Chapter 6 - The Midnight War Room
The penthouse living room had been transformed into a full-scale military war room by 9:00 PM.
Empty coffee cups littered the mahogany tables. Stacks of federal maritime law codes, shipping manifests, and digital tablet screens were scattered everywhere. The corporate lawyers looked like ghosts who hadn't slept in three days, their ties loosened and sleeves rolled up.
And right in the center of it all sat me.
I was hunched over a sleek glass conference table, a laptop glowing in front of me, furiously typing out a seventy-page emergency legal brief while Roman stood behind my chair, reading over my shoulder every few seconds.
"Right there," Roman pointed a long finger at a paragraph on the screen. "Cite Section 412 of the Interstate Commerce Act. Kincaid's automated routing claim violates federal preemption rules."
"I already cited it," I claimed without looking up, my fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. "What I'm adding is the structural counter-proof from my Columbia research showing that his own proprietary software uses the exact same routing protocol he's suing you over. If his command stands, his own ships are technically illegal under federal safety guidelines."
Across the table, senior lead attorney Harold Vance choked on his mineral water. He stared at me as if I had just performed open-heart surgery on a kitchen table.
"Good god," Harold whispered. "If she attaches that exhibit, Kincaid isn't just going to lose the injunction—he's going to open himself up to a federal antitrust investigation."
Roman didn't smile, but a slow, burning fire ignited in his dark eyes. He rested his hand on the back of my chair, his fingers brushed against my shoulder. The physical warmth of his touch sent a sudden, traitorous shiver down my spine.
"Focus, Mara," Roman murmured, though his voice was softer than it had been all evening.
"I am focused," I shot back, though my cheeks flushed hot. "I haven't slept since Tuesday, I missed my job interview, my daughter is six hours away in Queens, and I'm currently drafting a multi-million-dollar federal lawsuit while wearing a denim jacket. Focus is my default setting."
A quiet, gruff chuckle escaped Roman's lips. It was the first time I had heard him truly laugh, and it completely transformed his face, stripping away twenty years of hard corporate armor.
"When this is over," Roman said quietly, "you can name your price for consulting fees. On top of the salary."
"When this is over," I replied, hitting the final carriage return on the document, "I want my job at the Department of Labor, a full tank of gas, and a bullet train ticket back to my baby."
Harold Vance stood up, grabbing the printed manuscript from the laser printer in the corner. He scanned the final pages, his eyes widening with every line.
"It's airtight," Harold breathed, looking up at Roman with absolute reverence. "Mr. Vale... this is a masterpiece. We file this with the emergency midnight judge in twenty minutes, Kincaid's command will be thrown out before the sun comes up."
Roman straightened up, his towering frame radiating cold, absolute authority.
"Do it," Roman commanded. "And notify the media pool that Vale Global Shipping will be holding an impromptu press conference on the Capitol steps at 8:00 AM tomorrow morning."
"What are you going to say at the press conference?" Director Vance asked nervously, stepping forward from the corner where he had been watching the chaos unfold.
Roman looked down at his phone, where a live video feed from the nursery showed his three sons sleeping peacefully in their cribs, monitored by the private nurse.
"I'm going to announce two things," Roman said, his voice ringing clear and steady through the penthouse. "First, that Vale Shipping is expanding its domestic transport lines by three hundred percent. And second, that we are launching a national subsidized childcare and maternal healthcare initiative funded entirely by my private foundation, directed by Dr. Mara Sterling."
I stopped typing, my hands hovering over the keyboard. I spun around in my chair to stare at him.
"Wait—what did you just call me?"
Roman looked down at me, a dangerous, unwavering light in his dark eyes.
"Dr. Sterling. You defended your doctoral thesis last month, didn't you? You told me on the train you were waiting on the official departmental accreditation letter."
May you like
My mouth fell open. "How could you possibly know that?"
"Like I said, Mara," Roman said softly, stepping closer until I could smell the faint, clean scent of cedar and scotch on his collar. "I read dossiers. But more importantly... I never lose track of the people who matter."
