Chapter 9
It was Nate’s assistant.
“Uh, Diana? Nate wants you in the boardroom. He needs you to present the Q3 operational projections for Mr. Sterling.”
Of course he did.
Nate liked to call himself a visionary, which was just a polished way of saying he was useless at actual logistics.
He needed my brain to close the deal, even after trying to humiliate me in front of the entire company.
The audacity was almost elegant.
“I’ll be right there,” I said.
I picked up my tablet and crossed the hall.
The moment I entered, Nate gave me a warning look that said everything: Play along.
“Arthur, this is Diana Mercer,” Nate said smoothly. “Our director of operations. She’ll walk you through the integration timeline.”
Arthur Sterling rose slightly and extended his hand.
“A pleasure, Miss Mercer. Nathaniel speaks highly of your efficiency.”
I shook his hand firmly.
“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Sterling. Let’s get right into the numbers.”
For the next forty minutes, I owned the room.
I laid out the operational strategy with precision. Supply chain contingencies. Labor allocation. Vendor redundancies. Cost-control forecasts. I answered every question before Sterling had to ask it twice.
Nate sat back, nodding along, trying to look as if he had orchestrated my brilliance.
Madison passed out bottled waters near the wall, her earlier swagger reduced to glorified office decor.
Finally, Sterling leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen once against the table.
“Outstanding. Very thorough, Diana. I must say, Nate, you have a solid engine running this ship. The optics of your success—the office, the operations, the Rolls-Royce downstairs—it all aligns with the data. I’m prepared to sign the letter of intent today.”
Nate visibly sagged with relief.
“You won’t regret it.”
“Madison,” he barked, “print the LOI immediately.”
“Right away.”
She turned toward the door.
And then the heavy glass doors swung open.
Robert stood there.
He was flanked by two uniformed police officers.
Behind them, craning their necks from the bullpen outside, stood half the office.
Nate pushed back from the table.
“Excuse me. This is a private meeting. Who are you?”
Robert didn’t even glance at him.
He nodded toward the officers.
“That’s Nathaniel Cross. And the young woman by the door is Madison Hayes.”
One of the officers stepped forward.
“Mr. Cross, we have a warrant for your arrest, as well as an impound order for a stolen vehicle parked in the executive garage.”
No one moved.
No one breathed.
The same suffocating silence from Friday had returned.
Only this time, it wasn’t aimed at me.