“Before we begin,” Preston said quietly, “there’s something everyone in this room needs to understand about Paige Hayes.”
No one moved.
I stood beside the chair he had pulled out for me, one hand still gripping the folder of contracts.
Across the conference table, Veronica’s expression had frozen somewhere between disbelief and irritation.
Preston did not look at her.
He looked at the Benedetti family first.
“Miss Hayes prepared the contract package you’re holding.
She cross-referenced legal’s revisions, found the conflict in the indemnity language, and flagged three provisions my own review team had passed without comment.”
One of the Benedetti men immediately opened his folder.
I saw his thumb move toward the yellow tab I had placed on page 18.
Preston continued.
“So if anyone in this room is wondering whether she belongs at this table, the answer is yes.”
My lungs finally remembered how to work.
It was not the declaration Veronica had accused me of secretly wanting.
It was something I had wanted almost as badly without realizing it.
Recognition.
Not pity.
Not protection.
Recognition.
Preston pulled the chair another inch away from the table.
“Sit.”
This time, I did.
Veronica remained standing near the opposite end.
She forced a laugh.
“I don’t think anyone questioned her filing skills.”
Preston’s eyes moved to her.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
“Filing skills?”
She hesitated.
“I only mean that Paige is obviously very competent in a support capacity.”
The Benedetti man holding the contract turned another page.
“Support capacity found this?” he asked.
Veronica’s smile tightened.
I wanted to disappear.
That instinct embarrassed me more than her insult did.
Six months of making myself smaller had trained me too well.
I had learned to enter quietly, speak carefully, stand against walls, and apologize whenever my intelligence took up more space than someone expected.
Preston seemed to notice me retreating inside myself.
He tapped the contract.
“Explain the conflict, Paige.”
Every face turned toward me.
For one terrible second, Veronica’s voice crowded out every thought in my head.
Little mouse.
Invisible.
He would never look at you twice.
Then I looked down at the pages I knew almost by memory.
“The indemnity clause on page 11 gives Marchetti Industries responsibility for certain third-party losses,” I said.
“But page 18 expands the definition of third party beyond what the earlier section appears to contemplate.
If both provisions survive unchanged, either side could later argue for a much broader obligation than the negotiations seem to support.”
The Benedetti representative studied the text.
“And your proposed correction?”
“Define the covered parties once, then use the same definition in both provisions.”
He nodded slowly.
“Cleaner.”
“Safer,” I said.
A faint smile touched his mouth.
