Page 135 of Ten Day Affair
"Let's begin."
The financial reports scatter across the mahogany table like artillery shells. Numbers that used to make my pulse quicken now feel like funeral dirges. The Harrelson piece made national business headlines overnight.
The video screen flickers to life, and Marcus Hoffman's face appears, his expression carved from stone.
"Compliance flagged the whole situation. Between the optics and the governance issues, we're out."
I don't flinch. My voice cuts through the room's silence.
"You got cold feet because I did what every acquisition firm does when buying a large asset?"
After a sharp back and forth, Marcus exits the call. Attention falls back on me.
"The difference is you told that toareporter, Cole. That's not noble. That's reckless," Blankenship says.
Dorian erupts from his chair like a volcano.
"Do you realize what you've done? The valuation just tanked. You threw yourself under the bus for what? We should have all discussed this before you went rogue."
Heat flashes through my chest, but my voice stays level, razor-edged.
"There wasn't time."
The room simmers like a pot about to boil over. Angela clears her throat, flips through her notes with deliberate care.
"There's another institutional fund poking around. They haven't committed, and the offer would come at a steep discount. But they aren't spooked with all of this."
"They want distance from you, Mr. Houston. You wouldn't be part of negotiations," she continues, her tone carefully neutral.
I nod once, the movement sharp and final.
"Then don't loop me in."
"You'd be giving up control."
"I already did that. Might as well get paid."
Harrison moves through the rest of the agenda. They'll vote by week's end on whether to entertain the new buyer. The meeting wraps with nothing resolved, tension thick enough to choke on.
As chairs scrape against marble and voices fade into the hallway, I sit motionless. Something has shifted in this room. I'm no longer the strategic asset but the liability they need to minimize.
I made this bed, now I have to lie in it.
THIRTY-ONE
Sam
The key turns with that familiar click, and cool air rushes out to meet me. I step inside, letting the door close behind me with a soft thud that echoes through the entryway.
The house feels different. It's quieter somehow, like it's been holding its breath, waiting for me to return.
Sunlight streams through the partially open sliders, casting long rectangles of gold across the hardwood. The ocean's soft whoosh filters in, constant and comforting. My shoulders drop without permission.
God, I missed this.
I set my bag down beside the kitchen island and drape my cardigan over a barstool. I tip the Uber driver on the app and set my phone on the island.
Everything looks exactly the same; the white leather sectional, the driftwood coffee table Mom found at that little shop in Delray, the framed photo of us at my med school graduation, and the throw pillows on the sofa all look untouched.
