The applause grew louder as he was led away, the first time in his life he looked utterly broken. When the elevator doors closed on him, Mr. Davies rushed to Isabella with napkins. “Miss Rossi, my dear girl, are you all right?
Let’s get you cleaned up. ”
She looked at him. “I quit. ”
“No, no, you don’t mean that.
I defended you. ”
“You fired me. You were screaming for security. ”
She untied her soiled apron and dropped it at his feet.
Then she walked through the opulent dining room, head held high, blouse stained crimson, hair matted. Past the gawking hosts. Through the gold-leaf doors. Into the elevator.
She leaned against the wall. She looked at the black metal card in her hand. Then she looked at her reflection—a mess, covered in wine, eyes red. She was smiling.
The next morning, Vance Tech stock dropped nine percent at the opening bell. The Desert Star project was dead. And Isabella Rossi walked into JP Morgan wearing a perfectly tailored navy blue suit, carrying a leather briefcase. Her office had a window.
Her starting offer was three hundred thousand dollars plus signing bonus. She sat down at her desk and opened the binder Katherine Davenport had given her. The Alahheem Royal Fund. Ninety billion dollars.
Her first project. She read the transcripts. She didn’t look at the numbers. She read the words.
She found the friction within an hour. The JP Morgan team had been pitching quarterly returns. The sheikh was asking about legacy, about what the project would look like in a hundred years. He wasn’t building a portfolio.
He was planting a tree. She wrote a two-page memo. Catherine read it twice, then smiled the same appreciative smile from the restaurant. “You’ve been here one week, Miss Rossi.
And you’ve just done more to advance this deal than Mark’s entire team has in six months. ”
Isabella leaned back in her chair. The Manhattan skyline stretched before her. She thought about the tray she used to carry, the weight of champagne flutes, the invisible ghost in the starched apron.
Today, the briefcase felt light as a feather. She was on her way up. And this time, she was taking the express.