Elena
The boardroom is cold. Not just the temperature, which is always set to a level that I suspect keeps old men in suits from falling asleep, but the atmosphere. It is a sterile world of polished mahogany, hushed tones, and the scent of power.
I should not be here. My presence is a novelty. A concession. I am Elena Lin, the daughter, the fiancée. I am here to observe, to learn, to be a pretty, silent accessory on my father’s arm before I become one on Mark’s.
I sip my water, the ice clinking softly in the glass. It is the only sound I have made in the last hour.
My father sits at the head of the table. To his right, Mark is preparing to speak, shuffling his papers with a practiced air of confidence. To his left, a man I have only seen in business journals. Adrian Vance.
He is the reason for this meeting. His company, Vance Holdings, is the white whale my father has been chasing for a partnership. Vance is formidable. His reputation precedes him: ruthless, brilliant, and notoriously unimpressed. He looks bored, his sharp gray eyes scanning the room with a dismissive air. He is here as a courtesy and nothing more. He has already decided to say no.
I know this because in my last life, he did.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Mark begins, his voice smooth as velvet. He commands the room’s attention instantly. He is good at this. I always used to admire it. Now I see the cheap salesmanship under the polish.
“I’m here to present an opportunity that will not just grow our portfolio, but redefine the skyline of this city. The Blackwood Plaza development.”
A slick presentation appears on the screen behind him. Renderings of a gleaming tower of glass and steel. It looks impressive. It is a lie.
“The land is a bargain, the city is fast tracking the permits, and we have a major hotel chain already signing a letter of intent to be our anchor tenant.”
I watch my father. He is leaning forward, his expression rapt. He is eating it up. The other board members are nodding, their faces reflecting the easy greed that Mark is so skilled at stoking.
Mark continues for twenty minutes, laying out projections and timelines. All of them are fiction. He is a masterful storyteller.
“As you can see,” he concludes, his hands spread wide in a gesture of magnanimous offering, “the initial investment is substantial, but the projected return is over three hundred percent within five years. This is a legacy project.”
A murmur of approval goes around the table. My father beams, looking at Mark with pride. The look he should be giving a son.
“An impressive presentation, Mark,” my father says, his voice booming with satisfaction. He turns his attention to the silent, stone faced guest. “Mr. Vance. I trust you can see the potential here. With your retail expertise, Blackwood Plaza could be unstoppable.”
Adrian Vance does not even look at my father. His gaze drifts around the table, bored, and for a fraction of a second, it lands on me. There is nothing there. No recognition. I am just part of the furniture.
He is about to dismiss them. I can see the words forming on his lips.
It is time.
“I have a question.”
My voice cuts through the self congratulatory buzz. It is quiet, but it is clear. The effect is instantaneous. Every head in the room swivels to face me. The silence is absolute, punctuated by the faint hum of the air conditioning.
Mark freezes, a tight, artificial smile plastered on his face. “Elena, darling. I’m not sure this is the time…”
“I think it is,” I say, my voice level. I turn to him, meeting his shocked gaze. “You mentioned the city is fast tracking the permits. Is that based on the current commercial zoning laws for that district?”
He blinks, caught off guard. “Well… yes. Of course.”
“Because I was reading the city council’s preliminary docket for next quarter. There is a motion to rezone that entire district. They want to increase the required green space for any new development by forty percent. It’s expected to pass unanimously.”
I let that hang in the air. A few of the board members shift in their seats. My father’s smile has vanished.
“That is just a proposal, Elena,” Mark says, his tone condescending, as if explaining something to a child. “It’s hardly a sure thing.”
“Like the geological survey was hardly a sure thing?” I ask, keeping my eyes locked on his. The color drains from his face.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The independent survey. The one the seller commissioned last month and never submitted to the city. The one that showed the entire western parcel of that land is unstable landfill from the nineteen fifties. The one that would require an additional twenty million dollars in foundational work before you could even break ground.”
The silence is now heavy. Stifling. I can feel every eye in the room on me. Especially Mark’s. His shock is curdling into fury.
“Where did you hear this nonsense?” he sputters.
“And the anchor tenant,” I continue, ignoring him and addressing the room. “The Lexington Hotel Group. Are you all aware they are currently in final stage buyout negotiations with their largest competitor? A competitor who has a flagship hotel three blocks away from the proposed Blackwood Plaza site. The first thing they will do post merger is kill any redundant projects. That letter of intent Mark is so proud of will be worthless in less than six months.”
I lean back in my chair. I do not raise my voice. I do not need to. The facts are doing all the screaming for me.
My father is staring at me as if he has never seen me before. His mouth is slightly open. He looks from me to a floundering Mark.
“Mark,” my father says, his voice dangerously low. “Is this true?”
“Of course not!” Mark scoffs, but there is sweat beading on his forehead. “This is a misunderstanding. Elena has gotten some bad information. She doesn’t… she doesn’t understand how these things work.”
That is his fatal mistake. The condescension. The dismissal.
“Then please, Mark, enlighten me,” I say, my voice turning to pure ice. “Enlighten me on how a project with surprise rezoning, on unstable ground, with a phantom anchor tenant, is a ‘legacy project’ and not a multimillion dollar black hole that will cripple this company for a decade.”
He has no answer. He just stares at me, his handsome face a mask of disbelief and raw hatred. He sees me now. Not the pliable fiancée. He sees an enemy.
I turn my gaze to the other end of the table. To Adrian Vance.
His boredom is gone. Utterly. He is leaning forward slightly, his sharp eyes fixed on me. There is no surprise in his expression. There is something else. Something I cannot quite read. It is intense. It is intelligent. It is assessment.
He is seeing me for the first time.
“The Blackwood project is a liability,” I state to the stunned room. “But the land itself is not. Not if you rethink the usage.”
I place my hands flat on the polished table.
“The city is desperate for mixed use residential and light commercial spaces that cater to the tech sector. The rezoning proposal actually favors that kind of development. The ground is unstable for a skyscraper, but it is more than adequate for a campus style complex. Low rise buildings, interconnected with green spaces. You would save millions on foundational work and get tax incentives from the city.”
I pause, then deliver the final blow. A move I planned just for him.
“You could partner with a company that specializes in building smart infrastructure. A company that understands the needs of the new tech economy. A company like Vance Holdings, for instance. Their new logistics division would be a perfect synergistic partner for a project like that. It would be a true legacy. Forward thinking, sustainable, and immensely profitable.”
The air crackles. I have not only dismantled Mark’s plan. I have taken the pieces, rebuilt them, and handed a perfect, tailor made proposal directly to the one man in the room everyone was trying to impress.
My father looks like he has been struck by lightning.
The meeting ends a few minutes later in a flurry of mumbled excuses. The Blackwood Plaza project is dead. Mark gathers his things in a stiff, furious silence, refusing to look at me.
Guests file out, a few of the older board members giving me wide eyed, curious looks as they pass. My father remains in his seat, watching me with a profound, unreadable expression.
Finally, only three of us are left. Me, my father, and Adrian Vance.
He stands, his tall frame seeming to fill the room. He buttons his tailored suit jacket with an unhurried, graceful movement.
He walks not to my father, but around the table, stopping directly in front of me.
He looks down at me, and his gray eyes are like polished steel. They see everything.
“My assistant will be in touch tomorrow morning to discuss the ‘campus project’,” he says. His voice is a low, smooth baritone. It holds an authority that makes Mark’s feel like a cheap imitation.
He extends a hand, not to shake, but offering me a business card.
“Call me directly, Miss Lin,” he says. “I find I am suddenly very interested in this partnership.”
His gaze lingers on mine for a heartbeat longer than necessary. It is a look that strips away the pretense of the boardroom, a look that acknowledges the game I just played, and won.
Then he turns and walks out of the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
I look down at the heavy cardstock in my hand. Adrian Vance, CEO. And a private number, written in pen on the back.
I look up and meet my father’s astonished gaze. Then I look at Mark, who is standing by the door, his face pale with fury, watching me.
A new player is on the board. And I do not think he is the only one.
