“Good,” I say again, because it’s still true.
Caterina’s expression tightens. “She’s ethical—”
“Oh,she,” I say, delighted. The image in my mind shifts from the weaselly man to a stout woman, shrill voice, and a secret desire to be romanced.
“Don’t make assumptions,” Caterina warns. “I looked into her. She’s been the reason at least two acquisitions didn’t happen in the last three years. Not because she wanted more money. Because she said no. She found issues, and she wouldn’t sign off.”
I feel the familiar spark—interest sharpened into focus.
“And Northstar lets a financial executive have that much power and influence?” I ask.
“They do,” Caterina says. “She’s very well-educated. Numbers-brained. And they trust her.”
“Or they hide behind her,” I say.
“That too,” Caterina agrees. “But either way, she’s a gate.”
A gate. A lock. The one point the whole deal canpivot on.
“Is she here?” I ask, looking around.
“I’m not sure,” Caterina says.
Roberto appears beside us, as if summoned. He looks from Caterina to me. “Ready?”
“Always,” I tell him.
Caterina touches my forearm lightly—quick, grounding, a family gesture. “Be nice.”
I give her a look that says I’m always nice.
She snorts, unconvinced, and disappears into the crowd like she has an entire business to run. Which I guess she does.
Roberto leads, and I follow, moving toward the sculpture she indicated. As we approach, the Northstar group turns, attention sharpening. CEO first, then the board members, then counsel—each of them scanning, assessing, deciding.
The CEO is tall, silver at the temples, confident in the way corporate men get when they’ve had success and assume it’s permanent. Only the smartest realize that nothing is permanent.
Roberto reaches them first. “Mr. Crane,” he says, extending his hand. “Roberto Conti. Thank you for coming tonight.”
“Mr. Conti,” Crane replies, taking it. “Your club is impressive.”
“Thank you,” Roberto says. “I wanted you to see the standard we expect to maintain.”
Roberto turns slightly, and that’s my cue.
“And this is Antonio Conti,” he says, voice smooth. “My brother. He’s leading our outreach on this acquisition.”
Crane’s eyes land on me. A quick scan. The suit. The shoulders. The confidence. He gives me the polished smile of a man used to meeting other men he might need.
“Mr. Conti,” he says.
“Malcolm,” I reply, because using a first name is a subtle push. It makes people feel like we’re already closer than we are. “Welcome to The Regent Club.”
We shake hands. His grip is firm, practiced. Mine is firmer, and I keep my right side relaxed so it doesn’t complain.
Roberto gestures to the others. “Eleanor Pierce, David Halbrook,” he says, then to the woman beside them, “and Jenna Sloane, general counsel.”
Pierce is elegant, older, eyes sharp, the kind of board member who has been in rooms where decisions were made that ruined lives without a second thought. Halbrook looks like a former athlete who learned finance from the ground up. Sloane is controlled, posture tight, eyes watching everything.