The Zurich Effect

Six thousand

This was an emergency. Of sorts.

The machine beeped. Approved.

For a moment, Zuri thought it might decline. Hoped it might decline. That would solve everything. She could leave with dignity intact and financial disaster averted.

But no. The universe wasn't that kind.

"Transaction approved. Would you like it wrapped?"

"Please."

Sophie looked like she might actually cry. "Six thousand, eight hundred francs. That's my entire quarterly savings."

"You have quarterly savings?"

"That's not the point!"

The sales assistant handed over a beautiful bag. Heavy paper, ribbon handles, tissue paper that probably cost more than regular people's gift wrap. The kind of packaging that announced itself.

Her mother's dresses from Mariana's atelier came in plain cloth bags. Discreet. Unmarked. Quality that didn't need to advertise.

But Mariana was in Rome. And Zuri had seven days, not seven weeks.

"Thank you for your purchase," the woman said warmly. "Enjoy your evening."

They left the shop. Sophie was still in shock.

"Six thousand, eight hundred francs."

Zuri said nothing. What could she say?

"You just spent nearly seven thousand francs you don't have on a dress for a maybe-date with a billionaire."

"It's not a date. It's a business dinner."

"Business dinners don't require Valentino."

"Business dinners with billionaires do."

"That's not how business works."

"That's exactly how business works. Presentation matters. Appearance matters. Looking like you belong matters."

Sophie stopped walking. "Zuri. Babe. You do belong. You're brilliant. You don't need an expensive dress to prove that."

"I'm not trying to prove I'm brilliant. I'm trying to prove I'm not..." She trailed off.

"Not what?"

Not my father's daughter. Not someone who needs family money. Not someone who can't manage on her own.

But she couldn't say that. Not out loud. Not in the middle of Bahnhofstrasse with shopping bags and regret.

"Never mind. It's done now."

Her phone buzzed. Banking app notification.

Your available credit on card ending 4738 is now 0 CHF.

Zero. She had zero francs of available credit left.

She had well and truly done it now.

They walked back to the office in silence. Zuri clutched her expensive shopping bag and experienced what might have been a full-scale financial panic attack.

When they arrived, the office was in chaos.

Victoria Chen was standing in the middle of their floor, holding a tablet, looking like she was auditing their souls.

"This space is completely inadequate," she announced to Linda, who looked like she was contemplating murder. "How do you expect people to do creative work in this environment?"

"We don't do creative work. We do analytical work. It doesn't require mood lighting."

"Everything requires mood lighting. Studies show that workplace aesthetics directly correlate with productivity."

"Studies also show that expensive office furniture doesn't improve actual output."

"Your furniture is from 2008."

"It's functional."

"It's depressing."

Tristan Ashford-Price was leaning against a desk, looking bored. He hadn't said anything yet, which Zuri was learning meant he was calculating something. Waiting for the right moment to deploy whatever insight he'd decided they all needed to hear.

Marcus was trying to mediate. "Maybe we could focus on the presentation instead of the office furniture?"

"The office furniture affects the presentation," Victoria said. "How can anyone think strategically when they're sitting on chairs that should be in a museum?"

"Our chairs are ergonomic," Lars observed. "Statistically superior to the decorative ones in Client Relations."

"Our chairs are Herman Miller."

"Your chairs cost four thousand francs each. That's statistically absurd."

"That's statistically called 'investing in your team.'"

"That's statistically called 'wasting budget.'"

Victoria's smile went sharp. "At least our budget allows for investments. What does Analysis spend money on? Printer paper? Highlighters? That tragic plant that's somehow still alive?"

"That plant is thriving," Amélie protested.

Everyone looked at the succulent. It was not thriving. It was barely existing.

"Right," Victoria said. "So about tomorrow's meeting. Nine AM. Conference room B. I've prepared an agenda."

"We don't need an agenda for a collaboration meeting," Linda said.

"We absolutely need an agenda. Otherwise it's just people talking in circles."

"As opposed to people following an agenda and talking in circles?"

"That's structured circular talking. Completely different."

Tristan finally spoke. "Linda, I've reviewed your preliminary analysis for the Volkov account. It's thorough. Impressively thorough. Almost excessively thorough."

"Thank you?"

"That wasn't entirely a compliment. You've included seventeen pages of data that could be distilled to three key insights. Volkov is intelligent, but he's also busy. He needs clarity, not comprehensiveness."

"The client specifically requested comprehensive analysis."

"The client said that because most analysts give him surface-level rubbish. But there's a difference between comprehensive and overwhelming." Tristan adjusted his glasses. "I've prepared some suggestions for streamlining."

"We don't need suggestions."

"Everyone needs suggestions. That's how improvement works."

"We're already excellent."

"Excellent is subjective. Effective is measurable. And seventeen pages of analysis that nobody reads isn't effective."

Lars stood up. "How do you know nobody reads it?"

"Because I've read your client feedback scores. High marks for accuracy. Lower marks for accessibility. That suggests your content is sound but your delivery needs work."

"Our delivery is fine."

"Your delivery is academic. Which is fine for academia. Less fine for business."

"This is business."

"This is consulting. There's a difference."

The office was very quiet. Amélie looked like she was contemplating throwing something. Lars was doing calculations that probably involved Tristan's statistical likelihood of making it to tomorrow. Brad was slowly pushing his chair backwards, trying to escape the inevitable explosion.

Linda stepped forward. "Tristan. How long did you say you've been here?"

"Three months."

"And in those three months, how many clients have you personally won?"

A flicker of something crossed Tristan's face. "That's not a fair question."

"It's a completely fair question. You're critiquing our delivery. I'm asking about your results."

"I've been involved in several successful pitches—"

"Involved. Not led. Not won. Involved." Linda's smile was cold. "Perhaps when you've actually closed a client of Volkov's calibre, you'll have earned the authority to tell us how to do our jobs."

Tristan's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. "Fair enough. Though I'd note that being here longer doesn't automatically mean doing it better. Sometimes fresh eyes see what familiar ones miss."

"And sometimes fresh eyes don't understand the full picture."

"I understand perfectly. Your department produces excellent research that clients struggle to use. My job is to help with the struggle."

"Your job," Linda said softly, "is to stay in your lane."

The silence that followed could have been bottled and sold as awkwardness.

Victoria cleared her throat. "Right. Well. This has been productive. See you all tomorrow. Nine AM. Don't be late."

She swept out. Her team followed. Tristan paused at the door.

"For what it's worth," he said, looking directly at Linda, "I do actually respect your work. I wouldn't bother critiquing it if I didn't think it was worth improving."

Then he left.

The office sat in stunned silence.

"I hate him," Lars said flatly.

"He's not wrong though," Min-jun said quietly. "Our reports are long."

"They're comprehensive."

"They're both. That's the problem."

"Whose side are you on?"

"I'm not on a side. I'm just saying, maybe he has a point?"

"He has a point," Amélie admitted grudgingly. "But he delivers it like he's granting us wisdom from on high. Very annoying. Very British."

"I'm British," Sophie protested.

"You're different. You're likeable."

Luca emerged from his office. He'd been watching the entire exchange. "Well. That was entertaining."

"That was humiliating," Linda corrected.

"Tristan does have a tendency towards... directness."

"Tristan has a tendency towards being insufferable."

"Also true." Luca smiled slightly. "But he's not entirely wrong. Your reports are excellent. They're also very long. There's probably a middle ground."

"Don't you start."

"I'm not starting anything. I'm observing. Which is what I was hired to do."

He glanced at Zuri, who'd been silent through the entire exchange. At the expensive shopping bag she was trying to hide behind her desk.

"New purchase?"

Zuri said nothing.

"For next week?"

Still nothing.

"Valentino, if I'm not mistaken. Good choice. Much better than Dior. More subtle."

How did he know it was Valentino? The bag didn't say Valentino. The bag was deliberately unmarked.

"My sister shops there," Luca continued, reading her expression. "I recognise the packaging. They use that specific shade of grey for their Italian boutiques. Very distinctive if you know what to look for."

Of course. Of course he knew what to look for. Men like Luca always did. They'd grown up around this. Around women who shopped at specific boutiques in specific cities. Around packaging that announced itself through its very refusal to announce itself.

"It's for the dinner," Zuri said finally.

"I assumed. Should be perfect." He paused. "Expensive though."

"Quality usually is."

"True. Though there's a difference between quality and financial self-sabotage."

"I'm aware of the difference."

"Are you? Because that bag suggests otherwise."

Sophie was watching this exchange like a tennis match. Amélie was trying very hard not to laugh. Lars looked confused, which was his natural state when people discussed things that couldn't be quantified.

"Luca," Linda said. "Don't you have actual work to do?"

"I do. I'm procrastinating by bothering Zuri about her shopping habits. Much more entertaining than reviewing budget reports."

"Go review budget reports."

"Fine. But Zuri?"