CHAPTER 8: THE DOUBLE GAME
The phone call came at two PM on a Tuesday.
I was in my office—the actual office they'd given me at Waystar after I'd voted for Kendall, small but with a view—when my phone lit up with Logan's private number.
I let it ring twice. Answering too fast looked desperate.
"Yeah?"
"Report." Logan's voice. Stronger than it had been in the hospital room four days ago. He was recovering fast. Faster than the doctors expected. Faster than anyone knew.
I leaned back in my chair, feet on the desk. "Board sentiment is cautious optimism. They like that Kendall hasn't set anything on fire yet. Stock's holding steady. Frank's doing the real work behind the scenes, letting Kendall take credit."
"Smart." A pause. "What about Kendall? How's he actually doing?"
I thought about the board meeting I'd sat through yesterday. Kendall at the head of the table, presenting quarterly projections with the desperate energy of a man trying to prove himself. Sweating through his shirt despite the air conditioning.
"He's nervous. Trying too hard. The board can smell it."
"Are they losing confidence?"
"Not yet. But they're watching." I paused, decided to give him more. "He's making good decisions, actually. Conservative ones. Nothing flashy. It's working for now."
Logan grunted. Approving or dismissive, impossible to tell. "And Sandy? Stewy?"
"Quiet. Waiting."
"For what?"
"For you to show weakness. Or for Kendall to fuck up badly enough to give them an opening."
Silence on the line. I could almost hear him thinking.
"Keep watching," he said finally. "I want to know the moment anything shifts."
"You'll know."
He hung up without another word.
I sat there for a moment, phone still in my hand. The door to my office was closed. Floor-to-ceiling windows showed Manhattan spread out below. Gray afternoon, clouds threatening rain.
Being Logan's spy meant I had access to everything. Meetings, conversations, insider knowledge. And I was feeding him accurate information—nothing he couldn't verify, nothing that would make him doubt my reports.
But I wasn't telling him everything.
I pulled out my other phone. The burner I'd bought three days ago. Texted Gerri: Call went fine. See you tonight.
Her reply: Good. I made the reservation.
The restaurant was tucked away in the West Village. Small, expensive, the kind of place that didn't advertise because they didn't need to. Gerri was already seated when I arrived, corner table with a view of the street.
She looked up from her phone as I approached. Dark suit, her hair pulled back. Professional armor even off the clock.
"You're late," she said without heat.
"Traffic." I slid into the seat across from her. "You order yet?"
"Waiting for you." She gestured to the bread basket. "But I started on this."
The bread. Perfectly crusty exterior, soft interior, still warm. I tore off a piece, actually tasted it. Small pleasures. Grounding myself in the physical world while my mind played chess with billionaires.
"How was the call?" Gerri asked once the waiter had taken our orders and retreated.
"Standard. He wanted to know about board sentiment, Kendall's performance, Sandy and Stewy."
"What did you tell him?"
I laid it out. Everything I'd reported to Logan. She listened without interrupting, that perfect attorney focus.
When I finished, she nodded slowly. "All true. All verifiable. Smart."
"You need to know what I'm telling him," I said. "If he asks you to verify anything, the story has to match."
"Agreed." She reached for her wine glass, took a small sip. "What are you not telling him?"
I smiled. "That I'm having dinner with you. That we're strategizing about how to position me as valuable without threatening. That I'm building my own intelligence network through you."
"Mmm." She set the glass down. "And what am I getting out of this arrangement?"
"A Roy who actually thinks before speaking. Someone who can read the room and report accurately. A source of information about what Logan's actually planning." I paused. "And someone who won't throw you under the bus the first time things get difficult."
"The bar is remarkably low."
"Family business."
The food arrived. We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. The restaurant hummed with quiet conversation around us. No one paid attention to two people in expensive suits having dinner. Just another pair of professionals in Manhattan.
"There's a board meeting tomorrow," Gerri said eventually. "Kendall's presenting the Vaulter proposal."
I looked up sharply. "Vaulter?"
"Digital media acquisition. He's been working on it with the strategy team." She met my eyes. "He's very excited about it."
I knew about Vaulter. In the original timeline, Kendall had pushed for it, succeeded in acquiring it, and then watched it fail spectacularly. Bad deal from the start. Overvalued, underperforming, a monument to Kendall's desperate need to prove himself.
"What do you think about it?" I asked carefully.
"I think..." She paused, chose her words with lawyer precision. "I think Kendall sees it as his chance to prove he can make bold moves. I think the numbers are optimistic. I think Frank has concerns he's not voicing."
"And you?"
"I think you should come to the meeting and form your own opinion."
We finished dinner. Split the check because Gerri insisted. Walked out into the Manhattan evening. Rain had started, light mist rather than downpour.
"Want to share a car?" I asked.
"I'm walking. Only fifteen minutes to my place." She looked at me. "You did well today. The call, the transparency here. Logan trusts you more than he should, and you're not abusing it."
"Yet."
A small smile. "Yet."
She turned to go, then paused. Looked back. "Roman. This game you're playing—both sides at once—it only works if you're careful. One mistake and both sides turn on you."
"I know."
"Good." She pulled her coat tighter against the rain. "See you at the meeting tomorrow."
I watched her walk away, dissolving into the Manhattan evening. Then I turned and headed toward my own apartment.
The double game. Logan's spy, Gerri's ally, building my own position in the space between them.
Walking home, I realized I was enjoying this. The complexity, the positioning, the careful balance. I shouldn't. It was dangerous, exhausting, one wrong move from disaster.
But I was.
And that probably said something about me I didn't want to examine too closely.
The next morning, I sat in the back of the executive conference room and watched my brother sweat.
Kendall stood at the head of the table, presentation displayed on the screen behind him. Vaulter's logo, bright and optimistic. Subscriber numbers trending upward. Revenue projections that looked impressive until you knew they were built on quicksand.
"Digital media is the future," Kendall said, voice carrying that desperate enthusiasm that made people uncomfortable. "Vaulter gives us entry into the millennial market, builds our digital portfolio, positions us for the next decade."
Frank sat two seats down from me. His face revealed nothing, but his fingers drummed once against the table. Skeptical.
Karl was taking notes. Probably calculating how this affected his own position.
Gerri sat near the head of the table, perfect professional neutrality.
And me. I sat at the back and let the Empathy Engine extend, gentle and controlled. Reading the room.
From Kendall: This proves I'm ready. This proves I can do it. They have to see. They have to.
A mantra of desperation underneath the confident presentation.
From Frank: Too aggressive. Too expensive. But Logan would've done it. Does that make it right?
From Karl: If this succeeds, I need to position myself as supportive. If it fails...
From Gerri: Nothing clear. She'd learned to quiet her mind around me. Professional discipline or deliberate defense.
I focused on the presentation materials. Let my instincts—Value Sight trying to activate, maybe, or just good sense—process what I was seeing.
The subscriber numbers felt wrong. Growing too fast, too steadily. No dips, no fluctuations. Real growth had noise. This was a smooth line.
The revenue projections assumed sustained growth at current rates. But current rates were probably inflated.
This was a bad deal. I knew it from canon knowledge. But I could also see it in the numbers themselves if I looked closely enough.
The question was: did I say something?
Old Roman would've stayed quiet. Wouldn't have understood the numbers well enough to question them. Wouldn't have risked Kendall's anger by speaking up.
But I wasn't old Roman.
And if I was playing the game properly, this was an opportunity. Prove I could read a deal. Prove I added value. Build credibility that would matter later.
Kendall finished his presentation. "Questions?"
Frank opened his mouth. Closed it. Not ready to challenge yet.
Karl studied his notes.
I raised my hand slightly. "The subscriber numbers."
Everyone turned to look at me. Kendall's face flickered—surprise, then wariness.
"What about them?" he asked.
"They feel inflated." I kept my voice calm, factual. Not attacking, just observing. "The growth curve is too smooth. Real subscriber growth has more variance. Has anyone done independent verification?"
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Kendall's face went through several emotions. Betrayal. Anger. Defensive panic.
Frank leaned back slightly. Considering.
Gerri's expression didn't change, but I caught something in her eyes. Impressed? Concerned?
"The numbers come directly from Vaulter," Kendall said, voice tight.
"I know. That's why I'm asking if anyone verified them independently." I met his eyes. "I'm not saying don't do the deal. I'm saying we should know what we're actually buying."
Frank nodded slowly. "That's... not an unreasonable question."
The room shifted. Subtly, but definitely. From "Kendall's presentation" to "legitimate business discussion."
Kendall's jaw clenched. He looked at me like I'd stabbed him in the back.
Maybe I had.
But I'd also just made myself useful to the room. Proved I could spot potential problems. Demonstrated value.
The meeting continued. Questions multiplied. Frank voiced his own concerns about the valuation. Karl suggested bringing in outside consultants to verify the numbers.
Kendall's triumphant presentation became a debate.
And I sat at the back, watching it unfold, feeling the Empathy Engine pick up the shifting currents in the room.
From Kendall: What the fuck, Roman? Why? Why?
I didn't have an answer he'd want to hear.
The meeting adjourned without a decision. More due diligence needed. Outside verification required. Kendall would present again in two weeks.
As everyone filed out, Kendall caught my arm in the hallway.
"What the fuck was that?" His voice was low, controlled fury.
I met his eyes. "Due diligence. Making sure we're not buying a lemon."
"You sabotaged me."
"I asked a question about suspicious numbers. If the numbers are good, verification proves it. If they're not..." I shrugged. "Better to know now than after we've spent three billion dollars."
His hand tightened on my arm. "You voted for me. You said you had my back."
"I do. That's why I'm asking the hard questions now instead of watching you buy a company that tanks in six months."
We stared at each other. Brothers. Rivals. Complicated allies with very different agendas.
Finally, he released my arm. "Fuck you, Roman."
He walked away.
I stood in the hallway, watching him go. My phone buzzed.
Gerri: My office. Ten minutes.
I headed for the elevator.
The double game continued. Logan would hear about this—probably already had, through his network of informants. Kendall hated me now, at least temporarily. But I'd built credibility with Frank and the board.
Positioning. Always positioning.
Ten minutes later, I knocked on Gerri's office door.
"Come in."
I entered. She was at her desk, laptop open, coffee cooling beside her.
"Close the door," she said.
I closed it. Sat across from her.
She looked at me for a long moment. "That was bold."
"It was necessary."
"Maybe." She tapped a pen against her desk. "Kendall's furious. Logan will hear about it within the hour. The board thinks you're either very smart or very naive."
"Which do you think?"
"Smart." She smiled slightly. "Risky, but smart. You just made yourself valuable to everyone except Kendall."
"Can't win them all."
"No." She set the pen down. "But you need to be ready for the fallout. Kendall won't forget this. And when Logan hears that you questioned his interim CEO in front of the board..."
"He'll either be impressed that I'm being critical and useful, or pissed that I'm undermining Kendall." I shrugged. "Fifty-fifty."
"You're gambling."
"I'm playing the game." I met her eyes. "Isn't that what we talked about? Building position, demonstrating value?"
"Yes. But subtly."
"There's nothing subtle about a three-billion-dollar acquisition."
She laughed. Actually laughed. Quiet, but genuine. "Fair point."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment.
"For what it's worth," Gerri said eventually, "I think you were right. The subscriber numbers are suspicious. Frank thinks so too, though he won't say it directly yet."
"And you?"
"I think you just made your first real power move in this company." She closed her laptop. "Now we see if it pays off or blows up in your face."
"Optimistic."
"Realistic." She stood, walked to the window. Manhattan spread out below, glass and steel and money. "You're building something, Roman. I'm just not sure yet if it's a foundation or a house of cards."
"Maybe both."
She glanced back at me. "Maybe."
I left her office and headed home. Three phones buzzed with messages before I reached the street. Logan's number, Kendall's number, numbers I didn't recognize.
The Vaulter question had opened something.
Tomorrow would bring consequences.
But tonight, I went home to my empty apartment, ordered Thai food, and studied the Vaulter numbers Gerri had quietly sent to my email.
Building my case. Preparing for round two.
The game continued.
And I was learning how to play.
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