The Art of the Steal

Chapter 5 — The Rooftop

~The art of the steel~

The story broke the next morning. By noon, Hargrove’s VP was doing damage control, sweating through his press conference in a way that made even the friendliest journalists ask hard questions. By evening, Marcus had publicly stated he was “reassessing all bids with integrity as a priority.”

Hargrove was out.

That left Reed Technologies and Vance & Calder — the original two, exactly where they’d started, except now everything was different. The rivalry was still there, humming beneath the surface, but it had been layered with something else. Something neither of them was ready to name.

On the night before the final presentations, Daniel couldn’t sleep. He tossed in his hotel bed, rehearsed his pitch in his head, got up, drank water, sat by the window, and finally gave up. He pulled on a jacket and took the elevator to the top of the parking garage next to the hotel.

He expected to be alone.

Elena was already there.

She was sitting on the low concrete wall at the edge, legs dangling, the Dallas skyline glittering behind her like scattered diamonds. The wind was gentle tonight — warm, carrying the faint smell of rain and mesquite. She wasn’t wearing her blazer. Just a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She looked smaller without the armor.

“Shouldn’t you be rehearsing your pitch?” she asked without turning around.

“Shouldn’t you?”

“Already did. Three times.” She paused. “I’m not going to sleep tonight.”

“Me neither.”

He sat down next to her. The concrete was still warm from the day’s sun. Below them, the city hummed — cars, sirens, the distant rumble of a train. A plane blinked red across the sky, heading toward Love Field.

“What happens tomorrow?” she finally asked.

“One of us wins. One of us loses.”

“And then?”

Daniel looked at her. The wind had loosened a strand of hair from her bun. She wasn’t wearing her blazer. She looked like a person, not a competitor. She looked like someone he wanted to know — really know — beyond the clauses and the strategies and the late-night phone calls.

“Then I’d still like to take you to dinner,” he said.

Elena turned to look at him. Those sharp, dark eyes. That careful, unreadable face. But tonight the careful mask had slipped, just slightly. He could see the exhaustion beneath it. The vulnerability. The question she was too proud to ask.

“You can’t afford me, Daniel Reed.”

He grinned. “Try me.”

She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no. She looked back at the skyline and said, very softly:

“You know what the worst part is? I actually believe you.”

They sat there for a long time after that. The city lights blurred into the dark. Somewhere below, a car alarm went off and stopped. A couple argued on the sidewalk and then laughed. The world kept moving, and they stayed still.

“I should go,” Elena said, finally. “I need to at least pretend to sleep.”

“Elena.”

“What?”

“Whatever happens tomorrow — the deal, the pitch, all of it — I’m glad I met you.”

She stood, brushed off her pants, and looked down at him. The moonlight caught her face just right.

“Goodnight, Daniel.”

“Goodnight, Elena.”

She walked away across the rooftop, her footsteps quiet on the concrete. He watched her disappear into the stairwell. The door closed. He sat alone in the Dallas night, the skyline glittering, and thought about how the strangest things in life happen in parking garages at midnight.