1 My wife is severely obsessive-compulsive about time. In our three years of marriage, our lives have been calculated down to the second. Just because I was a minute late delivering a forgotten document to her office, she ordered me to stand outside the building and reflect on my mistake. I waited in sub-zero temperatures for three hours, only to end up in the hospital with a raging fever, where I stumbled upon her. She was sitting beside a hospital bed, fussing over a young man with a tiny scratch on his knee. This was the son of her “key business partner,” the one she claimed she had to look after. I turned and left. The next day, as she rushed to a crucial bidding meeting, I drove straight into a traffic bottleneck and parked. “Wait as long as you like,” I said. “Isn’t your time cheap anyway?” She said nothing, but the young heir beside her snapped. “Gavin, you’re just Fiona’s driver. You have no idea how important this bid is!” “Letting your petty jealousy ruin her business is pathetic.” I casually lit a cigarette. “Your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Fiona, who always maintained a perfect, elegant public image, lost her composure, stepping out of the car to slam her hand against my window. “Gavin Geller, you have no right to interfere with my business!” I let out a cold laugh. There is no need to keep a woman who does not know her place. I will simply withdraw all my anonymous financial support and find a woman who actually knows how to be grateful. At 4:07 AM, Fiona’s fingertip tapped lightly on my forehead. This was the optimal wake-up time for a husband she had calculated. It was exactly eighteen minutes before she got out of bed, leaving me just enough time to prep her breakfast so it was served at precisely forty-two degrees Celsius. She had severe time-related OCD. In our three years of marriage, seventeen atomic clocks hung throughout our house, calibrated to zero-point-three seconds of accuracy. A “Husband’s Schedule” was taped to the refrigerator. From how many centimeters of toothpaste to squeeze onto her brush, to exactly how many seconds we should hug before she left, everything was highlighted in red. I used to think this was the self-discipline of a successful female entrepreneur. Until 9:21 AM today, when she called me. “Gavin, bring File G-7 to Meridian Tower. Be there at ten sharp.” “A minute early, I’ll wait. A minute late, you stand and wait.” Outside, a blizzard was howling, the temperature dropping to fifteen below. I grabbed the file and bolted out the door. Following her rules, I did not even grab a heavy coat. As soon as I cleared the neighborhood, traffic ground to a halt. A jackknifed semi had blocked the entire intersection, paralyzing the main road. I ran half a mile through the blinding snow, holding the file to my chest. When I reached the lobby of Meridian Tower, the digital clock flashed 10:01. Fiona stepped out of the revolving doors, completely ignoring me, and reached her hand out to her assistant. Then, she finally spared me a cold glance. “Reflect on your mistake right here, Gavin. You leave when I leave.” “Fiona, it’s fifteen below out here.” “Even if it were fifty below, it is the price of your tardiness.” She walked away. I stood outside that building for three hours. First, my toes lost feeling. Then my fingers, ears, and the tip of my nose. Eventually, the line between standing and floating blurred. My throat burned, and every cough felt like a minor explosion in my chest. My buddy, Nate, happened to drive past the business district. Seeing me shivering violently under a streetlight, he immediately pulled over and dragged me into his car. “Gavin, are you out of your mind?!” I could not speak. I just laughed weakly. He rushed me to St. Jude’s Hospital. The ER doctor took my temperature and snapped, “103.6! Another thirty minutes, and you’d be looking at severe pneumonia!” After three hours on an IV drip, my fever broke to 99.5. I wrapped my down jacket tightly around myself and walked toward the inpatient wing. As I passed the third floor, I spotted a familiar silhouette. Room 302’s door was cracked open. Fiona’s back was to the door. She was sitting by the bedside, gently blowing on a spoonful of soup. In the bed lay a man in his early twenties. A tiny band-aid sat on his knee. A mere scrape. Yet he was staying in a private VIP suite. “Careful, it’s hot,” her voice was as gentle as a feather. In three years of marriage, she had never used that tone with me. “Fiona,” the boy whined, tugging at her sleeve. “Do you still have to deliver that bid today?” “No. I had the driver do it.” When she said “driver,” there was not a single second of hesitation. I stepped back, leaning my cold forehead against the hospital wall. Nate caught up to me, looked inside, and gasped. “Is that… Zach? Arthur Coleman’s son?” I closed my eyes. Zachary. The boy she called “the poor, motherless son of a business partner who needs extra care.” Outside the window, the snow kept falling. I turned and walked away. Nate whispered, “Gavin, do you want me to have the Kingsley Group intervene?” “Not yet.” “Why?” “I want to see how far Fiona will play this farce when she has no idea who I really am.” Tomorrow morning at ten, Fiona was scheduled to attend the Metropolis Center for the Metropolis Landmark bidding meeting. An 1.8 billion dollar contract. The prize she had been clawing for all year. She demanded I have the car at the south gate at precisely 9:45 AM. To ensure a thirty-second window of accuracy, she had forced me to practice driving the route seven times over the past week. The next morning at nine sharp, Fiona walked out of her building. She had not come home last night, but she looked immaculate. “I redesigned the route,” she said, sliding into the passenger seat. “Go to 32 Michigan Avenue first. We’re picking up Zach.” My hands tightened on the wheel. “Michigan Avenue? That’s the opposite direction. Going there and then to the Metropolis Center will add at least forty minutes.” “Just do what I say,” she snapped, finally looking at me. “Zachary is joining us today.” “Joining us?” I chuckled. “There are only five pre-qualified bidders: Summit, Apex, Horizon, Crest, and Kingsley. Coleman Group isn’t on the list.” “Their credentials don’t even meet the baseline requirement for a supplier on this project.” Fiona’s expression hardened. “Gavin,” she said coldly. “Since when does a driver analyze my bids?” “I invited Zachary to observe. Is there a problem?” Coleman Group had absolutely nothing to do with the Metropolis project. I knew this better than anyone. But she wanted to bring him anyway. Not for business, but to show everyone who the charming young man beside the great CEO Fiona Campbell was. “Fine,” I said, starting the ignition. “Michigan Avenue it is.” At 9:21 AM, we stopped outside 32 Michigan Avenue. Zachary was already waiting, dressed in a tailored suit, his hair slicked back. He opened the back door and slid in. “Fiona, how is Driver Gavin so punctual today?” Fiona ignored him. I glanced at him through the rearview mirror, shifted gears, and drove. At 9:38 AM, as we approached a narrow construction lane, I slammed on the brakes and parked the car directly across the entrance to the emergency lane. The cars behind us erupted into a chorus of angry honking. “Gavin!” Fiona’s voice pitched high. “What are you doing?!” “Fender bender ahead,” I said, lighting a cigarette. “We wait.” She checked her GPS. The route was completely clear. “Have you lost your mind, Gavin?!” “Fiona,” I exhaled a puff of smoke, “didn’t you say time was precious? Today, we take our time.” “After all, your assistant Zach wants to see you win the bid, doesn’t he?” Zachary leaned forward from the backseat. “Gavin, what the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you have any idea how important this bid is for Fiona today?” I turned to look at him. “Zach, why are you even going to Metropolis Center today?” “Coleman Group isn’t one of the five bidders. You don’t even meet the vendor threshold.” “Are you going as her mascot?” Zachary’s face went white. “Mind your own business!” “I am minding it, on Fiona’s behalf,” I said, tapping the ash from my cigarette. “And as of today, your partnership with Summit is terminated.” Zachary let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Who the hell do you think you are? A driver making decisions for the CEO of Summit Enterprises?” Fiona flung her door open and marched over to my window, slamming her palm against the glass. “Gavin! Get out of the car!” I rolled the window down. “Who the hell do you think you are to terminate my partnerships?!” her voice was trembling with rage. “The annual trade volume between Coleman and Summit is 160 million! Can you afford that loss?!” “You are nothing but a driver who shuttles me back and forth!” She finally screamed the words she had kept bottled up. The blaring horns of the cars behind us echoed in the air. Passersby stared. The refined, elegant image Fiona carefully cultivated for the media lay shattered on the asphalt. I stubbed out my cigarette. “Fiona, you are going to be late.” “Mr. Coleman.” Zachary stepped out and held Fiona’s arm. “Fiona, don’t waste your breath on him! We’ll hail a cab. We can still make it!” Fiona glared at me one last time. “Let’s go!” The two of them flagged down a taxi and sped away. I watched them disappear, the final thread of hesitation in my heart snapping. I started the engine and drove off the ramp. I wanted to witness her downfall with my own eyes. At 10:13 AM, Fiona pushed open the doors of the bidding hall. She was late by exactly thirteen minutes. The presenter paused, and all the evaluation experts turned their heads in unison. In that moment, she was no longer the brilliant rising star of the business community. She was an unprofessional latecomer who could not even manage basic punctuality. I did not enter the hall. I sat in the VIP lounge on the thirty-sixth floor, listening to Nate’s live audio feed. “Gavin, she tried to explain the delay, but the board didn’t buy it.” “Summit’s presentation time was cut to eight minutes.” “Apex’s presentation was perfect. They bid 1.68 billion.” “It’s over. Apex won the contract.” I pulled up my encrypted messaging app. My directive from last night sat quietly on the screen: “Execute the plan. Cap the bid at 1.68 billion. She leaves empty-handed today.” Fiona had no idea. Of the five pre-qualified bidders today, three were shell companies I had quietly established over the past three years. Nested through seven layers of holding companies, the ultimate owner was an offshore trust. She could investigate for a lifetime and never trace it back to me. She also did not know that the anonymous investor who injected twenty million into Summit three years ago, rescuing her from bankruptcy and placing her on the city’s under-forty list, was me. The very man she treated like a chauffeur, whose life she regulated down to the second. At 11:47 AM, the doors of the bidding hall opened. Fiona walked out first, her face as pale as paper. Zachary rushed to her side. “Fiona! How did it go?!” She ignored him, walking straight toward me and stopping. “Gavin,” her voice shook violently. “Apex bid 1.68 billion, which is twenty million below our cost margin. They won.” “Do you know why?” Her eyes began to redden. “Because I was thirteen minutes late.” “The board’s exact words: If Director Fiona Campbell cannot even manage basic punctuality, how can we trust Summit to deliver an 1.8 billion dollar project on schedule?” She glared at me. “You did this on purpose. You blocked me on the highway. You made me late. You ruined this bid.” Zachary quickly stepped in, rubbing her back and acting comforting. “Fiona! I told you! That driver did this on purpose!” “You were so good to him! You made sure his breakfast was exactly forty-two degrees, you made schedules for him, and this is how the snake repays you!” “How is Summit going to make up for an 1.8 billion dollar loss? How are we going to face the shareholders?” Fiona’s tears began to fall. In three years of marriage, it was the first time I had ever seen her cry. “Gavin, did you do this on purpose?” I looked at her tear-streaked face. The face that had looked down at me so coldly every single morning over a stopwatch. I smiled. “What if I did? What if I didn’t?” I pulled a document from my breast pocket and slapped it onto the glass coffee table. “Divorce papers. I had my lawyer draft them last night.” “I was hesitating this morning, but I’m not anymore.” Fiona froze. “You…” “How much money you lost today is none of my business. That 1.8 billion has nothing to do with me.” “I want a divorce. Right here, right now.” “I don’t want a dime. You keep the house, the car. I’m leaving with nothing.” Zachary let out a mocking laugh. “Driver Gavin, you cost Fiona 1.8 billion and now you’re just going to pack your bags and run?” “Fiona, don’t sign! He’s trying to escape liability!” Zachary slipped his hand around Fiona’s waist. “Fiona, this man is dangerous. If he had the nerve to ruin your bid today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow?” “I should stay with you tonight. It’s not safe for you to be alone.” “What if he regrets signing and tries to take revenge? What if he thinks he has nothing to lose and tries to extort you?” “I need to protect you.” I said nothing. I just looked at Zachary’s hand resting on Fiona’s waist. On his thumb, he wore a jade ring. The exact same ring Fiona had told me she bought as a “small souvenir for a girlfriend” during her business trip last month. Fiona looked at me, expecting me to rage, to plead, to argue. But I just nodded slowly. “Fine. Since Zach is so concerned about your safety, let him go home with you. Sign the papers first.” Zachary urged her, “Fiona, sign it! The sooner we cut ties with this parasite, the better! I’ll take you to the courthouse tomorrow morning!” Fiona grabbed the pen. The tip hovered over the paper for three agonizing seconds. She looked up at me one last time. There was a flicker of panic, a touch of hesitation, and perhaps a sliver of regret. But only a sliver. The next second, she grit her teeth and scribbled her name. The ink was still wet as Zachary snatched the folder. “Signed! Fiona, let’s go!” Fiona slipped the papers into her bag. “Gavin. Nine tomorrow morning, at the courthouse.” “According to your punctuality rule, if you are a single second late, I will make sure you never get this divorce.” She turned to leave. Zachary leaned in close to her ear. “Fiona, I’ll take care of you tonight. Driver, assistant, whatever you need me to be.” He paused, looking back at me with a smirk. “After all, Gavin’s position is officially open starting tonight.” The two of them walked toward the elevators. Fiona never looked back. In that moment, the anger in my chest burned to its absolute peak. But a second later, I smiled. I pulled my phone out and opened my encrypted messaging app. To: Command Center. I typed the first message: “Initiate a full financial audit and liquidation of Summit Enterprises.” “Recall the twenty million anonymous investment from three years ago as a private high-interest loan, principal plus interest.” “Inform all suppliers and vendors by midnight tonight: Fiona Campbell is no longer trustworthy.” Send. An instant reply came back: “Understood, sir.” I stared at the closed elevator doors and typed the second line: “And don’t forget the Coleman Group. Tear them down together.” “The time for reckoning has come!”
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “455102”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel
Leave a Reply