Page 30

Rhys

I survey the stack of papers on my desk, a testament to the relentless pace of this week back in the EnergiFusion office. I miss my days in Colorado where I could do my work in peace, with minimal interruptions. And without worrying constantly and missing Jade.

But in so many ways, those days are gone.

Mackenzie’s knock at my door is a reminder that it’s time to shift gears. “Ready for your lunch with Stan Richards?” she asks.

“Almost,” I reply, standing. “Scott’s downstairs?”

She nods. “He’ll get you there in time.”

I gather the documents Jeannie has prepared for me. It’s time to find out what Stan has to say about the missing deliveries we were billed for. I don’t love this sort of confrontation, but right now, it’s almost a relief to have somewhere else to put my focus. There hasn’t been any evidence of an active threat on my life since I returned home, but I still can’t relax. Who knows what’s going on behind the scenes.

I stop and take a breath, stepping back from the edge of panic all over again. I need to be sharp for this meeting.

I’m checked out for most of the drive down to the peninsula, my thoughts tangled with echoes of Jade’s voice. But she’s safe, far away from me. I take comfort in that as we pull up to Cucina Venti, an elegant Italian restaurant in Palo Alto, which was chosen by Stan. I thank Scott and step out, straightening my jacket as I enter.

The hostess greets me, leading me through the rich mahogany dining room adorned with crisp white tablecloths. I take my seat and wait. After a moment, Scott enters and sits close by.

As the minutes tick by, I decide what I want to eat and nurse my second glass of sparkling water. I glance at my watch, noting that the agreed-upon time has come and gone. Fifteen minutes turn into twenty, and irritation creeps in, mingling with unease about how this conversation is going to go. Stan owes us money or better details, which perhaps he already knows. I suspect his tardiness is a power play since I called this meeting.

When Stan finally arrives, he saunters in without a hint of urgency, and he doesn’t bother with an apology. He drops into his seat across from me, a picture of nonchalance. “Rhys,” he says. “Let’s get this show started, shall we?”

“Of course,” I say, spreading my napkin in my lap, forcing neutrality into my voice.

Stan signals the server with a lazy wave. “Bourbon, neat,” he orders, and then turns to me. “The same?”

“No thank you. I’m set,” I decline.

He chuckles, a low sound that grates more than it should. “Not drinking at lunch? What? Are you on a diet or something?”

I never drink during the day, and I don’t appreciate his judgment. “Something like that,” I respond, keeping my tone light. There are accounts to settle here today, and I’m going to balance the books.

The server returns with Stan’s drink and takes our order. Stan orders the bone-in ribeye while I settle on braised short ribs, hoping comfort food will take the edge off this encounter.

As Stan launches into a monologue about himself, I nod at appropriate intervals, my mind flitting between attentiveness and strategy. It’s a dance I’ve mastered over the years, the art of appearing wholly absorbed when in fact you’re mentally rehearsing your next moves.

“—and my boy is off to Stanford to play football next year.” Stan beams. His eyes glint with fatherly pride, and momentarily, I see past the business veneer to the parent beneath.

“Stanford’s got a great program,” I acknowledge. “You must be proud.”

“Beyond words.” He leans back, swirling his bourbon contemplatively. “Thinking of taking him on a trip to Monte Carlo as a graduation gift. You know, a bit of father-son bonding before college.”

“Sounds memorable,” I say.

“Absolutely,” Stan agrees, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Better gambling than Vegas and women with barely there bikinis everywhere you look.” He chuckles, lost in the fantasy.

I force a smile, even as I feel a twinge of discomfort at his casual objectification. But before I can steer the conversation elsewhere, our meals arrive.

“Finally,” Stan mutters, eyeing his plate hungrily.

“Enjoy your meal, gentlemen,” the server says before departing.

“Thanks,” I reply, just as Stan fixes me with a probing gaze.

“Speaking of trips, where have you been hiding yourself these days?” he asks, cutting into his steak with vigor.

“Busy traveling for business,” I answer carefully, holding the details close to my chest.

“Ran out on your company, it seems like to me.” He snorts derisively, shaking his head. “Left your employees to fend for themselves for quite a while.”

I let his jab pass unchallenged, focusing instead on the tender short ribs that fall apart beneath my fork. This lunch is about the questions I have, and I aim to get answers.

The remnants of our meal linger between us as conversation dwindles. It’s time. I reach into my jacket and retrieve a folded sheet of paper, the creases sharp from my earlier preparations. I smooth it out on the tablecloth before Stan’s curious gaze.

“Stan, there’s something we need to address,” I begin. “Our CFO completed a forensic audit recently. We’ve discovered several deliveries billed by Maloney Chemical that we don’t seem to have received.”

His eyes narrow, darting down to scan the figures and dates I’ve itemized. The numbers are stark, undeniable. They represent a significant sum, millions that have flowed out for nothing in return.

“This looks like your team lost the cells,” he argues, his fork clattering against his plate. “We don’t invoice unless the product’s been delivered. That’s our policy.”

I nod. “I believe you. But our receiving docks are meticulous with records. These shipments seem to be ghosts. No paper trail on our end, no visual of product arriving, just the charges you’ve applied.”

He bristles at the implication, his posture stiffening. The jovial man who boasted about yachts and football prospects is replaced by one cornered, defensive.

I lean forward, locking eyes with him. “If Maloney can provide us with the delivery details and signatures,” I say, my voice steady and calm, “we can try again to locate the missing items. We’ll compare your records to our security footage, and that should help us locate where they were misplaced. Then we’ll know how to shore up our process.”

Stan shifts in his seat, irritation flickering across his face. “And if we can’t?” he challenges.

“Then we’ll expect a refund, and not as credit against future orders.” I pause, ensuring my next words land with precision. “We need this solved within thirty days.”

The color rises in Stan’s cheeks, a crimson tide of anger washing over his previously composed demeanor. He clenches his bourbon glass, knuckles whitening. “You’re treating me, a long-standing business partner, like some sort of swindler!” He slams the glass down, bourbon sloshing. “What you’re implying here? Justin wouldn’t have stood for this kind of accusation.”

“Justin isn’t here,” I reply, unflinching. “And I doubt he’d have let a vendor embezzle from him either.”

Stan’s mouth opens, then snaps shut.

I see motion in my peripheral vision and notice Scott ready to get involved if needed.

Stan’s searching for footing in a conversation that’s slipped from his control, but I remain steadfast. EnergiFusion will not eat greed. Not with millions at stake.

“Fine, then! We’ll sever ties. My company will never do business with you again!” Stan’s face is an angry mask, his voice a growl of thwarted pride. “See how well you make your deadlines with the auto manufacturers.”

“You don’t even want to try to sort this out?” I shrug. “That’s fine, Stan,” I say calmly, rising from my chair. “We’ve signed an agreement with Pure Earth Minerals.” I shift the list of missing shipments and add a contract to the pile. “This is a copy of our contract, which gives us the right to sever the agreement when there has been a material breach. Failing to provide us with the proof of delivery I’ve outlined on the first page would meet that burden. Pure Earth is ready to supply us with the sodium-ion we need at a better price.” It’s a strategic move, but there’s still satisfaction in seeing Stan deflated.

“We delivered those cells,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Fantastic. Because I never thought you would embezzle several million dollars from EnergiFusion. Just send us the details on the deliveries in question, and we’ll check them against the security cameras. If this works out and you can meet Pure Earth’s pricing, we’ll remain in business together.”

He stands and throws his napkin on the table. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

“You have twenty-four hours to tell me how you’re moving forward,” I call after him. “If I don’t hear from you, we’ll release a press release about this, and I’m sure your stockholders and board will have questions.”

He storms out, and I signal the server, who’s been hovering at a discreet distance. I pull out several crisp one-hundred-dollar bills from my wallet and lay them on the tray she carries. “I hope this covers the cost of our lunch adequately,” I tell her.

She glances down at the money, then back up at me. She nods.

“And the rest is for you.”

“Thank you for dining with us,” she says.

I nod in response and push through the restaurant doors with Scott close on my heels. I feel truly useful for the first time all week.

We return to the car and start our drive back to the office. Midway through our trip my phone rings, shattering the quiet. An unexpected name flashes on the screen. I’m hearing from her now?

“Hey, Crystal. How’s your mother?” I ask in greeting.

“She’s doing okay. Every day has its challenges. Thanks for asking.” Her voice is softer than usual.

“Of course.” I’m about to ask if she needs any assistance when she continues.

“Stan Richards just called me.”

My grip on the phone tightens. Why would Stan call Crystal? I keep my voice even. “Did he now? And what did he have to say?”

She hesitates, a ripple of tension traveling through the line. “He mentioned that you two had lunch. Said something about losing the account. I’m not sure what he meant.”

I can almost picture Stan, trying to pull strings, attempting to use personal connections to sway the situation. But Crystal deserves transparency. “Stan’s upset because we’re holding Maloney accountable for some discrepancies in billing. Jeannie Young, our new CFO, did a forensic audit and there are some deliveries we’ve been billed for but did not receive, according to our records. It could be a problem on our end, but I don’t think so. But I asked him to provide their records on the deliveries, and if we can sort this out using the security footage, I will apologize profusely, and we’ll know we need to work on our internal process.”

“Okay,” she replies. “That makes sense. But you already have a deal with Pure Earth? When did that happen? Shouldn’t we have discussed it?”

“Jeannie had board approval for the vendor switch,” I say as the San Francisco skyline looms ahead.

“And we’re missing Maloney shipments?” Crystal presses.

“Eleven deliveries never arrived. The books are clear.”

Scott stops at a red light. Pedestrians blithely cross the street.

“You’re sure we didn’t get them?” she asks again.

“Pretty sure,” I reply as the light flips to green and we begin to move. “I told Stan to provide proof of delivery—dates, signatures, and times. We’ll cross-check everything against our security footage. If the mistake is on our end, I’ll personally apologize to Stan.”

“Okay, Rhys.” I can almost hear her nodding through the phone, processing the information. “That all sounds good to me. If I have questions, is it okay if I call Jeannie?”

“Please do,” I encourage as the office comes into view. “Jeannie’s amazing. It would have been an easy miss for the accountants. They looked at money in and money out, but she took it a step beyond. We’re lucky to have her.”

“Thanks for handling this,” Crystal says.

“Of course,” I answer, my thoughts already shuffling to the next challenge. “I’ll keep you updated. I hope we can talk more regularly. We’ve missed having you as part of our video calls, though I know your mom is demanding a lot.”

“That she is, and I appreciate your flexibility. I wish I could join you in Montana,” she says.

“You’ll be missed. But keep us posted on how your mother is doing.”

“I will,” she replies. “Talk soon,” she says before the line goes dead.

I look at my watch as we pull back in at the office. Stan left the table less than forty minutes ago and immediately reached out to Crystal. More than ever now, I think he already knew they’d billed us for something they never delivered. Crooked piece of shit.

Back at my desk, the office buzzes around me, a hive of activity that doesn’t let up until the sky outside is painted with the deep blues and purples of evening. My last meeting, with the head of sales, drags on, the clock hands crawling toward seven thirty.

As soon as he steps out, Mackenzie appears, her expression firm. “Rhys, it’s time to call it a day. You’ve got an early start tomorrow. Breakfast at Four Chairs with Collin Stevens at seven. Then you’re off to meet Jeremiah Savage at Sweet Maple for a second breakfast at nine.”

“Thanks, Mackenzie,” I reply. “I appreciate the reminder.”

“Get some rest,” she insists, giving me a subtle nudge toward the door. “You’re going to need it.”

“Will do.” I offer her a half-smile as she turns to go. Then I look back at my desk to gather what I need to take with me and leave things in some sort of order for tomorrow.

Just before I shut down my computer, an email pops up from the controller at Maloney Chemical. It seems they will be sending us the rather substantial refund they owe. I’m a little surprised at how quickly Stan is paying. Not even going to investigate? This confirms for me that he already knew they’d never delivered the goods.

I think for a moment. He’s afraid of my threat. Making this public could mean his job, so he’s willing to settle for losing our account quietly. I should still expose them for what they did, but not today.

I forward the email to Jeannie, Theo, Crystal, and Austin and get almost immediate replies of celebration. I’ll add this to our agenda for further discussion when we’re in Montana.

“Goodnight,” Mackenzie calls as she tightens the belt on her coat.

“Hey, thanks for everything today,” I say as I stand, stretching out my back.

She pauses at the doorway. “Of course, Rhys. Anything else before I head out?”

“No, I’m good. Go on, you get some rest too.” I wave her off with a gentle motion.

“All right. See you tomorrow. I’ll be here bright and early if you need anything for your meetings.” With a nod, she turns and disappears.

The silence settles around me, though I know there are at least two security personnel left on the floor. They’re omnipresent. And though it’s stifling, I’m also grateful. I shift my mind back to work, just for another minute. My team is brilliant, capable, but at the end of the day, the weight of every decision falls on me. And now, without Jade, that weight feels doubled. She grounded me, reminded me that there’s more to life than balance sheets and vendor battles. But now, it’s just me. I hate that something so good had to be a casualty of this ongoing mess.

I sink back into my chair, but the stillness does little to soothe me. The relief of resolving one issue is fleeting. Montana is coming, and with it, the pressure cooker of bringing everyone together in one place. Not everyone’s motives are clear, and I can’t shake the feeling that the answers we’re looking for might lead to betrayals we’re not ready to face.