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CHAPTER 31: THE NEW LANDSCAPE
Logan's office. Thursday morning. Eight days after Austerlitz.
"Sit," he said without preamble.
I sat. Same chair as before. Same view of Manhattan behind him. Same weight of attention.
He slid a folder across the desk. "ATN affiliate acquisition. Milwaukee market. Numbers look good. Too good, maybe."
I opened it. Scanned the projections. Revenue growth, subscriber estimates, market penetration forecasts.
The Vaulter skepticism had taught me what to look for. This wasn't as egregious, but—
"The subscriber growth curve is smooth," I said. "Too smooth. Real markets have variance. This looks modeled, not measured."
Logan's eyes narrowed. "Meaning?"
"Meaning someone projected what growth should be and presented it as what growth is. Classic sales trick. The actual numbers are probably thirty percent lower."
I pointed to a specific line item. "And this—'market adjacencies'—is consultant speak for 'we're guessing.' If you strip the speculation and look at hard data only, this is maybe a fifteen million dollar opportunity, not forty."
Logan took the folder back. Studied the page I'd indicated. "Mmm."
Silence. Testing silence.
Then: "You're learning."
Two words. More valuable than a speech.
"Trying to," I said.
"Good." He closed the folder. "We'll pass on Milwaukee. I'll have Frank send them a counter at fifteen. See if they bite."
He waved me toward the door. Meeting over.
I stood. Got halfway there.
"Roman."
I turned back.
"You've changed," he said. Not a question. Statement of fact. "Since the stroke. Since catching me. You're developing into something." He paused. "I'm watching to see what."
"Understood."
"Don't disappoint me."
"I'll try not to."
He grunted. Turned back to his papers. Dismissed.
I left. Heart rate elevated. Hands steady.
Logan was engaging with me. Actually asking my opinion. Actually using my analysis.
The positioning was working.
But Gerri's warning echoed: His interest can be as dangerous as his contempt.
I needed to be careful. Very careful.
That evening, I called Gerri from my apartment.
"How was your day?" she asked.
"Logan asked my opinion on a deal. Used my analysis. Called me 'learning.'"
Silence on the line. Then: "That's significant."
"Good significant or dangerous significant?"
"Both." I heard her moving—probably walking to somewhere private. "Logan doesn't engage unless he sees value. But the moment you stop providing value..."
"He cuts you loose."
"Or worse." Her voice softened. "I'm glad he's noticing you. But be careful, Roman. His attention is a spotlight. It illuminates but it also burns."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you've gone from invisible to interesting in two months. That's not normal development. That's transformation. And Logan doesn't trust transformation unless he understands the source."
I thought about the transmigration. About waking up in Roman's body eight weeks ago. About the powers and the meta-knowledge and all the things I could never tell her.
"I'll be careful," I said.
"Promise me."
"I promise."
We talked for another thirty minutes. Normal conversation. Work gossip. Plans for the weekend. The comfortable intimacy of people who knew each other well.
When we hung up, I sat at my window. Looked out at Manhattan.
The city glittered. Beautiful and merciless. Just like the family that owned pieces of it.
Friday afternoon, I found Greg in the breakroom. Looking stressed. Staring at his coffee like it held answers.
"Hey," I said.
He jumped. "Oh. Roman. Hey. Hi."
"You okay?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just... work stuff. You know."
I didn't push. Just made my own coffee. Stood beside him.
After a moment: "The thing I told you about. The... documents."
"Yeah?"
"They're still there. Safe. Where I put them. But I keep thinking—what if someone finds them? What if I'm supposed to do something with them?"
I kept my voice casual. "Are you doing something with them?"
"No. Like you said. Just... keeping them safe."
"Then that's what you're supposed to do."
"But what if—"
"Greg." I turned to look at him. "You're holding onto insurance. That's smart. That's the right move. Don't second-guess it. And if you start feeling like it's too much, come talk to me. Okay?"
Relief washed across his face. "Okay. Yeah. Thanks."
"You're doing fine."
"Am I? Because Tom keeps asking me weird questions about files and corporate stuff and I don't know if he knows or suspects or—"
"Tom suspects everyone of everything. It's his default state. Just be normal. Don't volunteer information. You'll be fine."
Greg nodded. Drank his coffee. Calmed slightly.
"Hey, Roman?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks. For... you know. Being someone I can talk to. About stuff."
"Anytime."
He left. Still nervous but functional.
I finished my coffee. Thought about the documents. About what they represented. About the DOJ investigation that was coming.
Greg was right to be stressed. Those documents were a bomb.
But they were also leverage. Protection. Exactly what I'd told him they were.
The question was: when would we need to use them?
Saturday afternoon, I did something I'd never done as Roman Roy.
I went to a bookstore.
Not for show. Not for a photo op. Just... because.
The Strand. Massive. Miles of books. The smell of paper and binding glue and accumulated knowledge.
I wandered. Fiction, history, business. Found myself in the psychology section.
Trauma recovery. Emotional regulation. Building resilience after crisis.
I pulled a book from the shelf. The Body Keeps the Score. About trauma and how it lived in the flesh even when the mind tried to forget.
Appropriate. Given Roman's body carried decades of Logan's particular brand of parenting.
I bought it. Hid it in my jacket pocket before leaving. Not sure why I was embarrassed. Not sure who I thought would judge me for self-improvement.
But old habits—Roman's habits—died hard.
Walking home, my phone buzzed. Kendall.
Drinks tomorrow? That place on Lex.
I stopped walking. Stared at the message.
Kendall. Initiating social contact. First time since... ever?
The therapy weekend had shifted something. The tennis court moment. The shared vulnerability.
He was reaching out.
Me: Yeah. 7pm work?
Kendall: Perfect.
I pocketed my phone. Smiled despite myself.
The investment was paying off. The brother relationship was actually repairing.
Slowly. Carefully. But real.
The wounded king, building alliances one relationship at a time.
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