Chapter 2

The acquisitions team worked out of the biggest office on the eighteenth floor.

Floor-to-ceiling windows, leather sofas, and a massive screen on the wall looping a promotional video for the overseas asset. Blue skies, turquoise water, wind turbines, solar panels blanketing a hillside, all set to triumphant music.

Seven or eight so-called "international consultants" sat around the room, their suits worth ten times mine, peppering their speech with fancy phrases.

The one leading them was Dennis Fraser; his business card listed a string of titles longer than my arm.

He was mid-pitch at the projector when I walked in.

"This is a scarce asset. Whoever lands it locks down the next twenty years of the industry..."

Vice President Grayson Pyatt sat at the head of the table with his legs crossed, nodding along.

He was twenty-six, Alex Pyatt's only son. This hundred-billion-dollar acquisition was his coronation.

Sandra led me in.

"Mr. Pyatt, this is our new hire, Toby Hanson. He'll be helping out the team for now."

Grayson glanced me over like I was a piece of furniture.

"You can build spreadsheets, right? Sort and file these due diligence documents."

He nudged a stack of files with his foot.

"And get everyone coffee. Dennis wants an Americano with two extra shots. Cole wants a latte, no sugar. Ask the rest what they want."

The room laughed.

I counted. Thirty people, consultants and assistants combined.

I went around asking everyone's order on my phone, writing down who wanted what, sugar or none, oat milk or not. I bought all thirty downstairs, labeled every cup, and set them down at the right seats.

Dennis picked up his double-shot Americano, took a sip, and raised an eyebrow, surprised.

"Not bad. Better than the last intern."

That was the only compliment I heard all day.

Over the next two weeks, I became the busiest person on the team. Sorting documents, printing contracts, booking conference rooms, ordering food, setting up the projector, running down to the front desk for deliveries.

When the consultants had meetings, I stood by the door, refilling water glasses. When Grayson rehearsed his investor pitch, I held up the cue cards.

Nobody treated me like a real employee. They just called me "the three-thousand-dollar guy."

But I did everything to the highest standard I could. I organized the documents into a three-layer filing system, sorted by date, by subsidiary, by transaction type, so anyone could pull up exactly what they needed the moment they asked.

Before long, even Dennis started calling on me by name. "Toby, where's the audit workpaper from last year's third quarter?"

I handed it to him. He didn't even look at me.

He didn't need to.

Because while I was sorting through those due diligence files, I noticed something.

The overseas asset the promotional video had hyped up so much had three subsidiaries under it. One in the Trayman Islands, one in Ludembourg, one in the target company's own country.

The transactions between the three companies were dense and tangled.

Company A sold equipment to Company B. Company B marked it up and leased it to Company C. Company C funneled "operating revenue" back to Company A.

Money passed from one hand to the other and back again. The numbers looked beautiful, like a painting.

But that painting had been drawn to order.

I spent the whole night staring at that web of related-party transactions. The longer I looked, the colder I felt.

This wasn't a premium asset. It was a landmine wrapped in candy foil.