The proposed agreement was worth nearly eight hundred million euros.
Gideon led part of the advisory review.
During due diligence, his team identified an undisclosed long-term pension obligation connected to a separate corporate entity.
The amount was enormous.
If the merger closed without that information being properly disclosed, Oster would inherit a financial burden it hadn’t agreed to assume.
Gideon documented his concerns.
He recommended delaying the transaction.
He sent written warnings to the senior partners.
Then the merger proceeded anyway.
For a while, everything appeared successful.
The firms celebrated.
Executives gave interviews.
Financial publications praised the transaction.
Then the hidden obligations surfaced.
The combined business faced serious financial difficulties.
Employees lost jobs.
Investors questioned the disclosures.
Legal proceedings followed.
And when the advisers began explaining what had happened, the documents supporting Gideon’s objections were no longer where they should have been.
He was blamed for approving decisions he’d opposed.
His reputation collapsed.
Colleagues who once praised his judgment stopped returning his calls.
His marriage, already strained by years of travel, came apart during the aftermath.
Claire returned to London.
Gideon moved to New York with Hannah.
He accepted ordinary contract work.
At first, he’d planned to return to finance after the disputes settled.
Then another year passed.
And another.
Eventually, the idea of entering a boardroom again began to feel unbearable.
He discovered that driving suited him.
Passengers rarely asked about his past.
Nobody expected strategic advice.
Nobody wanted him to negotiate complicated contracts.
He could work, pay his bills, and come home to his daughter.
For a while, that was enough.
But he hadn’t completely escaped his previous life.
Years earlier, Gideon had invested a portion of his earnings in a private investment partnership called Northwind Partners.
The investment had been structured with long-term restrictions.
Its value was largely tied up in private holdings rather than easily accessible cash.
After the Frankfurt scandal, Gideon stopped participating in new transactions but retained his ownership and certain contractual approval rights.
Northwind had subsequently become involved in a financing structure connected to Falconrath.
Gideon hadn’t paid much attention until Matthias contacted him several weeks earlier.
Now he was learning that the same network of investors involved in his professional downfall was preparing another complicated acquisition.
And the company being targeted belonged to the woman he’d just driven home.
Gideon closed the metal box.
He thought about Vivien Laurent.
The exhaustion in her face.
The way she’d asked whether she should sign.
The suspicion behind her questions.
He had recognized something in her that he’d once seen in himself.
A person surrounded by confident people, all insisting that one more signature would solve everything.
He opened his laptop.
Then he called Matthias.
Christmas morning arrived beneath a thick blanket of snow.
Most offices were closed.
Families gathered around breakfast tables.
Children opened presents.
But at eight o’clock, Vivien entered Aurelia’s headquarters carrying a folder of highlighted documents.
The lobby was nearly empty.
The security guard looked surprised.
“Merry Christmas, Miss Laurent.”
She smiled faintly.
“Merry Christmas.”
Upstairs, she spread the Falconrath agreement across the conference table.
Her general counsel had already acknowledged the request for an independent review.
A specialist in corporate governance would examine the voting provisions.
The review couldn’t be completed instantly.
But it could stop anyone from treating the agreement as ready for signature.
Vivien opened her laptop.
Then she received a call from Daniel Hartley, Aurelia’s chief financial officer.
His voice sounded strained.
“Vivien, have you seen the latest ownership report?”
“No. Why?”
“We’ve had several significant share transfers.”
She sat down.
“From whom?”
“Three investors. Different brokers. The buyers appear connected through the same Luxembourg vehicle.”
Vivien looked toward the agreement.
“Aldermore?”
A pause.
“That’s what we’re trying to confirm.”
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“Don’t approve any new financing documentation until we understand the structure.”
“Marcus won’t like that.”
“I know.”
She ended the call.
Then she remembered Gideon.
At the bottom of the transportation file was the temporary agency’s contact number.
She called the dispatcher.
“Is Gideon Mercer working today?”
The dispatcher sounded surprised to hear from Aurelia’s CEO.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s helping check the executive vehicles before the afternoon assignments.”
“Where?”
“The basement garage.”
Vivien took the elevator down.
The garage was cold and nearly empty.
Fluorescent lights reflected against the concrete floor.
A few black company vehicles stood in their assigned spaces.
Gideon was beside an SUV, checking tire pressure.
He looked up when he heard her approach.
For a moment, surprise crossed his face.
Then he stood.
“Miss Laurent.”
She held out the agreement.
“Section eleven.”
He looked at the pages.
“I take it you read it.”
“I did.”
She opened the folder to the relevant provision.
“Tell me what I’m missing.”
Gideon studied the text.
He followed a definition into the appendix.
Then he placed one finger on a sentence.
“This is the critical part.”
Vivien leaned closer.
He continued.
“The company describes Falconrath’s investment as a minority position. But the conversion mechanism could give its preferred shares multiple votes once the ownership threshold is crossed.”
She nodded.