"I said sit down."
"This is a joke. You're wasting the board's time with some kind of what? A diversity stunt? A feel-good moment? We have real engineers working on this."
Pemberton didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to. "Your real engineers have had 11 days, three consulting firms, $600,000, and we are 72 hours from losing 300 million. Sit down, Garrett, or I'll ask the board to vote on whether you stay in this room at all."
Garrett sat, but his jaw was tight and his eyes didn't leave Ivory.
Brent Calloway leaned over and whispered something. Garrett's lips curled into a smile—the kind that isn't really a smile, it's a weapon. He spoke loud enough for every person in the room to hear:
"Fine. Let her play mechanic. I already told her yesterday, she fixes my line, I'll hand her the whole $300 million contract." He opened his hands wide, performing for the board. "That offer still stands because I know, I know with absolute certainty that this girl cannot do what a team of MIT-trained engineers couldn't."
He leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and smiled at the board members the way a man smiles when he thinks he's holding all the cards.
Pemberton looked at the court reporter seated in the corner. "Let the record reflect Mr. Hollowell's statement regarding the contract offer."
The court reporter nodded. Garrett's smile flickered, just for a moment. Recording a dare is different from making one.
Then Pemberton turned to Ivory. "Ms. Young, the floor is yours."