Ghosts in Tailored Suits
717 Words
There were gasps all around.
Even Nathan looked sideways at her—but just slightly.
He leaned back in his chair, fingertips tapping a steady rhythm on the folder. "I thought you'd want to wait," he said, his voice low and almost amused. "But I’ll admit, I’m not one for waiting either."
She knew what she was doing. She couldn’t afford delays. If she let this linger, the sharks would circle.
Tamara spoke first. “I vote yes.”
A few others followed.
Reginald, of course, voted no.
But it was 7–5. The plan passed.
Nathan turned to her, smirking. “Told you we didn’t have time to review.”
She didn’t return the smile.
Not yet.
---
Later that evening, Amelia stood on the balcony of her penthouse suite, a champagne flute in hand, untouched.
The skyline sparkled.
Glass towers blinked like stars brought down to Earth, the kind of luxury view her parents used to say came with responsibility. Expectations. Legacy. Now it just felt... heavy.
Behind her, the party was in full swing.
Investors. Shareholders. Board members pretending to be friendly again.
Toast after toast. Small talk laced with opportunism. The kind of celebration that reeked of survival more than victory.
But her eyes were on the man leaning against the bar, sipping whiskey like he didn’t have a single skeleton in his closet.
Nathan Harper.
He looked like the perfect storm in a tailored suit.
Sarah appeared beside her, heels clicking softly across the marble. “You pulled it off.”
“He pulled it off,” Amelia corrected, her tone unreadable.
Sarah hesitated, then lowered her voice, glancing at the crowd. “You sure about this guy? I did some deeper digging.”
“And?” Amelia asked, barely turning her head.
“There was a Nathan Harper in Boston,” she said. “Consultant. Brilliant. But he got burned in a major scandal. A whistleblower case—some billionaire real estate family. Files sealed. But people say he walked away with more enemies than friends.”
Amelia’s brows rose slightly. “Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“Because it was a ghost trail. No hard evidence. Just rumors.”
Sarah’s expression was tight. Troubled.
Amelia’s gaze sharpened, her eyes drifting back to the bar. “And yet he shows up here with a perfect playbook… including ideas I never shared.”
Sarah nodded grimly. “Exactly.”
Amelia handed her the champagne flute. “Keep an eye on him. Quietly.”
Sarah gave a single nod and disappeared back into the crowd like a shadow.
Amelia moved toward the bar.
Nathan noticed her coming and raised his glass, that same infuriating calm in his eyes. “You throw a good victory party.”
She crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Still waiting for the fine print, Harper.”
“No fine print,” he said, swirling his drink. “Just fine timing.”
She gave him a hard look. “You knew about Everline. That wasn’t public.”
Nathan didn’t flinch. “You want to win, Amelia? You play all the angles. Even the ones no one admits exist.”
She stepped closer, voice low and edged. “What happened in Boston?”
“Boston’s old news,” he said coolly. “And I’m not in the habit of explaining my past unless you’re planning to be in my future.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “Cute line. Doesn’t answer the question.”
Nathan leaned in, his voice just above a whisper. “You don’t want the full story, Amelia. You want the parts that make sense in boardrooms and business journals. But real power? It never wears a clean shirt.”
She stared at him for a bit longer, searching for cracks. Lies. Truths. Anything. But his face was unreadable.
And that was what scared her the most.
The room suddenly erupted into applause.
She looked over her shoulder.
The screen on the far wall showed Turner Enterprises stock spiking for the first time in months.
Momentum. Movement.
Proof—however fleeting—that the plan was already turning tides.
Nathan turned back to her. “You can doubt me all you want. But remember this—I’m not here to make friends. I’m here to win.”
- Writer
