The gala had gone on until 3:00 in the morning. A blur of sycophantic toasts and endless flash photography. Her phone buzzed against the marble tabletop. It had been buzzing for 20 minutes. Veronica ignored it.
She made it a rule never to speak to her staff before 8:00. It established dominance. It reminded them that her time was a finite, heavily guarded resource, while theirs was entirely at her disposal. When the private elevator connecting her penthouse to the lobby chimed, she frowned. Only three people had the override code for that elevator.
The polished steel doors slid open. Graham stepped out. He was her chief operating officer, a man who usually looked as though he had just stepped out of a tailoring magazine. Today, his tie was askew. His face was the color of old parchment.
He held a leather portfolio crushed against his chest like a shield. I explicitly stated no interruptions this morning, Graham. Veronica said. She didn't raise her voice. She took another sip of her espresso.
We have the signing at 2:00. I am resting. There is no signing, Graham said. His voice cracked. Veronica slowly lowered her cup.
The saucer clinked sharply against the marble. She looked at Graham, her eyes narrowing. Excuse me? Graham walked forward and dropped the portfolio onto the table. It slapped against the stone.
He flipped it open. A single sheet of paper rested inside printed on Sentinel Grid letterhead. It was brief, legally dense, and entirely devoid of corporate pleasantries. They pulled out, Graham breathed, leaning his weight onto his hands. An email came in at 12:05 a.m.
Sent directly to your inbox, copied to legal, copied to their entire board. Sentinel is exercising section 4B of the preliminary agreement. They are terminating the acquisition. Veronica stared at the paper. The words seemed to blur together.
That's impossible. We are hours away from closing. We gave them $2 billion. People do not walk away from $2 billion. Someone just did, Graham replied.
Get their CEO on the phone, Veronica snapped, standing up. The hangover headache vanished, replaced by a cold, sharp spike of adrenaline. Get him on the phone right now. He wants more money. That's what this is.
He's trying to leverage the clock to squeeze us for another 50 million. It's a cheap, amateur tactic. Graham shook his head slowly. It's not a negotiation tactic, Veronica. Read the letter.