They had just watched 20 perfect cycles, and the machine showed no sign of stopping.
Pemberton nodded. He didn't smile. He didn't clap. He turned to look at Garrett Hollowell. Garrett was standing three steps back from the group, his arms hanging at his sides, his face holding the expression of a man watching his own house burn down and knowing he lit the match.
Pemberton's voice was quiet, but in that silent factory, quiet carried like a shout. "I believe you made a promise about 300 million dollars, Garrett."
Garrett's mouth opened; nothing came out.
Dr. Prescott crossed the factory floor. She stopped in front of Ivory. She didn't say a word; she just extended her hand. Ivory took it: a firm grip, a single nod, the kind of recognition that doesn't need language.
The board convened at 2:00 that afternoon. Same mahogany table, same leather chairs, but the room felt different now. The air had shifted. The people who had watched Ivory work on the factory floor carried something back up to the 20th floor with them: a silence that none of them were ready to fill with small talk.
Pemberton didn't waste time. "I'm putting forward two motions. First, Ivory Young is to be appointed lead technical consultant on the SD9 remediation project. Six-month contract, $250,000, full access to the South Building, a team of four engineers reporting directly to her."
Garrett leaned forward. "You can't be serious. She has no degree, no professional license, no—"
"She has results, Garrett, which is more than your engineering department has produced in 11 days."
The motion passed, five votes to one. Garrett voted against; nobody recorded his objection.