Chapter 3: The Man in the Grey Suit
Nobody moved for a full three seconds.
Marcus Sterling was younger than Ivan had expected.
Mid-forties, broad-shouldered, with the easy confidence of a man who had never once been told no by anyone who mattered.
He closed the office door behind him without looking at it.
"Jessi." He said her name the way you'd say the name of a chess piece you were about to remove from the board.
"I didn't realize you had company."
"You walked in without knocking, Marcus." Jessi's voice was perfectly level.
"You never do."
"Old habit." His eyes moved to Ivan.
"And you are?"
Ivan said nothing.
He looked at Jessi.
"This is Ivan Crane," Jessi said.
"My husband."
Marcus went very still.
Then the smile came back, slower this time, and colder.
"Your husband." He looked Ivan up and down — the worn work shoes, the janitor's uniform still faintly visible under the jacket Jessi had apparently had waiting for him.
"When did that happen?"
"Three weeks ago.
Private ceremony.
We wanted to keep it quiet."
"Three weeks." Marcus clasped his hands in front of him.
"Funny.
You didn't mention it at the board dinner."
"I don't discuss my personal life at board dinners."
He took one step closer to the desk.
"Does legal know?"
"They will by end of day."
Ivan watched Marcus's jaw tighten.
Just once.
Then it relaxed again, and that was somehow worse than if he'd shouted.
"Ivan," Marcus said, turning to him directly.
"What do you do?"
"He's in asset management," Jessi said.
"I asked him."
Ivan met the man's eyes.
"Private contracts.
Risk assessment."
It wasn't entirely a lie.
He had done exactly that in the military — assessed risk, managed assets that happened to be human lives.
He held Marcus's gaze and didn't blink.
Marcus studied him for a long moment.
"Where did you two meet?"
"Through a mutual contact," Ivan said.
"About eight months ago."
"Eight months." Marcus nodded slowly.
"And you married after three."
"When you know, you know."
The room was silent.
Jessi hadn't moved.
The briefcase was still open on the desk, but Marcus hadn't looked at it again.
He was too focused on Ivan, turning something over behind his eyes.
"I'd love to have dinner," Marcus said finally.
"The four of us.
Bring your daughter — Jessi mentioned you have a little girl."
Ivan's chest went cold.
"She mentioned that."
"Just last week, actually." Marcus smiled.
"She said you were very devoted.
A real family man." He let the word sit there.
"Friday?"
"We'll check our schedules," Jessi said.
"Of course." Marcus picked up a pen from the desk — Jessi's pen — turned it once in his fingers, and set it back down.
"I'll let you get back to your...
transaction."
He left without closing the door.
Jessi crossed the room and closed it herself.
She stood with her back to Ivan for a moment, one hand flat against the wood.
"He already knew," Ivan said.
"He suspected." She turned around.
"There's a difference."
"He knew about Fiona."
"Yes."
Ivan looked at the briefcase.
The money was still there.
Fiona's file was still open on the desk, her dosage schedule highlighted in yellow.
"He's going to come after her," Ivan said.
"To get to you."
Jessi didn't answer.
Which was its own kind of answer.
Ivan picked up the briefcase handle.
This time he didn't stop.
"Tell me everything," he said.
"From the beginning.
All of it."
Jessi walked back to her desk, lowered herself carefully into her chair, and for the first time since Ivan had entered the room, she looked tired.
"Close the door first," she said.
He already had.
She opened a drawer and placed a second folder on the desk.
This one had no label.
The edges were worn, like it had been handled many times.
"Marcus has been planning this for two years," she said.
"The board vote is in forty-three days.
If he can prove I'm physically or mentally compromised before then, he assumes control of Sterling & Vance." She opened the folder.
"What he doesn't know is that I've been building a case of my own."
Ivan sat down across from her.
"What kind of case?"
Jessi slid the first page across the desk.
It was a financial transfer record.
Seven figures.
The recipient's name was redacted, but the routing number was circled in red.
"He's been moving company money," she said.
"For eighteen months.
Small amounts at first.
Then larger.
He thinks I haven't noticed."
"Have you reported it?"
"Not yet." She met his eyes.
"Because the moment I do, he'll accelerate the competency filing.
I need the board vote to happen first.
I need to still be standing when it does." She paused.
"That's where you come in."
Ivan looked at the transfer record.
Then at the folder.
Then at Jessi Sterling, the Iron Queen, sitting across from him with a brace hidden under her suit and forty-three days left to save everything she'd built.
"What exactly," he said slowly, "does a flawless performance look like?"
Jessi's eyes didn't waver.
May you like
"It starts Friday.
Dinner with Marcus."
