Abbott''s pupils contracted sharply at those words.


    Across the table, one of the project managers-Carlson-went pale, the blood draining from his face. Instinctively, his gaze flicked to Abbott.


    Their eyes met. Abbott, gaze razor-sharp, gave the slightest shake of his head. The message was unmistakable: *If you so much as think about owning up to this, I''ll ruin you right here and now.*


    Momentster, the conference room screen lit up with the project directors'' scores -specifically, the ratings for Isadora''s firm.


    Nearly everyone had given Seafarer Designs a score north of 95. But then there was Carlson, who''d dragged the average down with a ringly low 30.


    The disparity was impossible to ignore. A wave of uneasy murmurs rippled through the room.


    Forcing down his fear, Carlson got to his feet and tried to defend his score, voice strained but defiant.


    "Mr. Oakley, the scores are purely subjective. Personally, I just don''t like Seafarer Designs'' proposals!"


    Isadora studied Carlson. She didn''t recognize him and had no idea why he was singling out her team.


    Calm and collected, she spoke up, "May I ask, Mr. Carlson, given how simr the designs from Seafarer and Gemini Collective are, what is it about ours that you dislike so much?"


    Her words seemed to jolt everyone awake.


    After all, the whole point of this meeting-the reason representatives were here defending their firms-was precisely *because* Seafarer Designs and Gemini Collective had submitted such simr proposals.


    Carlson''s excuse didn''t hold water.


    Jonathan''s face turned thunderous. He red at Carlson. "Carlson, I suggest you think very carefully before you answer."


    From the head of the table, a man''s careless, icyughter cut through the tension. "So this is your management style, Jonathan?" Victor''s tone turned cial.


    His voice carried an innate authority, cold andmanding-every word seemed to strike Jonathan like a bullet.


    Jonathan''s heart, already sinking, lodged in his throat. He knew Carlson was the problem, but admitting it now would be like shooting himself in the foot.


    Those in the know could see Carlson had deliberately tanked Seafarer''s score. Outsiders might think the entire Oakley Group was covering it up.


    He simply couldn''t-*wouldn''t*-admit to anything.


    Swallowing hard, Jonathan stammered, "It''s... that''s right. The scoring is... a matter of personal preference."


    Victor''s expression darkened, his easygoing air reced by a chilling sternness. "In that case," he drawled, "perhaps we should vote you, our ipetent chairman, right out of the room. What do you say?"


    A collective gasp went around the table.


    Everyone was silently sweating for Jonathan, who looked like he was about to beg for mercy right then and there.


    Meanwhile, Abbott-so confident his scheme was foolproof-waspletely blindsided by Victor''s unexpected intervention.


    Mr. Fitzgerald. Of course Abbott had heard of him.


    Rumor had it the man got whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Unruly, domineering, and impossible to rein in-Victor Fitzgerald was notorious for his arrogance, and even more so for the sheer power he wielded. No one in their right mind would dare cross him.


    Abbott''s face remained stony as he turned to his assistant. "Why the hell is Victor speaking up for Seafarer Designs?"


    The poor assistant just stared, bewildered. *If you don''t know, how would I? If I could read minds, I wouldn''t still be an assistant, now would I?*


    Abbott snapped, "Idiot!"


    Though, really, it wasn''t clear who he was calling an idiot anymore.


    Jonathan''s heart was pounding out of his chest as he finally announced, "Due to


    Mr. Carlson''s excessive subjectivity, his score will be removed from the tally. We''ll recalcte the results."


    The final numbers appeared onscreen:


    Seafarer Designs: 97


    Gemini Collective: 85