Mrs. Okonquo says butterflies in your stomach means you care. Mrs. Okono is right. He said he retrieved the encrypted drive from his home safe.
A small fireproof box under the bed. The kind you buy at a hardware store for $300 and feel mildly paranoid about and then extremely grateful for at the right moment. He put the drive in his inside jacket pocket. He could feel it against his chest the entire commute downtown. He arrived at Haven Ridge Technologies at 8:20.
He went to his office. He did not open his email. He did not stop to talk to anyone. He sat at his desk, reviewed his presentation one final time, the clean version, the version that started with Q3 operational summaries, and moved naturally without announcement into the Henderson cost data. And at 9:45, he picked up his folder, put his laptop under his arm, and walked to the elevator.
"Priya met him in the corridor outside the 14th floor conference room at 9:52. "She's already inside," Priya said quietly. "Directors Morales, Chenobi, and Harrington are with her. The remaining seven arrive at 10:00." "A beat." "Director Caldwell requested a copy of your presentation materials 30 minutes ago. We declined." Good, Marcus said.
Director Ash's contact called again this morning. I didn't return it. Priya nodded. Looked at him with the expression of a woman who had been running interfer 4 years and had developed a very precise red on what each situation actually required. She trust you, Priya said.
Simple matter of fact. Marcus nodded once. I know. He went in. The room was large, rectangular, the kind of conference table that made everyone sitting at it feel like they were at a negotiation whether they intended to be or not.
Amelia sat near the center. Four directors were already present. Morales and Chen side by side. Obie at the far end, Harrington pouring water from a pitcher with the deliberate focus of a man who needed something to do with his hands. Amelia looked up when Marcus entered.
Their eyes met for exactly one second. Then she looked back at director Morales and continued whatever she'd been saying. Marcus set up at the presentation end of the table, connected his laptop, arranged his folder, checked the drive, was still in his pocket. The remaining seven directors filed in between 958 and 10. Thomas Caldwell came in at 10:3.
He was 64, broad- shouldered, silver-haired, with the particular bearing of a man who had been powerful long enough that power had become indistinguishable from personality. He looked at the table, identified Amelia, identified Marcus, a half-second pause, an assessment, and sat in the chair three seats to Amelia's left without speaking to anyone. The meeting opened with Amelia speaking for 7 minutes about the quarter overall. She was precise. She was composed.