The Newman group

The next three days were a brutal, unending marathon of corporate warfare.

The meetings were held in anonymous, air-conditioned conference rooms high above the city, overlooking the vast expanse of the Detroit River. The Newman Group representatives—a team of seasoned logisticians and sharp financial officers—were tough but cautious. Leia, however, was relentless.

Jack sat beside her, his laptop permanently open, feeding her data points and projections on command. He felt less like a CFO and more like a human calculator, his fingers flying over the keys as he adjusted models based on Leia's aggressive demands.

Leia didn't negotiate; she dictated. She drove the Newman team against the wall, reducing projected profit margins to thin slivers, insisting that only their company had the necessary infrastructure to handle the volume required after the Goodermans’ abrupt exit.

Jack worried privately that Leia was pushing too hard, offering untenable rates just to secure the deal. When he tried to whisper a cautious objection about the long-term cash flow implications, Leia simply placed a large, firm hand on his shoulder—a gesture that looked supportive to the Newman team but felt to Jack like a concrete restraint.

"Trust the process, Jack," she murmured, her face perfectly calm.

By the afternoon of the third day, Jack felt hollowed out, fueled only by bad coffee and adrenaline. They were in the final session. The Newman Group looked exhausted, their resistance finally broken.

"Alright, Ms. Leia," the lead Newman negotiator said, rubbing his temple. "We will commit to seventy-five percent of your fleet capacity for the next eighteen months. However, given the immediate volume commitment, we require a guaranteed twenty-five percent reduction on all published rates."

Jack’s blood ran cold. Twenty-five percent? That was catastrophic.

Leia didn't flinch. She extended her hand across the table, a triumphant, almost predatory smile touching her lips.

"Done," she said, sealing the deal before Jack could utter a single word of protest. "A strategic partnership, gentlemen. We look forward to delivering your future."

Hours later, they were back on the plane, soaring eastward. They occupied the plush cocoon of First Class, the soft sound of the cabin pressurization a dull hum.

The air smelled of expensive leather and chilled champagne.

A flight attendant had just topped up Leia’s flute. Her boss was reclining, one hand resting casually on the armrest, her expression one of pure, unrestrained victory.

"Well, Jack," Leia purred, taking a long, celebratory sip. "We did it. The cash flow crisis is averted. We survived the Goodermans’ sabotage. To the collapse of the crisis."

Jack raised his water glass half-heartedly. "To survival."

"Don't be so dour, Jack. This was a complete victory. They wouldn't have bent without you feeding me those dynamic load factor models. You performed exceptionally."

Leia’s praise was hollow and jarring. Jack, however, wasn't celebrating. He had pulled his laptop back out the second they settled into their seats, unable to shake the dread that had settled over him when Leia accepted the 25% discount.

He had spent the last hour running the new projections, the reality hitting him with the **** of a physical blow.

"Leia, I don't think you understand the depth of the hole we just dug," Jack whispered, leaning toward her, keeping his voice low so the flight attendant couldn't hear.

He rotated the screen slightly so Leia could see the grim tableau of red numbers.

"The Newman contract secures seventy-five percent of our capacity, yes, and that’s good for visibility," Jack explained, his hands shaking slightly as he pointed to the critical metrics. "But at a twenty-five percent reduction, our effective profit margin on that seventy-five percent is minimal. We are barely covering overhead and operational costs."

"And?" Leia tilted her head, her beautiful, imposing face completely unconcerned.

"And our existing contracts, the ones that cover the remaining twenty-five percent of capacity, are still based on the old, inflated rates we negotiated before the Goodermans pulled out. We need those other contracts, especially those tied to the raw materials sectors, to be profitable, or we bleed out."

He swallowed hard, pointing to the final projected figures. "To make this whole operation break even, to cover the gap created by the Newman discount, we would need to resign a deal with the Godderamns at almost twice the rate they were paying before. We are now financially obligated to get back into bed with the people who just tried to kill us, and we have zero leverage."

Jack looked up, waiting for her to panic, waiting for the sudden realization of tactical error.

Leia just took another elegant sip of champagne, her eyebrow slightly raised.

"Isn’t that the plan, Jack?"

The four words hung there, heavy and cold, instantly changing the atmosphere of the cabin. Jack blinked, the blood draining from his face.

"What?"

"The Goodermans didn't just pull support, Jack," Leia said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial, thrillingly dark pitch. "They showed their hand. They are trying to destabilize us to buy us out cheap, or to **** a merger that benefits their shareholders exclusively."

She leaned closer, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous intensity. "We are walking into that meeting with the Goodermans having secured the massive logistical needs of the Newman Group, yes. But we are also walking in with our financial statements showing an immediate, critical need for cash flow thanks to the discount."

Leia reached out, tapping the screen of his laptop exactly where the projected loss figures were screaming red.

"We gave Newman exactly what was required to survive the immediate threat, Jack. Now, we use the fact that our company appears to be in a deeper financial hole than before, but with critical operational stability, to **** the Goodermans into a specific, leveraged transaction."

Jack stared at her, the corporate landscape tilting violently. This wasn't damage control; this was a manufactured vulnerability, a trap built using their own impending financial doom.

"You manufactured this crisis," Jack breathed, the realization connecting all the dots: the relentless pressure, the insistence on the 25% discount, the refusal to consider long-term stability.

Leia smiled, a slow, utterly confident expression. "I manufactured leverage, Jack. We’re in a far more dangerous position, yes. But we are in a position I can control. You see the numbers, Jack. You think they look bad. I think they look irresistible to an enemy who thinks they’re about to deliver the killing blow."

She finished her champagne, the crystal flute clicking softly on the tray table. "Now, put that **** machine away. We land in forty minutes. I need you rested and sharp. We need to look like we just pulled off a miracle when we walk into that office."

They landed late in the afternoon. The familiar rush of their home airport, the quick drive back to the glass tower that housed their corporate headquarters, felt surreal after the high-stakes detachment of Detroit.

They marched into the office suite on the executive floor. The atmosphere was calm, deceptively peaceful.

Judy, Leia’s long-suffering, efficient Asian secretary, looked up immediately from her desk, her expression professional and composed.

Leia didn't break stride, dropping her leather tote onto Judy’s desk with a decisive thud.

"Judy," Leia commanded, her voice ringing with finality, the sound of a decisive battle won. "It’s time. We are ready to see the Goodermans now."

Judy consulted the calendar on her monitor, her eyes wide with surprise at the sudden urgency.

"But Ms. Leia, Mr. Gooderman requested an appointment for next week—"

"No," Leia interrupted sharply. "Schedule the appointment for tomorrow morning. First thing. Tell them we have urgent new information regarding the status of our logistical channels they need to see immediately. Make it sound like an emergency—because for them, it is."

Leia looked back at Jack, her victorious smirk confirming his worst fears. They hadn't averted disaster; they had simply weaponized it.

"Let’s see how they react when we **** them to deal with a debt they think they caused," Leia murmured, already striding toward her office, leaving Jack standing by Judy’s desk, the full weight of their dangerous game—both corporate and personal—settling upon his shoulders. He was committed to this mad plot, and the closer they got to success, the deeper he sank into the abyss.