Turn 88 of 228

Skip to meeting with Henderson. Diane was right, he is very confused. But the numbers are so impressive he ignores his confusion.

Tuesday morning. Ten AM. Lena is in her office — naked, barefoot, 411 pounds, the yellow nails curling over the tips of her toes on the stained carpet, the belly resting on her thighs in the chair, the body unwashed and warm and hers. The office smells like food and sweat and the carpet is layered with weeks of crumbs and wrappers and stains that won't come out. The desk is clean. The screen is on. The reports are ready. The numbers are ready.

Diane knocks once and opens the door and Henderson is behind her — tall, gray-haired, navy suit, leather shoes that click on the carpet and then stop clicking because the carpet is sticky. He's carrying a leather portfolio and a coffee and the coffee is from outside and the smell of it enters the room and meets the smell of the room and his face does something. Not a grimace. Not a reaction. A recalibration. The eyes move — the office, the carpet, the wrappers in the corner, the window, the screen, and then Lena. All of Lena. The belly. The breasts. The body hair. The nails. The bare feet on the stained carpet. He stands in the doorway and the recalibration takes four seconds and then Diane says, "Robert, this is Lena Park, our Lead Analyst," and Lena extends her hand and the yellow nails catch the fluorescent light and Henderson takes it and shakes it and his hand is dry and cool and hers is warm and damp.

"Pleasure," he says. The word is neutral. The face is neutral. The suit is neutral. The eyes are not neutral — the eyes are working, processing, filing — but the rest of him is performing a professionalism that holds.

Diane guides him to the chair across from Lena's desk. He sits. The chair creaks. Diane stands beside the door — naked, bearded, 387 pounds, the body hair thick, the stretch marks visible, the belly round under the fluorescent light — and she opens her own tablet and the packet is there. The numbers. She begins.

The numbers are insane. Client retention at 97%. Report turnaround under four hours. The workflow optimization that saves fourteen hours a week. Revenue per client up 340% year over year. The Garfield branch outperforming the second-place branch by eighteen points. Henderson listens and his face does the thing again — the recalibration, the filing — but the numbers are landing and the numbers are good and the numbers are better than good. They're unprecedented. His coffee gets cold. He doesn't drink it. He writes nothing down. He just listens.

"These are remarkable," he says. The word is careful. He looks at Lena. He looks at the office. He looks at the carpet. He looks at Diane. He looks at Lena again.

"Truly remarkable."

"Thank you," Lena says. "The workflow gap I identified in Q2 — I can walk you through the architecture if you'd like." She pulls up the diagram on screen and the data is clean and the logic is tight and Henderson leans forward and the suit wrinkles and the leather shoes stick to the carpet and he doesn't mention it. He doesn't mention the carpet or the wrappers or the nails or the belly or the nakedness or the smell. He asks three questions about the workflow and Lena answers all three and the answers are precise and the data backs them and Henderson nods and the nod is real.

Diane walks him out at 11:15. The hallway is quiet and the elevator opens and Henderson steps in and the leather shoes stick one last time on the carpet and he turns and looks at Diane — naked, bearded, 387 pounds — and says, "Keep doing what you're doing." The elevator closes. Diane stands in the hallway and the beard frames the face and the brown eyes are clear and the body is warm and the branch is number one and the numbers answered everything.