“Forty-fourth floor.”
She waited.
No apology came.
He pointed toward the elevator.
She walked away.
Inside the mirrored elevator, she looked at herself.
Ivory blouse.
Gold earrings.
Calm face.
She thought of her grandmother.
A hotel maid who had spent decades entering rooms belonging to people wealthier than anyone in her family.
Her grandmother used to say rich people told you who they were fastest when they thought you worked for them.
The elevator climbed.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Forty.
Forty-four.
The doors opened.
The reception had already begun.
Champagne at nine in the morning.
That irritated her immediately.
A company with less than six weeks of liquidity was serving vintage champagne before asking for two billion dollars.
Interesting.
She stepped out.
Nobody greeted her.
That was fine.
She preferred observation.
A vice president complained quietly about bonuses.
Two directors joked about a supplier asking for payment in advance.
An executive’s wife said she hoped the company survived because she had just renovated their home in Palm Beach.
The billionaire listened.
Then she saw the chairman.
Silver hair.
Navy suit.
Expensive tie.
Perfect posture.
His wife beside him.
She recognized both from photographs.
She walked toward them.
The chairman turned.
Everything after that happened quickly.
The hand.
The insult.
The portfolio.
The laugh.
Now, five minutes later, the billionaire sat at the head of his conference table.
The chairman stood near the door.
Technically, it was his seat.
Nobody mentioned that.
Her managing director entered with two analysts.
He saw the chairman.
Then saw the billionaire.
Then looked toward her hand.
A faint red mark remained where the chairman had struck it.
The managing director stopped.
His eyes narrowed.
She shook her head once.
Later.
He understood.
Everyone sat.
The chairman took a chair halfway down the table.
His wife was not invited.
That had required no discussion.
The billionaire opened the portfolio.
“Let’s begin.”
The chief financial officer cleared his throat.
“First, we want to express—”
“No.”
He stopped.
She turned to the first page.
“This meeting is about whether the company survives.”
Silence.
“We can discuss manners when survival is no longer theoretical.”
The chairman stared at her.
She continued.
“Current unrestricted cash?”
The CFO answered.
“Four hundred eighty-six million.”
“Usable?”
He hesitated.
“Approximately three hundred twenty.”
“Why?”
“Restricted deposits, customer guarantees, operating reserves.”
“Thirty-nine days?”