Ella grips the worn leather of her laptop bag, the strap digging into her shoulder. The corporate boardroom smells of polish and old money, a scent that feels heavier than air. She adjusts her glasses, a nervous habit she’s never managed to break, and approaches the mahogany table. Her mentor’s sudden flu had thrown her here, into this pit of vipers, with only three hours to prepare.

Liam Anthony sits at the head of the table, not looking at her. He scrolls through his phone, his thumb moving with deliberate, irritating precision. The dark blue of his suit matches the storm gathering outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. He doesn't glance up when she clears her throat. "Carter," he says, his voice flat. "Let's not waste time."

She opens her laptop, her fingers finding the familiar keys. The presentation loads, her data visualizations blooming on the massive screen. She takes a breath. "Our firm specializes in predictive modeling for emerging markets. We're smaller, yes, but that allows for agility and bespoke solutions that larger firms can't match." She speaks clearly, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands.

He finally looks up, his eyes sharp and dismissive. "Agility. A buzzword for 'understaffed'." He leans forward, his elbows on the polished wood. "Your projections are optimistic. Naïve, even." The word hangs in the air. "Prove it. Right now. Model the Q3 risk for the Southeast Asian portfolio using only real-time data. You have ten minutes."