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The news broke at six in the morning. Titan Industries, our largest competitor, had acquired thirty percent of Whitmore shares through subsidiary purchases concealed over several months. Marcus Chen called while I was still in my robe, his voice tight with panic.

“They are calling an emergency shareholder meeting. Sloane, they are coming for the board seats.”

I was dressed and in a car within twenty minutes. Rhys met me in the lobby of Whitmore Tower, looking as disheveled as I felt. Whatever tension existed between us after Rotterdam evaporated in the face of this genuine crisis.

“How did we miss this?” I asked as we rode the elevator to the executive floor.

“They used shell companies in three different countries, a sophisticated and expensive maneuver.” His jaw was tight. “Someone gave them inside information about our shareholder structure.”

The implication hung between us. We had a traitor in the company. Father’s test suddenly felt less like a game and more like preparation for real danger.

The next two weeks were a blur. Rhys and I worked around the clock, reaching out to minority shareholders and lobbying for their support. His past, whatever it had been before Father hired him, proved invaluable. He read people with uncanny accuracy, identifying which shareholders could be swayed.

“David Morrison is lying,” he said after a video call with one of our largest institutional investors. “His body language was all wrong. He kept touching his collar whenever he claimed to be undecided.” His ability to deconstruct micro-expressions was a skill he never explained, but I was grateful for it.

“So he has already sided with Titan?”

“Or he is being pressured. Morrison’s fund manages pension money. If someone threatened his reputation…”

I pulled up Morrison’s file, scanning for vulnerabilities. “His daughter works in pharmaceuticals. Titan owns three major drug companies.”

“There is your leverage.”

We worked seamlessly, our earlier awkwardness forgotten. I would suggest a strategy and Rhys would build on it, adding layers of nuance I had not considered. When I grew too tired to think clearly, he would take over, letting me rest while he continued the fight.

The emergency shareholder meeting was scheduled for Friday. By Thursday night, we had secured enough votes to maintain our board majority, but only barely. The conference room where Rhys and I had been working was littered with empty coffee cups and takeout containers.

“We did it,” I said, slumping in my chair. “We actually did it.”

“We are not safe yet. Titan still owns thirty percent. They will try again.”

“I know. But we bought ourselves time.” I looked at him across the table. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep and stubble darkened his jaw. He had never looked more real to me. “Thank you. I could not have done this alone.”

“Partners,” he said simply.

The meeting itself was brutal. Titan’s representatives were polished and aggressive. They proposed selling off divisions and laying off thousands to maximize short-term profits. Rhys stood to respond, and I watched him transform. Gone was the exhausted man from the night before. In his place stood someone commanding and absolutely certain.

“Whitmore Industries has thrived for fifty years because we value our people as much as our profits. We build for generations, not quarters,” his voice filled the room. “The vision Titan proposes is not innovation. It is strip-mining. And these shareholders are smart enough to know the difference.”

The vote was close, but we won. As the meeting adjourned, Rhys caught my eye across the room and smiled. It was a true smile, full of relief and something warmer that made my heart skip. The crisis had shown me something I had been trying to ignore. We were stronger as a team than either of us could be alone. Maybe Father had known that all along.