Chapter 2 - The Midnight Flight and the StrategyThe red-eye flight to Boston Logan International was half-empty, allowing me to secure an emergency exit row where I could stretch my legs and spread out my tablet. While Luke was presumably spending a miserable four-hour train ride stewing in his own anxiety across the aisle from a car sick intern, I was busy executing a digital demolition.
I opened our shared cloud workspace—the master folder containing the Apex-Vanguard acquisition presentation. For years, Luke and I had shared admin access. He liked to tell his colleagues that we were a "power couple," seamlessly blending work and romance, but the reality was much simpler: I did the heavy lifting, and he pasted his name on the cover page.
With a few precise taps on my screen, I revoked his editing permissions. Then, I downloaded the original, uncompressed financial model—the one containing the proprietary risk-assessment algorithms I had spent three months coding—and moved it to an encrypted, password-protected server accessible only by my personal credentials.
My phone buzzed relentlessly in my bag. Flight mode was off now that we were cruising at thirty thousand feet, and the notifications came flooding in like a digital avalanche.
Luke: Clover, where the hell are you? Pick up the phone! The Apex team is texting me asking for the updated spreadsheet model because the shared drive is locked. What did you do?! Luke: Stop playing games. This is multi-million dollar business. If we lose this account because of your petty temper tantrum, I swear to God— Camellia: Hi Clover... um, Luke is really stressed out right now. Please don't be mad at him. It was just a seat, and I wasn't feeling well...
I stared at Camellia’s message, a cold, humorless smile touching the corners of my lips. She still thought she was playing the victim in a soap opera. She had no idea she was a pawn in a game she was entirely unqualified to win.
I drafted a single, concise response and sent it to both of them in a joint text thread:
The shared drive is locked because the intellectual property belongs to Hernández Analytics, a sole proprietorship registered in my name prior to our engagement. You have zero rights to modify, present, or distribute those files without my explicit corporate consent. Good luck with your presentation tomorrow, Luke. You’re going to need it.
May you like
I blocked both of their numbers immediately afterward, plunging my phone into blissful, uninterrupted silence.
Leaning back against the headrest, I closed my eyes as the hum of the jet engines vibrated through the cabin. The acquisition meeting was scheduled for 10:00 AM sharp at Apex-Vanguard’s sleek corporate headquarters in downtown Boston. The CEO, Arthur Sterling—a notoriously ruthless, old-school industrialist who despised incompetence—was personally presiding over the final pitch. Luke thought he was walking into a coronation. He was actually walking into an execution chamber, and I held the trapdoor lever.
