wants our account sit here and imply the deal team hid information."
"I didn't say that," I said.
"You didn't need to."
"Then don't put words in my mouth."
Diane raised one hand.
"Enough."
The room went still.
She looked at me.
"You spoke to me yesterday about incomplete vacancy reporting."
"Yes."
"Have you adjusted for the four regions with inconsistent data?"
"We modeled a range."
I changed slides.
The lowest case assumed every disputed vacancy number was overstated by twenty-five percent.
The economics were still bad.
The moderate case assumed reported vacancies were directionally correct.
They were worse.
The high case made Bellwether almost impossible to justify without substantial restructuring.
Martin stared at the screen.
May you like
"Your contractor-cost assumptions are inflated."
"They're actual expenditures."
