Chapter 3 — A Calculated Move

Leo

The Ashford Tower dominated the skyline, its glass façade catching the muted light of the steel-gray morning. Polished, unyielding, it was a monument to precision and control—everything I strove to maintain. I adjusted my cufflinks as I stepped out of the car, the cold metal grounding me as a brisk wind carried the hum of the city’s restless energy. Behind me, Meredith, my assistant, kept pace, tablet in hand, her voice a measured stream of updates.

“Your meeting with the finance team has been moved up to one-thirty,” she said, her gaze unwavering from her screen. “The consultant interview is set for ten sharp in Conference Room Four.”

I nodded once, already feeling my focus narrow. The consultant—Cara Weston. Her name had lingered in my mind since our encounter at The Ember Lounge. Strategic, resourceful, and sharp, she had presented a compelling case against Daniel Carter, exposing connections even my team hadn’t uncovered. But no one approached me without an agenda. And Cara was no exception. The question was whether her angle aligned with mine—or threatened it.

The polished marble floors of the reception area gleamed beneath the artfully placed lighting, the steel accents and abstract art a deliberate reflection of the tower’s ethos: calculated elegance. The faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee merged with the quiet clicks of heels and murmured conversations, every detail orchestrated to project control. My control.

“Meredith,” I said, stepping into the private elevator. “Have Margot join us for the interview.”

Meredith hesitated, her heels stilling momentarily on the marble. “I assumed you wanted full discretion over the decision.”

“I do.” My tone was clipped, firm. “But Margot has a talent for reading people. If Ms. Weston is hiding anything, she’ll uncover it.”

The elevator doors slid shut, enclosing us in a quiet hum as we ascended. My fingers brushed the pocket watch in my jacket, the smooth gold casing cool against my skin. A deliberate habit, this; it had been my father’s, inscribed with the words, “Time reveals all.” The watch was a steadying presence, a reminder of legacy and patience, though today, time felt in short supply.

By the time I reached my office, my mind had cataloged the possibilities. Cara Weston could be an asset, a weapon against Carter. Or she could be a threat. Either way, I intended to know which by the end of the morning.

The conference room was quiet, save for the faint, distant buzz of the city beyond the glass. Cara had arrived early. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, her back to me, surveying the skyline. Her posture was deliberate, composed, yet there was a tension to her poise, as though she were bracing herself for the next move.

Her auburn hair caught the light, refracting warm tones against the sharp lines of her tailored blazer. She turned at the sound of the door closing, her hazel eyes meeting mine with a flicker of awareness. No surprise. No fear. Just sharp, calculated readiness.

“Mr. Ashford,” she greeted, her voice steady, balancing deference with confidence.

“Ms. Weston,” I said, moving to the head of the table. “I trust you found your way here without issue?”

“Not at all,” she replied, taking a seat without invitation. Bold. “Ashford Tower is even more impressive up close.”

“It serves its purpose,” I said, resting my hands on the polished surface of the table. I gestured toward the black portfolio in her hands. “Let’s not waste time. Convince me why you’re the right fit for Ashford International.”

Cara slid the portfolio across the table and opened it with deliberate precision. “You’re aware of Daniel Carter’s offshore ventures. What you may not know is how he’s using them to destabilize your subsidiaries. I’ve outlined key connections between his shell companies and specific disruptions in your supply chain.”

I flipped through the documents, scanning the meticulously detailed charts and notes. Patterns emerged, connections my analysts had missed—supply contracts rerouted to competitors, quiet buyouts of tertiary suppliers, all leading back to Carter.

“Impressive,” I said, leaning back slightly, my gaze fixed on her. “But information alone doesn’t make you indispensable. What exactly do you bring to the table?”

Cara’s expression didn’t falter. “I don’t just identify problems; I dismantle them. I’ve worked with companies facing crises that would make this look tame. You need someone who thinks three moves ahead, who doesn’t flinch when Carter escalates.”

Her words were polished, almost too practiced. But there was something beneath them. Anger, perhaps. Or pain. A crack in the veneer, subtle but telling.

“And why, exactly, are you so invested in Carter’s downfall?” I asked, tilting my head. “This seems... personal.”

Her smile tightened, a glimpse of vulnerability flickering across her features before she schooled them again. “For someone like Carter, it’s always personal. He thrives on exploiting weakness. I’ve seen the damage he can do, and I won’t stand by while he destroys another legacy.”

Legacy. The word landed heavier than she likely intended. There was a story there, but before I could press further, the door opened.

Margot stepped in, her presence commanding as always. Everything about her—from the tailored lines of her dress to the glint of her amethyst pendant—projected authority. Her sharp blue eyes assessed Cara in a single sweep before she took the seat beside me.

“Ms. Weston,” Margot said, her tone glacial. “I hope you don’t mind if I join.”

“Not at all,” Cara replied smoothly, though her fingers brushed the edge of her engraved fountain pen—a gesture so faint it might have gone unnoticed.

Margot leaned back, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. “Leo and I were just discussing the importance of trust in this organization. You understand, of course, that it’s not something we extend lightly.”

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise,” Cara said, her voice steady.

Margot’s smile was razor-thin. “Good. Then you won’t mind answering a few questions.”

“Of course.”

“Why now?” Margot’s tone sharpened, her words cutting through the room like a scalpel. “Why approach us at this particular moment?”

Cara met her gaze evenly. “Because Daniel Carter is gaining momentum. If you wait any longer, he’ll be entrenched too deeply to uproot. Timing is everything.”

“And what do you want in return?” Margot pressed, her nails tapping softly against the table.

Cara hesitated—a fraction of a second, but long enough for Margot to notice. “A chance to prove myself. To be part of something bigger than Carter’s schemes.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the full truth either. I glanced toward Margot, whose expression remained unreadable, though her eyes held a glint of approval.

“Your qualifications are impressive,” I said, breaking the silence. “But Margot’s concerns are valid. Trust is non-negotiable here.”

“Then let me earn it,” Cara said firmly, her gaze unwavering. “Give me this opportunity, and I’ll prove my loyalty.”

The room hung in tense silence. Finally, I stood, signaling the end of the meeting. “You’ll start as a consultant. Temporary, of course, until you demonstrate your value.”

Cara inclined her head. “Thank you, Mr. Ashford. I won’t disappoint you.”

As she gathered her portfolio and exited, Margot turned to me, her expression sharp. “She’s hiding something.”

“I know,” I replied, my gaze lingering on the closed door. My fingers brushed the pocket watch in my jacket again, its inscription echoing in my mind. “But whatever it is, we’ll uncover it in due time.”