Chapter 3 - The Boardroom BlueprintBy 9:30 p.m., the dinner rush had begun to thin out, and table nine had transformed into a command center.
While the rest of the waitstaff actively avoided the eastern quadrant of the dining room, I kept Viktor’s glass filled with ice-cold vodka and cleared away his empty plates. He had eaten the pierogies, and miraculously, the antacid tablet had disappeared as well. In exchange, he hadn't fired me, yelled at me, or threatened to deport me to a Siberian salt mine.
Instead, as I set down a fresh napkin, he slid a folded piece of paper across the table.
I picked it up under the cover of clearing his bread plate and slipped it into my apron pocket.
Ten minutes later, during a brief lull in the kitchen, I ducked into the staff locker room and unfolded the note. Written in crisp, fountain-pen ink was an address in the Financial District, a time—11:00 p.m. tonight—and a single line of Hungarian: Bring your grandmother’s logic. We have a leak to plug.
My breath hitched. He wasn't joking. He was offering me a way out of my financial nightmare—or walking me directly into a viper's nest.
When my shift ended at 10:30 p.m., I clocked out, grabbed my worn trench coat, and walked out the back service door into the damp, freezing Manhattan night. Standing by the curb was a matte-black Mercedes Maybach with tinted windows. The rear door clicked open automatically.
A tall man in a tailored charcoal suit peered out from the interior. “Get in, Ms. Nagy.”
I froze for a fraction of a second, then climbed inside.
The interior smelled of leather, expensive cologne, and rain. Viktor sat in the opposite corner, working on a tablet with cold, clinical efficiency. He didn't look up immediately as the car pulled away from the curb, merging into the late-night traffic streaming toward Wall Street.
“You shouldn't have come,” Viktor said without looking at me. “It’s dangerous.”
“You invited me,” I pointed out, rubbing my cold hands together inside my coat pockets. “And frankly, Mr. Kovacs, my apartment is about to be repossessed by a bank that doesn't care about danger. What do you want?”
Viktor finally locked his tablet and set it aside, turning those piercing gray eyes toward me.
“The document that was flagged at JFK is a shareholder acquisition agreement,” he explained, his voice flat and controlled. “If Pierce—my chief operating officer—successfully forces the vote tonight at our emergency board meeting, he takes control of Kovacs Global Logistics. He will dismantle our European shipping lines, sell off our port contracts, and leave me with a hollow shell.”
“And you think I can help you stop him?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m a waitress, Mr. Kovacs. My expertise is balancing three plates of risotto without spilling truffle oil on an executive’s Brioni suit.”
“You recognized a backdoor protocol from a fragment of a phone call overheard across a noisy restaurant,” Viktor corrected sharply. “You have an analytical mind. And more importantly, you are an outsider who understands the language of my homeland.”
The Maybach glided to a silent stop outside a towering forty-story glass monolith in the Financial District. The lobby was deserted save for two armed private security guards who nodded respectfully as Viktor walked past, with me trailing closely behind in my sensible flats and worn coat.
We took a private elevator straight to the thirty-fifth floor.
The executive boardroom was massive, dominated by a circular slate table under a ring of modern LED lights. Around the table sat four men in expensive suits, looking pale and restless. At the head of the table stood Julian Pierce—a tall, silver-haired man with an immaculate smile and predatory eyes that instantly landed on Viktor as we walked through the double doors.
“Well, look who finally decided to join us,” Pierce drawled, checking his Patek Philippe watch. “We were beginning to think you had abandoned ship, Viktor. The emergency vote was called for eleven o'clock sharp. Time’s up.”
Viktor didn't flinch. He walked calmly to the head of the table, pulling out the chair opposite Pierce, while I lingered near the shadows by the glass wall, looking out over the glittering, grid-like expanse of downtown Manhattan.
“I was delayed,” Viktor said smoothly. “Traffic in this city is notoriously unreliable. Especially when saboteurs try to block the roads.”
Pierce’s smile didn't reach his eyes. A flicker of genuine panic crossed his face before he masked it with professional corporate cool. “Saboteurs? Really, Viktor, your paranoia is becoming a liability. The board is here to vote on the restructuring proposal. Without the original authorization certificate from our Budapest registry, your voting block is legally invalid.”
“Are you certain about that, Julian?” Viktor asked softly.
Pierce laughed, a crisp, dismissive sound. “Of course I am. The physical certificate was held up at JFK by customs. Unless you have a time machine or a miracle, it won't clear until morning. By then, the vote is finalized.”
Viktor turned his head slowly, looking across the vast expanse of the boardroom toward me.
May you like
He didn't say a word. He just gave a tiny, imperceptible nod.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I reached into the deep pocket of my trench coat, pulled out my phone, and tapped the screen.
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