Page 105 of Knot Your Sunshine
"This function here identifies date formats and converts them all to ISO standard. This one normalizes revenue categories. And this—" I point to a particularly complex section, "—this accounts for the different reporting frequencies and creates true daily averages."
Their faces reflect the screen's glow, hope flickering in their eyes.
"Once this runs, we'll see what's really happening. Not Chadwick's version. The actual, complete picture."
I execute the program. A progress bar appears, pixels filling green as thousands of data points get cleaned, sorted, transformed. The terminal fills with scrolling text:
Processing franchise001_miami.csv... Standardizing date formats... Normalizing revenue categories... Calculating daily averages... Complete.
Processing franchise002_atlanta.csv...
"Twenty minutes," I tell them, watching the progress bar inch forward. "Maybe thirty."
We sit in silence and watch the screen like it holds our salvation.
Which I pray it does.
* * *
"Whoa, that's wild," Keanu breathes, staring at the results my algorithm produced.
The screen shows clean, organized data, patterns that were previously invisible to us jumping out immediately.
"But—this means—" I pull up comparison charts, my fingers flying across the keyboard, barely able to keep up with what I'm seeing.
"Yes." Noa straightens, and I watch the transformation happen. His shoulders roll back. His chin lifts. The semi-defeated alpha who walked through my door becomes the strategic leader who helped us build an empire. "And that just gave me an idea." He pulls out his phone, eyes blazing with purpose. "Something that could fix everything."
He looks at us, determined. "I need you both with me for this."
Keanu and I exchange glances. Whatever Noa's planning, we're in. We nod.
Noa hits call and puts it on speaker.
The phone rings twice before a crisp, professional voice answers. "Naomi Quinn."
"Hello, Ms. Quinn. This is Noa Hale. I'm calling about our partner, Mia Everly. I know it's late... or early, but we need to talk."
The pause stretches so long I check the screen to make sure the call hasn't dropped. The timer keeps counting: five seconds, six, seven.
"Mr. Hale." Her voice could freeze lava. "Mia is my client. I don't think—"
"I understand she's your client," Noa interrupts smoothly. "But if you have her best interests at heart, you'll want to hear what I have to say."
"Mr. Hale, if this is some attempt to manipulate my client—"
"It's not. I have a new offer for her. Unconditional. One that gives her everything she wants and more."
Another pause. I can practically hear her weighing options through the phone, calculating risk versus reward for her client.
"You have thirty seconds," she finally says.
Chapter forty-three
Mia
I slam my laptop shut.
Three hours. Three hours of trying to decipher Chadwick's convoluted data dumps.
