Teresa took the card, embarrassed by the generosity of someone she had been unable to protect. Bradley laughed once more and continued toward the elevator, already turning the story into an anecdote about a difficult visitor. He had no idea that the woman going out through the revolving doors owned the company that had acquired his employer three days earlier. He had never asked, and he would later discover how expensive that omission could become.
The car waiting at the curb was a modest dark sedan, not the limousine Bradley might have expected from someone in control of a major investment group. Loretta slid into the back seat, where her daughter Nia was waiting with a tablet and a folder of transaction documents. Nia looked first at her mother's face and then at the canvas bag resting against her knees. "Well?" she asked. "Did you meet him?"
"Forty-five minutes," Loretta said.
Nia frowned. "Mom, you own that building. As of Friday, every brick on Belmont Road is ours, and Patricia wants to hand the whole operation to that man next Monday at ten."
"Patricia wants to," Loretta replied. "I haven't said yes."
Nia studied her mother. She was thirty-six and had spent the last twelve years learning how to read financial risk, first in a bank, then in Harbor Gate's investment office, where she now oversaw acquisition integration. She had inherited her mother's patience but not always her willingness to let a bad situation unfold in silence. "He really has no idea who you are?" she asked.
"How would he? Every public filing identifies Harbor Gate as the buyer. Every press release names Patricia as managing partner. My name is not on a single announcement, and Patricia is the only person over there who's sat across a table from me."
"You asked for that appointment, didn't you?"
"Just my name, nothing else. I wanted to meet him the way everybody else meets him. Once."
Nia put down the tablet. For a moment she looked at her mother's plain cardigan, her sensible shoes, and the fine line of tiredness at the corners of her eyes. She had seen Loretta walk into companies she was considering purchasing without mentioning that she held the deciding vote. She had never entirely understood why someone with so much influence would voluntarily spend an hour being treated as though she had none.
Loretta opened the little notebook and showed her the first page. Each entry was short: 9:00, directed to distant chair; 9:04, told to wait indefinitely; 9:12, employee reprimanded for providing water; 9:20, visitor badge discarded; 9:45, threatened with removal. There were no insults, no speculation about Bradley's motives, and no notation about his expensive clothes. The accuracy of that page frightened Nia more than an angry speech would have.
"Do you want me to call Patricia and pull his nomination today?" Nia asked.
"Not yet."
"Mom, listen to me. That wasn't a bad day at reception. He was showing you exactly who he is."
"I know. But there's something else I want to see before we make a decision, and I suspect it has very little to do with a glass of water."