Page 143 of Dirty Damage

This meeting will determine whether Pavlov Industries embraces the future or remains trapped in my uncle’s antiquated vision.

And after the warning I issued Boris a few weeks ago, he’s not willing to go quietly.

The board members shift in their ergonomic leather chairs, carefully not meeting my eyes as the first plates are set before them.

Duck confit with roasted fingerling potatoes. The rich aroma of herbs and rendered fat fills the air.

“Please, everyone, enjoy,” Boris gestures magnanimously. “The 2015 Château Margaux pairs beautifully with Chef Bernard’s signature dish.”

I cracked open my own bottle of wine last night, taking swigs from the bottle as Sutton and I flowed seamlessly from fucking to talking and back to fucking. We stayed up way too late, but I considered it an early celebration. No one would be able to deny the facts of my presentation.

Which is exactly why Boris is trying to stop me from delivering them.

I remain standing at the head of the conference table, one hand resting on my laptop. The proposal glows on the screen behind me.

The slides detail how my quantum-encrypted mesh network can and will revolutionize maritime security. Three years of R&D, countless sleepless nights, and now, Boris wants to derail it all with fucking duck confit.

I clear my throat. “I can continue with the presentation while you eat. The next section covers the proprietary algorithms that make our system impossible to hack or?—”

“Nonsense!” Boris interrupts, already working on his second glass of wine. “This deserves our full attention. Both the mealand your… proposal.” He draws out the last word like it tastes sour.

I grind my back teeth, tasting metal. The future of Pavlov Industries hangs on this vote. My surveillance system could position us to dominate the global maritime security market for the next decade.

But Boris would rather watch his empire crumble than see me succeed.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear Sutton’s voice from last night, soft and sure.

“You’ve got this. Make them see what you see.”

The memory of her naked in my bed, hair wild across my pillows, threatens to derail my focus. I push it aside.

I can’t afford distractions right now, no matter how tempting.

I take my seat, watching the board members fall on their food like starving wolves. So be it. Let them gorge themselves into a food coma.

When the vote comes, I’ll make damn sure they remember more than just the duck.

I use the enforced break to review my notes, though I’ve memorized every detail. The quantum mesh network is elegant in its simplicity—a series of interconnected nodes that create an impenetrable security bubble around any vessel.

Boris drones on about wine vintages while I pull up the latest test results on my tablet. Last week’s trial run exceeded even my expectations. The system detected and disabled three cyber-attacks within milliseconds, while simultaneously trackingall physical threats, including boats, drones, and subsurface vehicles, within a five-mile radius.

The dessert course arrives just as Rodney Weiss wipes the last of the duck sauce from his mouth.

“Perhaps now, we could return to the presentation?” he suggests, and I detect a note of genuine interest beneath his diplomatic tone.

I’m back on my feet before Boris can object. The next slide fills the screen. It’s a 3D rendering of the integrated sensor array.

“This is where we differentiate ourselves from every other security system on the market,” I explain. “Traditional systems rely on predetermined threat signatures. Ours learns and adapts in realtime.”

Heads nod around the table. Even my mother has stopped pretending to be fascinated by her wine glass.

“I have a list of clients ready to pre-order. The implications for the super-yacht market alone—” I begin.

But Boris’s theatrical cough cuts me off.

“Yes, yes, very impressive.” Pitching his hands beneath his chin, he leans back in his chair. “But perhaps we should discuss the technical limitations?”

“It’ll be a short conversation,” I grit out. “There aren’t any.”

---