Page 97 of True Colors

“So, as you can see,” Erin says, “we’ve looked at the⁠—”

Martin lifts a hand. “Can you explain why the volatility curve flattens after Q3?”

Erin hesitates. Clears her throat. “That’s due to anticipated supplier stabilization.”

No. It isn’t.

Anouk explained this meticulously. The flattening wasn’t optimism; it was math.

“That’s vague,” my father says mildly. “What assumptions drive that stabilization?”

Erin glances at the slide and reads out from it. “The model accounts for renegotiated procurement terms.”

“How?” Martin presses. “Which levers?”

Silence.

It’s a blow to the sternum.

Anouk had walked us through this in detail—the Istanbul supplier, the renegotiated MOQ thresholds, the downstream inventory shift that reduced holding costs and dampened volatility. Erin doesn’t know any of that. She never listened closely enough to internalize it.

Vijay clears his throat. “If I may⁠—”

Erin cuts him off with a sharp look. “I’ve got it.”

She doesn’t.

She fills the space with polished nothing. My father leans back, pen tapping once against the table. Martin scribbles a note and hands it to my father, who nods.

This is unraveling fast.

Dad glances at me and then back at Erin. “Let’s talk about the Monte Carlo simulation.” He knows that she isn’t prepared, which means I’m not prepared. Now, he’s going to go for blood. “Tell me what confidence interval you used, and why?”

Erin opens her mouth. Closes it.

That’s when it crystallizes—the difference between presenting data you own and data you’re borrowing. Erin understands the narrative arc, but she doesn’t live inside the numbers the way Anouk does.

Vijay looks at me, asking for permission to save this shitshow.

I nod.

Yep, we’re now in damage control, which means we need to support Erin and look like idiots who put an amateur as the lead presenter.

He stands. “The simulations were run at a ninety-five percent confidence interval to meet Novagene’s rejection threshold⁠—”

My father turns to him. “Were you involved in building the model?”

“Yes, Jacob, I was.”

Dad’s gaze sweeps the room, then lands on me. “Where is the data analyst who led the architecture?”

I swallow. “That would be Anouk Starling.”

Dad nods, then looks directly at Dot.

Fuck. He knows something is off….

And he knows what it is. I don’t have my star employee here, and whatever the reason, the fault is mine.