The Gooderman meeting

The morning air in the city felt dense and cold, smelling of exhaust and faint, expensive cologne.

Jack gripped the leather handle of his briefcase so tightly his knuckles were white. The briefcase wasn't merely a vessel for documents; it held the precise, calculated obliteration of a competitor. He stared up at the Gooderman Headquarters—a monolithic structure of glass and steel that had dominated the market for three generations—and felt the familiar, acidic churning in his gut.

Beside him, Leia was a stark contrast to his mounting anxiety. She wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit that seemed to breathe power, the fabric subtly emphasizing the broad set of her shoulders and the confident, ground-eating stride she possessed. Her expression was one of satisfied anticipation, like a predator who had spent weeks laying a perfect trap and was now ready to enjoy the execution.

“You’re sweating, Jackie,” Leia said, her voice a low purr that barely cut through the street noise.

Jack immediately wiped his brow with the back of his hand, trying to appear nonchalant. “Just calculating the variables, Leia. High stakes.”

Leia put a hand on his shoulder, her touch firm and steadying, but also possessive.

“Forget the variables, Jack. The variables are handled. The Kettlemans, the Saulers, the Newmans—they all signed on the dotted line. They gave us the leverage, and we paid them handsomely. Now, this is the fun part.” She leaned in, her scent of expensive musk and undeniable confidence filling his senses. “We get to watch the king squirm. Let’s go make some smaller men squirm.”

The last phrase was delivered with a sharp, almost amused wink. It was a brutal reminder of the hierarchy of power, both financial and physical, that governed their lives.

They entered the building precisely at 07:58.

The Gooderman office was exactly what Jack expected: a heavy, ostentatious display of wealth. Alfred Gooderman’s personal office was a mausoleum of commerce. Two oversized leather chairs, presumably for supplicants, faced a massive desk made of deep, whiskey-dark polished wood. The walls were adorned with several impressive, albeit dusty, taxidermied trophies—a buffalo, a massive moose, and a startled-looking wolf.

Leia and Jack took the supplicant chairs. Jack carefully placed his briefcase beside his seat.

Leia checked her watch. 08:10. She smiled slightly.

“Disrespectful, isn’t he? Making us wait.”

08:16. Leia chuckled, a low, throaty sound that conveyed zero actual amusement. “Ah, arrogance. The final stage before the fall.”

Just then, the heavy oak door opened. A chubby, short man whose suit looked slightly stretched across his middle waddled in. This was Alfred Gooderman, the man whose financial pull had threatened to dissolve their entire company just weeks ago. His face was puffy and flushed, and his eyes held a calculating, weary belligerence.

Alfred moved behind the vast expanse of his desk and sank heavily into his chair. He didn't offer a handshake or a greeting.

“Hmm. What a surprise,” Alfred grunted, leaning back. “Leia herself has come to grovel at my feet for my company’s support. Oh, how the mighty have fallen.” He sneered, his small eyes fixed solely on Leia.

Leia returned the gaze with unnerving intensity, her expression perfectly composed.

“Alfred. Long time no see,” Leia said, her voice dripping with remembered familiarity. “I can’t even begin to think the last time I saw you without your beautiful wife being around.”

Alfred flinched, a sharp, involuntary tremor running through him.

Leia continued, her tone softening, almost mockingly tender. “How is she doing, Alfred? Does she still ask about me?”

Alfred’s face darkened instantly. His fists came down onto the desk with a surprisingly loud thud, startling Jack.

“You will stay away from my wife, dammit!” Alfred spat, his decorum completely abandoned. The mention of his wife had hit him harder than any financial insult could have.

Jack quickly cut in, trying to redirect the conversation back to the script. He didn't understand the depth of history between Leia and Alfred, but the tension was explosive.

“Umm, Mr. Gooderman, we are here for business. We have some proposals—strategic partnerships that could stabilize—”

Alfred cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand, a smug smile reforming on his flushed face.

“We are not interested. We made that clear a week ago when we pulled all business with you lot.” He looked at Leia, enjoying the clear upper hand. “We are heading into a different direction that doesn’t include you lot.”

Leia looked down at her watch. 08:30. Perfect timing.

A sharp, predatory grin formed on her face. She reached into her briefcase, bypassing the documents Jack had prepared, and pulled out a single, pristine sheet of paper—their final proposal.

She slid it halfway across the polished wood, stopping just short of Alfred’s reach.

As Alfred went to grab the sheet, Leia held onto it, her eyes locking onto his.

“This is our final offer, Alfred,” she said, her voice dropping to a serious, uncompromising register. “It’s a take this or leave this.”

Alfred found the ultimatum genuinely funny. He laughed, a short, barking sound. “That’s a lot of talk from a business that’s in financial ruin.” He snatched the document and began reading.

The laughter died in his throat. His eyes darted across the page, his brow furrowing as he absorbed the staggering number.

“Really? This is your proposal?” Alfred demanded, slapping the paper onto the desk. “Resign doing business with you, but to do so, we increase our payments by four times?” He laughed again, this time with pure incredulity. “Leia, this is a joke even for you. Get out of my office.”

Just as Alfred finished his sentence, his expensive desk phone rang—a sharp, insistent trill.

Alfred, still annoyed, answered it, shooing Leia and Jack away with a furious gesture.

“Gooderman… yes?” He listened, his eyes widening. Silence stretched, thick and painful. “Wait. The Sauler Corporation did what? When? They said it’s final?” Alfred ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Okay, I will deal with this in a second. I’m currently in a meeting.” He slammed the phone down, his chest heaving.

Jack, sensing this was his cue, moved to stand up and leave the office, but Leia subtly motioned for him to stop, pointing pointedly toward the sweating Alfred.

Alfred’s phone rang again almost immediately, the sound jarring in the sudden silence.

He picked it up cautiously. “Yes? This better be good.” He was on the phone for only twenty seconds. “What? The Kettlemans are out?!” Sweat started to form heavily on his forehead, staining the collar of his shirt. “That’s impossible! Did you confirm with them? What do you mean, four times their usual cost? They can’t just pull their support! Demand they call back, dammit!”

Alfred hung up the phone with a defeated clatter, muttering to himself: “Shit. Impossible.”

He looked up, realizing that Leia and Jack were still sitting there, silent, watching the spectacle.

Leia simply nodded toward the folded proposal still lying on his desk. “Our proposal,” she reminded him softly.

His phone rang again. Alfred stared at it for a long, panicked moment. He seemed to debate ignoring it, but the compulsion to know the extent of the disaster was too strong.

He picked it up. “Gooderman.”

He was on the phone for barely ten seconds before true, pure panic set in.

“What do you mean, the Newmans? They were contracted for five years! That’s impossible!”

He dropped the phone into the cradle, leaning back in his chair like a punched doll. The air had been sucked out of the room, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing. His defeat was total.

Leia stood up slowly, deliberately, the movement of her body radiating absolute dominance. She collected her bag, turning her powerful back to the desk. Jack stood beside her, a pillar of calm obedience.

“Just to make it clear, little Alfie,” Leia said, her voice cold and merciless. “The Kettlemans, your financial backing, is gone. They've decided to invest in more liquid assets—namely, us.”

She took a slow step toward the desk.

“The Sauler Corp is cutting off your mineral supply. They’ve decided their resources are better allocated to partners who pay a premium—four times the premium, in fact.”

She took another step.

“And the Newmans are ending your transportation deal. They’ve decided that monopolizing the logistics chain for a single, new, well-funded client is a better move.”

Leia looked at Jack, who wordlessly produced a paper—the detailed paper outlining the cascading failures—from his own briefcase. He placed it gently in front of Alfred, right next to Leia’s ransom proposal.

“This outlines the projections, Alfred,” Leia finished. “Your production will be completely halted by the end of today. Your warehouses are empty, your funds are frozen, and you can’t ship what you can’t make. Your company will be bankrupt by the end of the month. Or,” she paused, her eyes glittering with cruelty, “you could sign our proposal.”

She leaned closer to the sweating, defeated Alfred.

“However,” Leia continued, her voice dropping back to that remembered, intimate tone, “if you include your beautiful wife into the deal—a little personal concession, you know—we might be willing to drop a couple of percents, just for old time’s sake.”

Alfred stared at the documents, then at Leia, his face a mask of terror and impotent rage. He was trapped, economically castrated, and now subject to Leia’s personal, predatory demands.

Leia didn’t wait for an answer. She simply turned, her suit rustling softly, and walked toward the door. Jack followed, shutting the door softly behind them, leaving Alfred Gooderman alone with the sound of his ringing, useless phone and the crushing weight of his company’s imminent demise.

The predator and the accomplice walked confidently out into the bright morning light, ready for their next step. The world was theirs to remake.