Chapter 6 - The Price of Being Right
Northstar Research did not become successful overnight.
First, it became controversial.
Some investors called me brilliant.
Others called me lucky.
Television commentators debated whether someone without a completed degree should be taken seriously.
One anchor asked Grant that question live.
His answer went viral.
“She found what people with degrees, salaries, research teams, and expensive offices missed. Maybe ask them why.”
Three weeks after the scandal broke, Professor Reeves agreed to cooperate with investigators.
Keller resigned two days later.
The company's board announced an independent review.
My report was no longer the story.
The cover-up was.
Grant invested five million dollars in Northstar for a minority stake after three days of negotiations.
I rejected his first proposal.
And his second.
By the fourth meeting, he dropped the contract on the table.
“You enjoy this too much.”
“Negotiating?”
“Saying no to me.”
“I've had limited opportunities.”
He sat across from me.
Northstar's first office was three rooms above a pharmacy in Midtown.
Grant hated it.
I loved it.
“You have five million dollars,” he said. “Why does your office smell like cough drops?”
“Because rent matters.”
“You need image.”
“I need analysts.”
“You need both.”
“Then buy me a plant.”
He stared.
“A plant?”
“Something expensive-looking.”
The next morning, twelve plants arrived.
I called him.
“Twelve?”
“You didn't specify.”
“You're impossible.”
“So I've been told.”
By month three, Northstar employed six people.
By month five, fifteen.
Nolan left Holloway Capital to join as chief operating officer.
Grant pretended not to be offended.
“You stole my best man.”
“I offered him better coffee.”
Nolan corrected me.
“She offered equity.”
“Traitor,” Grant said.
The Sterling invited me back for dinner.
This time, not as a waitress.
Dana hugged me at the entrance.
“You look different.”
“I bought shoes that don't hurt.”
“That'll do it.”
My old coworkers gathered around.
Then someone whispered.
“He's here.”
Grant entered.
Black suit.
No entourage.
No friends laughing behind him.
He walked toward me.
Dana leaned close.
“Is this business?”
“I don't know.”
Grant stopped in front of us.
“Dana.”
“Mr. Holloway.”
“Can I borrow Fiona?”
Dana smiled.
“Depends. Are you giving her phone back afterward?”
I laughed.
Grant looked betrayed.
“She told you?”
“Everyone knows.”
He led me toward the windows.
Manhattan glittered below.
“What is this?” I asked.
He handed me an envelope.
I opened it.
Inside was a statement.
Balance: zero.
I stared at it.
Then at him.
“What did you do?”
“Nothing illegal.”
“My mother's medical debt.”
“Paid.”
Anger hit before gratitude.
“Grant.”
“Before you start—”
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because the hospital sold the debt to a collection company owned by a fund in which I happen to have an interest.”
I stared.
“You bought my debt?”
“Technically, I discovered we already owned it.”
“And erased it.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
His expression changed.
No billionaire confidence.
No performance.
Just Grant.
“Because your mother shouldn't be the reason you're still paying for the worst period of your life.”
I looked away.
“That's not your decision.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“You're right.”
That stopped me.
“If you want, I'll reverse it.”
I looked back.
“You can do that?”
“I'll figure something out.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then I folded the statement.
“Don't reverse it.”
He nodded.
“But I'm paying you back.”
“Fiona—”
“Every dollar.”
“You're negotiating a gift?”
“Yes.”
“That defeats the concept.”
“Get used to disappointment.”
He laughed.
Then became serious.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Dinner.”
“We're at a restaurant.”
“With me.”
“I am with you.”
“Fiona.”
I finally understood.
“Oh.”
For the first time since meeting Grant Holloway, I watched him become uncertain.
“Are you asking me on a date?”
“Yes.”
“That looked painful.”
“It is.”
I smiled.
“Good.”
“Is that a yes?”
I let him wait.
Just long enough.
May you like
“Yes.”
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