Norman
I knew what was coming.
I’d known before the ink dried on the bid. Before the press got the specs. Before anyone at White Industries had even exhaled.
Twelve percent. That was all it took. In this economy with inflation squeezing every boardroom, every quarterly projection, every carefully worded shareholder promise, twelve per cent wasn’t just a number. It was a sledgehammer. And I had swung it with both hands.
All I had to do now was wait.
If they came, it meant they’d accepted mine. Simple as that. No response meant they were still scrambling, still trying to find a counter that didn’t exist. But if they walked through that door, and I had a feeling they would, then it was already over. The California Renewable Energy Initiative would belong to White Industries before lunch
