Page 165 of Say My Name

Weller.

The executive windows appear before I can decide whether the name is a coincidence.

The third one loads last.

Daniel Weller. Chief Executive Officer.

All I hear is the muted hum of the conference-room ventilation.

Daniel looks older, though the changes are subtle. His dark hair is shorter at the sides, and the navy suit fits with the same careful precision he always preferred. His expression still holds the calm confidence that once made me believe he understood the world better than I did.

Then he smiles.

I remember that smile. He used it when he praised me in public, then explained in private why my judgment wasn’t ready to equal his. He framed every compromise as a favor until I barely recognized how much of my life had been rearranged around him.

My pen rolls beneath my palm. I stop it before it reaches the edge of the table.

The intermediary finishes the introductions. Daniel’s eyes move across the Rowe team on his screen and settle on me without surprise.

“Ms. Vale.” His warmth is smooth, familiar, and proprietary enough to make my stomach tighten. “It’s been a long time.”

Five years.

Five years since I walked away from him and rebuilt the parts of myself I’d surrendered one reasonable concession at a time.

I root myself to the chair, to the numbers on the screen. “Mr. Weller. Let’s focus on the financial projections.”

The room goes quiet for half a second.

Daniel’s smile remains. “Of course.”

I share my screen. His image moves into a smaller window, and the adjusted retention figures fill the display.

My voice is steady when I begin.

I explain the difference between reported client retention and retained revenue, then detail the compensation normalization and concentration risk for both teams. When Weller’s chief financial officer challenges the downside assumptions, I answer with the source data before he finishes framing the objection.

Daniel asks about the return profile.

“It falls below Rowe’s acquisition threshold in year three if attrition exceeds the historic average by fifteen percent.” I keep my tone even. “The current valuation doesn’t account for that exposure.”

“And your recommendation?”

I keep my eyes locked on the screen, on the data. “A purchase-price adjustment.”

A faint smile touches his mouth. “Still direct.”

My pulse jumps, a frantic thump against my ribs, but my voice doesn’t move. “The model supports the recommendation. It’s a matter of numbers, not opinion.”

One of my analysts glances from Daniel to me, her expression clouding with confusion. I move to the next slide before curiosity becomes a distraction.

Daniel doesn’t mention our history again. Every time he says my name, I hear the man who could make control sound like concern. Every time he questions an assumption, I remember how our professional disagreements followed us home until maintaining peace required me to stop having them.

That was five years ago. Today, I defend every figure. I refuse two unsupported adjustments and demand three categories of follow-up documentation. When Daniel presses for an accelerated recommendation, I tell him Rowe Holdings won’t discuss valuation until we receive the underlying client contracts.

He watches me for one quiet second. “Understood.”

The intermediary confirms that the formal diligence package will be released through the restricted channel. Our acquisition administrator reviews the recording protocol and distribution list. I take notes while my hand shakes beneath my thigh, hidden by the table.