“Ms. Carter.”
Naomi said nothing.
Conrad looked toward Grant.
“What happened?”
Grant answered:
“I was about to ask the same thing.”
Preston stepped forward.
“She came in without identification and represented herself—”
Naomi raised one hand.
He stopped talking.
That surprised everyone more than shouting would have.
Naomi looked toward Conrad.
“I arrived for the final inspection.”
“Yes.”
“I identified myself.”
Conrad’s face tightened.
She continued.
“Mr. Vale laughed.”
Preston interrupted.
“I thought—”
Naomi did not look at him.
“I presented the closing folder.”
She pointed toward the jet.
Every head followed.
The black folder lay on the ground near the nose gear.
Conrad stared.
“How did it get there?”
Nobody answered.
Naomi did.
“One of your partners kicked it there.”
Charles Avery suddenly found the floor fascinating.
Conrad’s expression hardened.
Naomi continued.
“Mr. Vale informed me that seven hundred seventy million dollars does not appear merely because someone dresses expensive.”
Conrad closed his eyes for half a second.
“Naomi—”
“Ms. Carter.”
Preston’s face tightened.
Conrad said immediately:
“Ms. Carter.”
Naomi turned toward Mercer.
“Then your security director put his hand on me and shoved me back from the aircraft.”
Mercer spoke quickly.
“I was instructed to escort you out.”
“You were instructed to escort me.”
Naomi’s voice remained calm.
“You chose to put your hands on me after I specifically told you not to.”
Mercer said nothing.
Conrad looked as if he had aged ten years in two minutes.
Preston stepped closer.
“Fine.”
Grant turned toward him.
Preston raised both hands.
“I apologize.”
Naomi waited.
Preston continued.
“I didn’t recognize you.”
Naomi looked at him for several seconds.
Then asked:
“Why should that matter?”
He frowned.
“You’re the buyer.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
The room went completely still.
Naomi walked toward the folder.
Conrad moved instinctively.
“No, please.”
He hurried forward, crouched, and retrieved it before she reached the jet.
He brushed a faint shoe mark from the cover.
Opened it.
The first page displayed Naomi’s photograph beside the executive closing authorization.
The second listed the transaction.
Twelve aircraft.
Purchase consideration: $770,000,000.
Conrad looked toward Preston.
His voice was almost a whisper.
“She wasn’t buying one jet.”
Avery stared.
Conrad turned the folder around so the men could see.
“She was buying all twelve.”
Naomi put her sunglasses back on.
Preston stepped forward.
“Let’s go into the conference room.”
“No.”
“We’ve worked on this for four months.”
“Yes.”
“There are two hundred people involved in this closing.”
“Yes.”
“You’re canceling seven hundred seventy million dollars over a bad first impression?”
Naomi looked at him.
“No.”
His shoulders relaxed slightly.
Then she continued.
“I’m canceling it because in less than eight minutes, without knowing my title, your people showed me more about this company than four months of presentations did.”
The relief disappeared.
Preston scoffed.
“That’s ridiculous.”
Naomi looked toward the jet.
“Maybe.”
She turned back.
“But it’s my seven hundred seventy million dollars.”
No one laughed.
She walked toward the exit.
Grant followed.
Conrad stepped in front of them, careful to leave several feet of space.
“Please.”
Naomi stopped.
“Not to reverse the decision tonight.”
Conrad’s voice was low.
“Just give me twenty-four hours.”
“For what?”
“To understand what happened.”
“You already understand what happened.”
“To understand whether what happened represents us.”
Naomi looked toward Preston.
Then Mercer.
Then Avery.
Finally back to Conrad.
“That is the first useful question anyone from your side has asked.”
Conrad swallowed.
“Twenty-four hours.”
Naomi considered.
“The original transaction is dead.”
His face fell.
“I understand.”
“If you want another conversation, preserve every security recording from tonight.”
“Yes.”
“Do not edit it.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Preserve internal communications.”
Conrad looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because I want to know whether this was spontaneous or customary.”
Preston stepped forward.