Part One
The calendar alert chimed softly on my laptop. Quarterly review with Edwin. 3:30 p.m., two hours away.
Plenty of time to finish my lunch and prepare. I stabbed at my salad, my mind already rehearsing talking points for my projects when I heard my name. “Harper.”
I looked up to see Edwin looming over my desk, his expression unreadable.
The open-plan office hummed with afternoon activity around us, the usual low roar of sales calls and Slack notifications. “The Diamonte Group is here. Conference Room A.
Now.”
My fork rattled against the plastic container. “Diamonte? That’s scheduled for tomorrow afternoon.”
“Plans change.” He checked his watch.
“You have two minutes to get downstairs.”
“But the presentation isn’t finalized. The deck isn’t—”
“Two minutes, Harper.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Don’t keep them waiting.”
As he strode away, the realization hit me like a punch.
This was intentional. The Diamonte Group represented our biggest potential client of the year, a ten‑million‑dollar account. I’d been cultivating the relationship for months.
Tomorrow’s presentation was supposed to be my crowning achievement at Crescent Analytics. My stomach tightened as I grabbed my phone. My laptop was in the middle of a forced system update and wouldn’t be ready in time.
The printed materials were still at the print shop for tomorrow. The prototype wasn’t assembled. In the elevator, I tried accessing my files remotely, but our company’s security protocols blocked cloud access from mobile devices.
Perfect. When the doors opened onto the executive floor, I saw them through the glass walls of Conference Room A. Six impeccably dressed executives sat around the table, some checking their watches, others scrolling through their phones.
At the head of the table sat Vivien Diamonte herself—founder, CEO, and, according to every business magazine in the United States, one of the most influential women in retail analytics. She was rarely present at initial pitches. Edwin intercepted me in the hallway.
“Ah, here she is—our team lead.” He dropped his voice to a sharp whisper. “Where’s the presentation?”
“On my desktop, where it’s supposed to be. For tomorrow’s meeting.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate.” He adjusted his tie.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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