5. CASSANDRA

I’m not sure exactly how I expected this meeting to go, but it certainly wasn’t like this.

The rich leather of my chair feels like butter against the luxurious fabric of my best dress. This office is unlike anything I’ve ever seen: rich mahogany paneling on the walls, a filigreed walnut desk, a Turkish rug that must have cost upwards of $20,000.

And across from me, behind the desk, sits a middle-aged lady in a Stella McCartney pantsuit who had every reason to laugh me out of the room, and yet is nodding in agreement.

“I think you’re really on to something,” says Miranda Winthrop, vice president of Tate Capital and the daughter of the firm’s founder, the legendary Oscar Tate. “Your business plan is sound, but what really inspires me is your passion for the product.”

I nod, working hard to keep the excitement out of my face. I’ve been trained to keep my emotions in check, but it’s not easy. Part of me wants to jump up and down and shriek like a teenage girl at a Justin Bieber concert.

“I appreciate that,” I say, trying to sound professional. “I think our approach would be unique in the frozen treat industry, since Ms. Clarke and I both want to keep the recipes original.”

“That’s so important,” she says. “A lot of companies have cut corners to maximize profits over the years and it shows. I don’t know if you’ve eaten any store-brand ice cream recently…”

I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to tell me,” I say. “It’s nothing like we used to eat when I was a kid.”

“You’re preaching to the choir. Honestly, I’m already a big fan of Patty’s. If you and Tricia can manage mass production and still hold onto what makes that ice cream so special, I have every confidence that this will be a going concern.”

This is really happening. I’m so close. Now comes the hard part.

“So,” I say. “Do you have a number in mind?”

She flips through a stack of papers with a beautifully manicured hand for several moments as my heart rate doubles. I’ve been in plenty of life-or-death situations in the last several years, but this has them all beat.

“Based on what I see here, the money you’re offering to put up would constitute a thirty percent stake of the total deal.”

I do the math instantly in my head: three and a half million is thirty percent of eleven million and change. Tate Capital puts up the other seven and a half and we’ll get our factory up and running. And then, after we – naturally – become a wild success, the initial public offering will take the company public and I’ll sell out for easily ten times my investment and retire to a Greek island before I’m thirty-five.

Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a day for fourteen days. I can’t keep the smile off my face. I’ve had years of training, years of field operations, years of pushing myself to my limits, mentally and physically. If I can’t avoid a group of rich old geezers for two weeks, I better hand in my CIA special operative card.

Well, I suppose I already did that. But you get what I mean.

“That sounds eminently doable,” I say, wincing inwardly at the lame buzzwords. But my resume says I’ve been a business consultant for the last six years, so I need to be able to talk the talk. “With your assurances, I’ll move forward with due diligence and I’ll get to gathering my capital.”

Buzzword. Buzzword. Buzzword.

“Excellent,” says Miranda, returning my smile. She reaches a hand across the desk and I take it in mine. “Let’s set another appointment for three weeks from now and we can expand on the details. I’m looking forward to working together, Sandra.”

“As am I. And I’m sure Tricia will be over the moon when I let her know.”

Miranda puts on an expression of mock gravity. “Tell her as a partner, I expect to be added to the sampling team.”

I return the look. “Of course,” I say. “I wouldn’t have it any other way. After all, this is serious business.”

We both laugh as she shows me out onto the streets of Manhattan. Well, the elevator bank, anyway. Another handshake and she walks back to her office, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The initial excitement is still there, but something below the surface is threatening to throw cold water on my celebration.

Don’t focus on that, I scold myself. Focus on the money. Two weeks, that’s all. Maybe I can add in a few days for good measure, build up my own finances as well. An extra four days would mean a million dollars for myself, tax-free in an offshore account. That’s nothing to sneeze at.

Do as many days as you want, it’s going to end the same way no matter what: you in bed with a stranger.

I shake my head and raise my hand to hail a cab, trying to get into the right headspace. I was an expert in pragmatism for years, I tell myself. I know the end justifies the means, and the means aren’t always pretty.

In this case, the end is a one-third stake in a multi-million-dollar company that will eventually go public and leave me financially independent for the rest of my life.

The means are simple: they call it the Chase.