Page 5 of Executive Privilege

I'm also running on approximately twelve hours of sleep over the past three days, which means I'm existing in that strange spacewhere everything feels both crystal clear and slightly surreal. Like I'm walking around in the movie Labyrinth.

"Showtime," I murmur to myself, heading to the conference room.

The Morrison Industries team arrives fifteen minutes early: three executives in expensive suits who look like they're expecting to be bored. Perfect. Nothing I love more than exceeding low expectations.

The Event Horizons team files in next. Jennifer, Nicholas's assistant, settles into her usual seat. She shoots me a quick encouraging smile and then is back to her 'all business' face.

Nicholas enters last, closing the conference room door behind him with quiet authority that immediately focuses everyone's attention. He takes his seat at the head of the table, and I can feel the entire room's energy shift.

"Ms. Reynolds," he says, his voice carrying just enough volume to command attention without effort. "The floor is yours."

This is it. Make or break time.

I advance to the first slide of my presentation, and suddenly all the exhaustion and caffeine-fueled anxiety fades away. This is what I'm good at. This is why I was hired. It's why I'm here.

"Morrison Industries has a problem," I begin, making eye contact with each member of the Morrison team. "But it's not the problem you think you have."

For the next forty-five minutes, I walk them through my analysis. Morrison's brand confusion. Their invisible customer acquisition problem. The disconnect between their reputation and their current market positioning.

And then I show them the solution.

The rebrand I've designed isn't just a new logo and color scheme. It's a complete repositioning that honors Morrison's legacy while making them relevant to customers who weren't alive when the company was founded. Clean, modern visuals that feel both established and innovative. Messaging that talks about reliability without sounding outdated.

When I advance to the mock-up advertising campaigns, I can see the Morrison executives lean forward in their chairs.

When I show them the projected market impact data, their poker faces finally crack into genuine interest.

When I finish, the room is completely silent for about ten seconds—which, in presentation terms, feels like ten hours.

Finally, Morrison's CEO speaks. "Ms. Reynolds, this is exactly what we needed to see."

Relief floods through me so fast I actually feel dizzy.

"When can we start implementation?"

I glance at Nicholas, who gives me an almost imperceptible nod.

"We can have a full implementation timeline to you next week," I say, proud of how steady my voice sounds despite the adrenaline currently rewiring my nervous system.

After the Morrison team leaves—with handshakes, business cards, and promises to finalize contracts by end of week—I'm left alone in the conference room with Nicholas and the Event Horizons team.

"Well," Marcus from creative says, "that was fucking brilliant."

"Language," Jennifer murmurs automatically, but she's smiling.

"No, seriously. That customer acquisition angle? The way you repositioned their entire value proposition? That's the kind of strategic thinking that wins awards."

I'm getting congratulations from the rest of the team, but I'm only half-listening because Nicholas hasn't said anything yet. He's just sitting at the head of the table, watching me with an expression I can't read.

Finally, after everyone else has cleared out, he speaks.

"Impressive work, Ms. Reynolds."

"Thank you." I'm suddenly aware that we're alone in the conference room, that he's looking at me with possibly approval, and that my heart is beating faster than post-presentation adrenaline can account for.

"The customer acquisition insight was particularly sharp. How did you identify that angle?"

"The Q3 data you sent me. Their retention rates didn't match their acquisition numbers, which suggested the problem wasn't with their existing customers."