Page 19 of Dial B for Billionaire

“Three months?” My voice rises. “And you didn't think that was something your COO should know about?”

“I thought I could fix it.” His voice shrinks. “The NeuraTech prototype—if we could just get it to clinical trials, the valuation would triple.”

“But it's not ready.” I cross my arms. “You know that.”

“It needs more time.”

“Time we don't have.” I flatten my hands on the table. “Why Mercer? Why not look at other options?”

His head snaps up, eyes flashing. “You think I didn't? You think this was my first call?”

The heat in his voice startles me.

“Every other offer was worse,” he continues, knuckles white as he grips the armrest. “They wanted to gut the IP and dissolve the company. No jobs. No legacy. Mercer was the only one who offered anything worth keeping.”

“And slashing seventy percent of our staff is a win?” I shoot back.

“It's better than zero.” His voice cracks. “Don't mistake realism for surrender. I detest men like Mercer far more than you do.”

“So you sold us out to a man you hate?”

“I lost my first company this way, Layla.” Something haunted flickers in his eyes. “Men in expensive suits who dismantled everything I built. You think I don't know what's coming?”

The revelation catches me off guard. Dad rarely talks about his life before Carmichael Innovations.

“So why?—”

“Because we're out of time!” He slams his hand against the table, making me jump. “The recall drained everything. The prototype needs work. No bank will touch us.”

His shoulders sag. In the harsh fluorescent light, he looks old. Defeated.

“It's this or bankruptcy. At least this way, something with the Carmichael name might survive.”

I want to scream. To cry. To flip the table. Instead, I breathe.

“You did this behind my back. For months.”

“I was protecting you?—”

“No.” My voice could slice steel. “You were protecting yourself. From the hard conversation. From admitting your dream is dying.”

He winces, and for a moment, I hate myself for the hurt in his eyes. This man taught me to ride a bike, to believe I could do anything. Now he looks broken, and I want to comfort him and shake him at the same time.

“This isn't just unfair to me,” I add, softening slightly. “It's unfair to our staff. And to Mom. She gave up her career for this company.”

“Mercer Capital is our best option,” he says quietly. “The board will see that. Even if you don't.”

I shake my head. “Then I guess I need to prepare for what's coming.”

“Layla—”

“Don't.” I hold up my hand. “I'll be professional. I'll do my job. But don't expect me to pretend this didn't break something.”

I stride out, each click of my heels against the polished floor like a tiny explosion.

My office feels smaller now. Like the walls have closed in, like I'm sitting at someone else's desk with someone else's problems. Like I'm just borrowing time.

I sink into my chair and punch in the CFO’s extension. He answers on the second ring.

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