Monday’s sunrise over Manhattan looked like a warning: streaks of orange and red slashing the clouds.
Margot watched it from the back of her Uber, coffee cup warm against her palms, stomach knotted.
She’d slept, barely. Her dreams had been a tangle of bank forms and Hale dashboards and Declan’s voice saying, *I’m attracted to you* in that maddeningly even tone.
She told herself the tightness in her chest was from her father’s loan.
Not from the knowledge that her boss had sat somewhere across town last night, reading her email.
She stepped out onto the sidewalk at 7:52, heels sharp on the pavement, coat snug against the bite of late-October air.
In the lobby, she scanned her badge, nodded to the security guard, and rode up.
On the thirty-third floor, the atmosphere felt… different.
Not panicked. Not yet.
Just… elevated. Like the air pressure had increased by a few millibars.
War room doors open. Voices louder. More suits than usual.
She dropped her bag at her desk, shrugged off her coat, and opened her laptop.
New calendar entry: *9:00 – Priya S. (Intro)*
Her heart jumped.
She clicked.
Attendees: D. Hale, P. Shah, M. Chen.
Location: Declan’s office.
Notes: “Shah Capital – small business workout fund (Chen’s father?).”
Her fingers tightened on the mouse.
He’d moved fast.
Of course he had.
She checked her email.
> From: D. Hale > Subject: Re: Priya > Sent: 11:23 p.m. > > Priya’s in town today. Short notice, but that’s how she works. > > Bring the numbers. Not names yet. We’ll see if this is in her strike zone. > > D.
She opened her bag and pulled out the copies she’d made of her father’s loan docs. She’d spent an hour last night highlighting key terms, scribbling notes in the margins. Old habits—she’d been ghostwriting legal question lists for bosses for years.
She slid the papers into a folder, tucked it under her arm, and took a breath.
Work. Family. Lines.
They were about to intersect.
“Morning,” Raj said, stopping by her desk with a paper cup in hand. “Big day.”
“Aren’t they all?” she said.
“Board’s buzzing about the Journal follow-up,” he said. “They want more reassurances on reputational risk. Eliza’s already sharpening her PowerPoint sword.”
“Can’t wait,” she muttered.
“You okay?” he asked, more quietly.
“Define okay,” she said. “If okay means ‘managing cascading crises with only mild existential dread,’ then yes.”
“That’s above average for this floor,” he said. “New record.”
She smiled thinly.
At 8:58, she walked to Declan’s office.
The glass was already clear.
He stood at the small round table by the window, not his desk, a subtle signal that this was more… conversational.
He wore a dark blue shirt today, no tie, sleeves rolled. His hair was damp at the ends, like he’d rushed from the shower. There was a faint shadow under his eyes.
He looked up when she entered.
For a second, his face softened in a way that wasn’t CEO, wasn’t mask.
Then it was gone.
“Morning,” he said.
“Morning,” she replied, closing the door behind her.
Their eyes flicked, almost in sync, to the folder in her hand.
“Numbers?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Good,” he said. “She’ll want to see data. She doesn’t do feelings.”
“Perfect,” Margot said. “We’ll balance.”
He gave her a short, wry look.
The door opened, and a woman stepped in.
Priya Shah was in her late thirties, maybe early forties, with dark hair in a blunt bob, a navy suit that fit like it had been made for her, and an expression that said she’d seen every angle of a deal and was bored by most of them.
“Declan,” she said, clasping his hand briefly. “You look worse than the last time I saw you. That’s saying something.”
“You’re very kind,” he said. “Priya, this is Margot. My EA.”
Priya’s gaze slid to Margot, sharp and assessing.
“Not just your EA,” she said. “If you dragged me to Midtown at 9 a.m., it’s because she has something you want.”
Margot liked her instantly.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, shaking her hand. Priya’s grip was firm, nails short. No rings.
“You too,” Priya said. “Declan’s email was annoyingly vague. That usually means he’s trying not to get attached to an outcome. Which usually means he already is.”
Declan made a face. “I’m not attached. I’m… invested in potential efficiency gains.”
Priya snorted. “You’re impossible. Sit. Talk.”
They did.
Margot slid the folder onto the table, opened to her notes.
“My father owns a small machining shop in Queens,” she said. “He lost his main client twelve years ago when they were acquired by a larger company. Since then, he’s been limping along on smaller contracts and a line of credit from his bank. Two months ago, they ‘restructured’ his terms.”
She pointed to the highlighted clauses. “Higher rate, shorter term, new covenants. And this.” She tapped the acceleration clause. “Thirty-day call option at their discretion.”
Priya’s expression didn’t change as she read.
“How old is he?” she asked.
“Sixty-five,” Margot said. “No backup plan. No retirement cushion. My mother works part-time. They own their house, but they remortgaged after the business crash.”
“Assets?” Priya asked. “Cash. Equipment.”
“Minimal cash,” Margot said. “Some machines, but old. Maybe some receivables. Mostly, it’s his skill and relationships. Which the bank doesn’t care about.”
Priya nodded slowly.
“Typical,” she said. “He’s a number on a spreadsheet to them. Risk bucket seven, low priority. Easier to squeeze than work with. Do they want him to fail?”
“I don’t know,” Margot said. “I think they just… don’t care if he does.”
Priya glanced at Declan. “You’re quiet.”
“I want you to decide without me shading it,” he said. “I’m… too close. To both sides.”
Priya’s lips twitched. “Look at you. Growth.”
He scowled.
She went back to the papers.
“What does he want?” she asked Margot. “Your father. Does he want to keep the shop? Sell it? Retire?”
Margot exhaled. “He says he wants to keep it. He says it’s all he knows. That he’ll ‘die in the shop before he lets the bank take it.’”
“That’s sentiment,” Priya said. “What does he *really* want?”
Margot hesitated.
“I don’t know if he knows,” she admitted. “He’s tired. But giving it up would mean admitting… defeat. That NexTelis won. That all those years were for nothing.”
“Years are never for nothing,” Priya said absently, flipping a page. “Even the shitty ones. They just… don’t always pay in money.”
Her eyes flicked up. “What do *you* want?”
Margot swallowed.
“For him not to be trapped,” she said. “By debt he can’t control. By a bank that sees him as a rounding error. If he keeps the shop, I want it to be because he chooses to, not because he’s terrified of what happens if he stops. If he closes it, I want him to walk away with dignity and enough cash to not fear grocery bills.”
Priya sat back, considering her.
“You’re not asking me to save him,” she said.
“I don’t believe in saviors,” Margot said. “I’m asking if there’s a way to… change the terms of the game.”
Priya smiled. “That, I can work with.”
She turned to Declan. “Hypothetically, if I buy this loan at a discount and restructure, would Hale—or one of your philanthropic vanity projects—match me on interest forgiveness?”
He stiffened. “This is about Margot’s father, not—”
“It’s about patterns,” she cut in. “There are thousands of small operators like him. Crushed by the same mechanics. I can’t buy them all. You could help scale a model that works for more than one man in Queens.”
He shot a look at Margot.
Her stomach twisted.
“This is not a marketing exercise,” she said. “We’re not building a ‘Hale Saves the Little Guy’ campaign.”
“Agreed,” Priya said. “He’d be anonymous in any portfolio. But patterns matter. If we can show an alternative to ‘squeeze and discard’ that still returns capital, it’s a case study. Useful when you’re talking to regulators about why NexTelis’s model needs to die.”
Declan’s eyes sharpened.
Margot could practically see the gears turning. Systems. Incentives. Levers.
“Numbers,” he said. “What kind of discount could you get?”
“Depends on the bank’s appetite,” Priya said. “But if their credit committee has already tagged this as distressed, they’ll want it off their books. Forty cents on the dollar, maybe. Fifty, if they’re stubborn.”
“And you’d expect?” he asked.
“A moderate return,” she said. “Not hedge fund sexy. But solid. If he keeps working, great. He pays on sustainable terms. If he wants out, I finance an orderly wind-down and recoup through asset sale and a partial write-off. Either way, he’s not crushed. I still make money. Win-win-ish.”
Margot’s heart pounded.
“Why would you do that?” she asked, voice rough. “When you could make more squeezing?”
Priya shrugged. “I sleep better. And I’m playing a long game. I need allies in rooms like this one.” She nodded at Declan. “And I need people like you.” She nodded at Margot. “On the ground, telling me what’s actually needed.”
Emotion burned the back of Margot’s throat.
“What do you need from us?” she asked, steadying herslef.
“Information,” Priya said. “Full picture. No sugarcoating. Then, if I decide to move, introductions. You don’t speak for your father. He does. I don’t deal in proxies.”
“Good,” Margot said. “Neither do I.”
Priya’s mouth curved.
She glanced at Declan. “You didn’t misrepresent her,” she said. “She *is* scary.”
“I didn’t say scary,” he muttered. “I said… effective.”
“Same thing,” Priya said. To Margot: “Get me the full financials. Three years of statements. Tax returns. Whatever he’ll let you see. I’ll look. No promises.”
Margot nodded. “That’s more than we had yesterday.”
Priya stood, smoothing her jacket. “I have to go terrify a credit committee now. Declan, don’t buy NexTelis without calling me first. I’d like a heads-up when you rip out their collections unit.”
“I’m not keeping their collections unit,” he said.
“Good boy,” she said. “Try not to break this one.” She jerked her chin at Margot.
Heat rushed up Margot’s neck.
Declan scowled. “Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because it’s true,” Priya said. “You’re an accelerant. She’s dry tinder. It’s a bad combo.”
“Wow,” Margot muttered. “Love being compared to kindling.”
Priya winked. “Welcome to high finance, sweetheart. We’re all just fuel.”
She left.
The door shut.
Silence fell.
Margot sank back into her chair, adrenaline leaking out.
“That was…” she started.
“Useful,” Declan finished. “I like her brain.”
“Of course you do,” she said.
He studied her.
“You okay?” he asked.
She exhaled. “Overwhelmed. Relieved. Terrified. Pick one.”
“I pick all,” he said. “You did well. You didn’t… collapse into pleading. You treated it like what it is. A negotiation.”
“It *is* a negotiation,” she said. “Even when it’s my father’s life.”
“Especially then,” he said. “Emotion makes people sloppy. You weren’t.”
“Don’t give me too much credit,” she said. “I almost cried when she said ‘thousands like him.’”
He watched her closely. “You can cry.”
“Not here,” she said. “Not in front of you. Not about this.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I can’t be… small,” she said. “Not with you. Not and keep this job. I get to be small in two places: my bathroom and my parents’ kitchen. That’s it.”
He was silent for a beat.
“I cried in the server room once,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Year two,” he said. “We’d lost a big contract. Our burn rate was… bad. I’d spent thirty-six hours rebuilding the architecture myself to prove we could fix it. Then the power blipped and I lost half my work. I sat on the floor between racks and sobbed for twenty minutes.”
Her heart clenched.
“Who saw?” she asked.
“Taylor,” he said. “My first EA. She walked in, took one look, and sat beside me. Didn’t say anything. Just… sat. Then, when I stopped, she handed me water, told me I smelled like burned circuits, and dragged me home.”
Margot smiled faintly. “She sounds… good.”
“She was,” he said quietly. “I miss her.”
Jealousy stabbed, irrational and sharp.
“She left,” Margot said. “For Denver. For a slower life.”
“Yes,” he said. “She’s happy. That’s… good.”
“It doesn’t make it hurt less,” she said.
“No,” he admitted.
They looked at each other.
“Do you regret letting her see you like that?” she asked.
He considered. “No. I regret not… telling her more. So it wasn’t a surprise when I broke.”
The ache in his voice undid her.
“Declan,” she said softly.
He looked away, jaw tight.
“Don’t,” he said. “We have… work.”
She swallowed. “Right. Work.”
She stood, gathering the folder.
“I’ll get you the full financials,” she said. “Tonight.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I *do*,” she said. “Because if I don’t, I’ll lie awake imagining worst-case scenarios. At least this way, I’ll have numbers to catastrophize.”
His mouth twitched. “You’re… very self-aware.”
“It’s a curse,” she said.
As she reached for the door, he said, “Margot.”
She paused.
“I meant what I told Priya,” he said. “I’m not… attached to outcomes. Yet. But I am… invested in you not breaking under this.”
Her chest tightened.
“I’ve survived worse,” she said. “I’ll survive this.”
“I don’t want you to just survive,” he said. “I want you to… stay.”
“Then give me a reason,” she said.
He blinked. “What?”
“To stay,” she said. “Beyond money. Beyond inertia. Beyond obligation. Give me something to believe in that isn’t you. Because you are… dangerous.”
He swallowed. “NexTelis,” he said. “Fixing it. That’s the reason.”
“That’s *your* reason,” she said. “Not mine.”
He opened his mouth. Closed it.
“I don’t know yours yet,” he said honestly.
“Figure it out,” she said. “You have twenty-three days.”
She left, her pulse hammering.
***
The next week blurred into the next.
Days became a series of micro-crises and micro-victories.
She juggled. He drove. NexTelis loomed.
Somewhere in the middle of it, she sent Priya the full financials. Somewhere else, her mother texted a photo of a plant and the caption: *This one finally flowering after ten years. Everything in own time, ah?*
She didn’t know if it was about debt, love, or dumplings.
Throughout, Declan hovered at the edge of her consciousness, even when he wasn’t in the room.
His texts.
> 11:12 p.m. – You should be asleep. > 11:13 p.m. – So should you. > 11:14 p.m. – Fair.
His comments.
“You’re right.” “I was wrong.” “I don’t like that you’re right when I’m wrong.”
His looks.
Quick, sharp, darting. Lingering, sometimes, at her hands. Her mouth. The hollow at the base of her throat.
He didn’t cross the line again.
Not with words.
But the air between them buzzed more often than not.
She tried not to notice.
Failed.
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