Page 18 of Dial F for Finance

“Please,” Dominic replies.

Sato opens the way we expected—with the supply chain. He frames the additional equity demand as responsible recalibration in light of new information. He says partner four times in two minutes and risk a good deal more. Dominic doesn’t interrupt. He doesn’t flash a smile or deploy one of the small, expensive jokes he uses to take the heat out of a room. He just listens, tea cooling, hands quiet beside his notepad. And when Sato finishes, he waits a beat and looks at me.

Holy shit. He’s handing me the room.

Keeping my surprise in check, I set my pen down and open my folder. “Thank you, Sato-san.” I slide a copy down the table. “May I direct everyone to page three?”

Pages rustle as the room does exactly that.

“Your proposal raises Nakamura’s stake in the joint venture by twelve percentage points,” I say, in the voice I use for board summaries Bennett doesn’t want anyone to argue with. “To justify that, the materials cite supply-chain disclosures from the eighteenth of last month. We’ve reviewed them.” I tap the column. “They affect three component lines. Two are already covered under the contingency clause we negotiated in October. The third represents roughly one and a half percent of the cost basis.”

A pause.

“We understand the concern,” I add. “We don’t see the math.”

Translation: we know you’re walking us toward strategic fatigue, and we aren’t going.

Sato laces his hands on the table. “What is your counter, Ms. Pemberton?”

“Four additional points. Governance remains untouched. We close before Friday. Mr. Cruz and I will remain through next week to oversee implementation.”

Silence. Glances move down their side of the table.

Beside me, Dominic lifts his tea and drinks. Says nothing.

“We will need to consult,” Sato says. “Twenty minutes.”

“Take thirty,” Dominic says, magnanimous. “We’ll wait right here.”

They come back in twenty-six.

“We will accept five additional points,” Sato says, “with the distribution calendar confirmed within forty-eight hours and governance unchanged.”

He slides the amended page forward.

I read it once. Then again.

“No other revisions?”

“None.”

I put the page down. “Then Mercer can accept.”

Dominic leans back, easy as a man discussing lunch. “Looks like we all get to sleep tonight.”

One of the older men smiles despite himself. The courtesies follow—a date confirmed for the formal signing, and then dinner, suggested the way every post-negotiation meal in international business is suggested: technically optional, socially mandatory, strategically loaded.

“If your schedule permits,” Sato says, “Nakamura Biotech would be honored to host you this evening.”

“We’d be delighted,” Dominic says, at the exact moment I say, “We appreciate the invitation.”

I can feel him enjoying that.

Dinner runs three hours and ends, as these things do, in a flurry of bows and the two-handed exchange of business cards. By the time we step out onto the street, I have eaten far too much and been charming for longer than is strictly survivable.

The night air is cool against the heat of the restaurant. I pull my wrap around my shoulders.

“Do you mind if we walk?” I ask. “I’ve been sitting all day. I need to move.”