Seventeen Minutes on Route 18 Wrecked an Eighteen-Million-Dollar Corporate Buyout
“Mr.
Mercer,” she said.
“Sit.”
Gavin sat.
Eleanor went back to her folder and turned two pages.
I saw the columns before she closed it: revenue by quarter, my name on a line that ran most of the way across.
“Page four of the purchase agreement,” Gavin said.
“If we could get back to the schedule.”