The deal had stalled.
All the workstreams had been on track when Charles left the office just before midnight. There was only the usual mopping-up to do before the formal signing and market announcement in the morning.
But now, somehow, at 4 am, the deal was in disarray.
Charles flung terse, white-vapoured comments into the phone. His body urged to shiver but he subdued it; it was his body and it would damn well do as he instructed.
He clambered into the black cab outside his silent house. David’s panicked voice was in his ear. Apologising.
Explaining.
Apologising.
Suggesting.
Apologising. Apologising.
It was a big deal. For everyone. For Mining Co. For Oil Co. For the plethora of advisors. Fuck. It represented two years of Charles’s life.
What the hell had gone wrong?





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