Hannah's Chance
Copyright© 2025 by jackmarlowe
Chapter 13
Hannah arrived at Zurich airport for her flight home. Settling into a quiet corner near her gate, she pulled out her phone and typed a text to Rossi. “Any news?”
She had spoken to him the previous night, and he’d been positive about securing the agreement of the consortium to the terms she’d secured, but had warned her that all members of the consortium had to be consulted, as well as its lawyers. In view of that conversation, she ought to have been patient and waited to hear from him, but there was no harm in asking.
She didn’t have to wait long for his reply. “It’s a done deal,” Rossi’s text blinked onto her screen. “Consortium accepted. Just waiting for the legalities. You’ve done it.”
Relief washed over Hannah, thick and warm. She leaned back against the hard airport chair, the synthetic fabric cool against her neck. Her sacrifice in Steiner’s conference room had been worthwhile and bought tangible victory. Now the formal proposal could be made to Rivera.
So much had happened to her in the last few months. She thought about her termination from Layton Moreby. Now she was orchestrating a complex multimillion dollar deal across continents. She could only wait for Rivera’s decision to inform her on what came next.
Her phone buzzed. Not Rossi. Clare Buchanan. Hannah stared at the name, a cold prickle running down her spine. Why would Clare be calling now? She hadn’t spoken to her since her termination. Hannah hesitated, then answered, keeping her voice neutral. “Ms. Buchanan?”
“Hannah.” Clare’s tone was clipped, devoid of its usual polished warmth. “I need to see you. Can you make it tomorrow morning? My office. Nine sharp.”
The abruptness stunned Hannah. “Ms. Buchanan, I’m currently—”
“It’s important,” Clare interrupted, her voice brittle.
Hannah hesitated a moment. “Nine AM? Yes, I’ll be there.”
“Good. See you then.” The line went dead before Hannah could ask why.
When she was home, jet lag compelled her to take an early night, so she woke early the following day, giving her plenty of time to make it to Layton Moreby for nine.
Her phone buzzed with a text. Alessandro Rossi. “Legalities now sorted. Everything signed and sealed.”
Hannah smiled to herself contentedly, the tension of the last few days lifting completely. She’d well and truly done it, and the full proposal for DLE would now be on the way to Bolivia.
The elevator doors slid open at Layton Moreby’s executive floor and Hannah stepped out. Clare’s secretary, Joanne, recognized her and waved her in without a word, knocking on Clare’s door. Hannah calmly smoothed her skirt as Joanne announced her.
Clare sat behind her desk, her expression unreadable. “Sit down, Hannah.” Hannah took the chair opposite, posture perfect. The air hummed with tension, thick as Zurich’s cigar smoke.
Clare slid a document across the desk. “Tanaka’s board approved Layton’s restructuring plan last month. Keller’s spin-off launches next month.” Her gaze sharpened. “Both deals bear your fingerprints, yet you were terminated for misconduct.”
Hannah kept her expression neutral. “I acted in Layton Moreby’s best interests.”
“Did you?” Clare tapped the document. “Tanaka’s recovery relied on data you stole from Keller Biotech. The SEC is investigating. They’ve subpoenaed Alex.” Hannah’s stomach dropped. Alex - who’d run the validation under her pressure. Clare leaned forward. “They know about your ... dealings with shares in Veredian.”
Hannah’s pulse hammered. “I acted in the client’s best interest—”
“Best interest?” Clare’s laugh was brittle. “You funneled proprietary Keller data through Alex to Creighton Bank. That’s wire fraud. And Vince’s additional share purchase?” The SEC calls that insider trading.”
Hannah’s composure cracked. “I salvaged Tanaka. I secured Vince—”
“By breaking laws and bedding investors,” Clare cut in. “The SEC has the evidence.” She slid a second document forward - a formal immunity offer. “Sign this. Full disclosure on who supplied the Veredian intelligence, Alex’s role in the biotech data breach. In exchange, Layton Moreby protects you from prosecution.”
Hannah stared at the paper. Protection. The word curdled. “And if I refuse?”
“Prosecution. Prison.” Clare’s voice softened, almost pitying. “You’re collateral in a war you don’t understand. They’ll bury you.”
Hannah’s fingers traced the edge of the immunity offer. The sterile office air suddenly felt suffocating. Her victories were now being portrayed as crimes.
She stood, looming over the desk. “Immunity means giving you my contacts. Information that would be very valuable to you.”
Clare’s composure fractured. “You’re drowning, Hannah! Sign it!”
Hannah snatched the document, scanning its dense legalese. “Immunity in exchange for naming names?” She tossed it back. “This isn’t protection - it’s a trap. You want to know my sources to benefit Layton Moreby.”
Clare’s knuckles whitened. “You’re facing fifteen years, Hannah. Sign.”
Hannah leaned closer, her voice a blade. “You really think I’d fall for this? You’re bluffing.”
Clare flinched. “You spoke about best interests earlier. This is in your own best interests.”
“I’ll make my own decisions about my own best interests. Goodbye, Clare.”
Hannah turned sharply, heels clicking across the polished floor. She didn’t look back as she left the office, sweeping past Joanne, pulling out her phone as she exited the building. She called Rossi, relaying Clare’s arguments - SEC, subpoenas, insider trading, immunity.
“Immunity?” Rossi scoffed. “That’s a fishing expedition. They have nothing solid. Tanaka’s recovery used publicly available Keller patent filings. And Vince’s share purchase? I gave you market rumors, not insider information. They’re trying to scare you into giving up your network.”
Hannah found Rossi’s certainty a buoy in the sudden storm. “Clare mentioned a subpoena for Alex.”
“Standard intimidation,” Rossi countered. “They’ll lean hard, but Alex knows the drill. He ran validation against Tanaka’s own benchmarks. Public filings. Creighton Bank received aggregated analytics, not raw Keller IP. Thin ice for the SEC.” His voice sharpened. “The real play? Clare’s after your rolodex. Who gave you the Veredian tip? Who whispered about Tanaka’s board fractures? That immunity would have given her something she wants badly.”
Hannah stood on the bustling sidewalk, taxi horns blaring. “So what now?”
“Exactly what we planned,” Rossi replied. “Bolivia. Rivera gets the formal DLE proposal. Steiner’s consortium funding clears by Christmas. Hopefully we celebrate in the new year.”
Hannah made her way home. Clare’s trap had snapped shut on empty air. She spent the rest of the day running through ideas for her consultancy - name, structure, what kind of clients she might take on. She didn’t want to rely on Rossi alone to supply her with opportunities.
Business and investor events were going to be key for Hannah, and during the next few days she researched every event she could find for the following year. She needed to make them work for her though, otherwise she would be racking up a lot of travel expenses without reward.
On Christmas Eve she woke to a text message from Rossi. “News came through last night. Only found out this morning due to the time difference. Rivera accepted.”
Hannah sat bolt upright in bed, immediately calling Rossi’s number. “He signed?”
“He signed,” Rossi confirmed. “Rivera accepted the DLE pilot terms. Consortium funding transfers next week.”
Hannah exhaled, a tremor running through her fingers gripping the phone. Bolivia moved forward. The Reyes mine would test her solution - less water, faster extraction. Success meant replicating it across the Altiplano. Failure spelt disaster. She pushed the thought aside. “And Steiner?”
“Funds cleared,” Rossi replied. “Celebrate tonight?”
“I’m meeting my sister tonight,” Hannah said, “and I’ll try not to talk business too much, but in my mind I’ll be celebrating. Rivera’s acceptance is a great Christmas present.”
“Enjoy the holidays. Next year, we see what happens in Bolivia, we explore new challenges.”
Outside her apartment, Hannah could see the city draped in a grey drizzle, but inside, a fierce optimism bloomed. Rivera’s acceptance was more than a deal to her - it was validation. She may have been discarded by Layton Moreby, but she’d responded by building something tangible, something meaningful. She knew that she would enjoy Christmas and the New Year.
Her phone buzzed with a text. Maria Wallington. “Heard about Bolivia. Impressive. Coffee after the holidays? I have news.”
Hannah smiled. It was good to hear from Maria. She typed back: “Definitely. Happy Christmas.”
They chose a small coffee shop for their meeting. No music, just the hum of conversation and the clink of ceramic. Maria slid into the booth, as always her eyes bright and her smile warm. “Bolivia’s a coup for you, Hannah. But the SEC investigation’s rumbling on. It reached Creighton Bank.”
Hannah’s latte cooled untouched. “And?”
“We didn’t have anything to tell them,” Maria said. “Our part in the Keller deal was limited to the separation mechanics and new investor targeting.” She leaned closer. “By the way, on the Tanaka front, according to Alex, they weren’t too happy with your departure. Clare had to scramble to reassure them.” She paused, stirring her cappuccino, Hannah quietly absorbing what she’d said.
“Now my big news,” Maria continued. “At Creighton we help with acquisitions of distressed innovators - usually startups collapsing under regulatory delays or funding gaps. The buyer provides capital and infrastructure, and sometimes regulatory muscle, organizing a turnaround. Our directors know of the work you did with Keller and Tanaka, and now with your project in Bolivia, and think that as an independent consultant you might fit in with what we’re doing.”
Hannah leaned forward, her coffee forgotten. “You’re offering me a position?”
“Consultancy retainer,” Maria clarified. “Creighton handles boutique turnarounds. We need someone who understands ... unconventional leverage points.” Her gaze held Hannah’s meaningfully. “Your Bolivia deal proves you know how to navigate complex stakeholder webs. We pay you a monthly retainer plus success fees.”
Hannah drank a little of her latte. Independence versus institutional backing. Rossi’s deals promised to be lucrative but secretive. Creighton offered stability - and legitimacy. “Well, since I’m a consultant, I’m naturally interested in consultancy work, so tell me more.”
Maria pulled a thin folder from her bag. “First case - Eridios Recovery. A small energy-tech firm in Cambridge, Massachusetts. They specialize in lithium-ion battery recycling - actually quite advanced for their size. Three patents filed, one already approved, two pending. But...” She paused. “They’re broke. On the brink of liquidation.”
“And someone wants to buy them? Distressed price?”
“Fire sale price,” Maria confirmed. “But they refused the offer we made. Scoffed at Creighton’s valuation. They seem to think there’s a way out of their financial black hole.”
Hannah tapped the folder. “What caused them to fall into a financial black hole in the first place?”
“The familiar tale of innovation outpacing its own resources,” Maria explained. “Technical delays caused them to borrow too heavily.”
Hannah’s mind clicked through scenarios. Stability versus volatility - Creighton’s retainer meant steady income, but Rossi’s deals offered explosive payouts. Still, legitimacy mattered. “What’s the timeline?”
“They’ve got about two months of runway left,” Maria said. “They need a lifeline now. Their lead investor pulled out yesterday.” She slid another document forward - a term sheet with Creighton’s lowball offer circled. “They refuse to sign.”
Hannah scanned the numbers. Creighton’s valuation was predatory, banking on desperation. “Maybe they’re right to fight. If their tech’s good, this kind of business must be worth many times that.” She pushed the folder back. “There’s a lot to think about here. To begin with, how much is the retainer?”
“It depends on the terms,” Maria replied. “Whether the agreement’s going to be exclusive or not, for example. If you come in to meet our directors, we can thrash out all the details.”
Even without knowing the amount of the retainer, it was clear to Hannah that the offer represented a solid, dependable monthly income. Enough to cover the utilities and the groceries, it represented the quiet hum of security she hadn’t felt since leaving Layton Moreby.
“I’d still like to work with other clients,” she said, thinking out loud, feeling that it was much better if she didn’t have to make a choice between Creighton and other opportunities.
“That’s fine,” said Maria. “We’d be happy with an agreement that isn’t exclusive. It limits what we can pay, but I’m sure we can come to an understanding that both sides can work with. Then there’s the success fees we offer. Our directors will go through everything with you.”
Hannah nodded slowly. The retainer represented security - a baseline income to cover essentials. But her true value lay in the success fees. “I’ll need flexibility,” she said firmly. “Bolivia’s going to require site visits. And other clients may emerge.”
Maria smiled. “Understood. Our directors want you precisely because you navigate complex terrain.” She handed her a business card. “Call Sylvia Archer. She handles consultant contracts. Discuss terms and she’ll formulate the agreement for our directors’ approval.”
Hannah pocketed the card, the embossed Creighton logo tangible against her fingertips. Stability. Legitimacy. “I’ll call her tomorrow.”
Back in her apartment, the city lights painting stripes across her ceiling, Hannah weighed her options. Creighton’s retainer offered predictable income - and security. But Rossi’s world offered the lure of an international stage and potentially bigger returns. She pulled out her laptop, drafting an email to Sylvia Archer outlining her non-exclusive terms - possible Bolivia visits, flexibility for independent clients, tiered success fees reflecting deal complexity.
The next morning, she received a text from Rossi. “Rivera issued permits for the DLE pilot. Consortium has full funds in place and ready to go. Will keep you posted.” Hannah felt a surge of optimism. Bolivia was moving forward.
A few days later, Hannah sat in Sylvia Archer’s office, sleek chrome and glass with a river view. Sylvia slid a draft contract across the desk. “I’ve taken everything you said in your email into account and had this approved by the directors already. I hope you find everything satisfactory, but I understand if you want to take advice before committing yourself.”
Hannah scanned the document. The retainer covered her overhead comfortably. Success fees were clearly laid out. Crucially, the non-exclusive clause was explicit. She signed without hesitation. “It’s perfect, Sylvia. Thank you.”
“I’ll take you to meet our CEO and then Maria will brief you on Eridios Recovery.”
The meeting with the CEO was brief but friendly. “The firm’s been reassessing its consultancy network,” he said. There’s appetite for external expertise - people who can bridge the gap between strategy and capital. Your name came up more than once, so I’m very happy to know you’ve joined us. Welcome to Creighton’s extended team.”
Sylvia took Hannah to Maria’s office, who handed her a USB drive. “The Eridios dossier. Manufacturing reports, investor correspondence, everything. Their crisis is escalating. Creditors are circling and one of their lenders is threatening to call in their notes.”
“How do I approach them?”
“Carefully,” Maria warned. “The CEO is Adrian Thornberry, but he’s become paranoid, suspecting that their downfall is being engineered. Financial sabotage by someone wanting to eliminate a potential rival.” She handed her a business card. “If you can’t get through to him, call his assistant, Lena. If you do get through, don’t mention Creighton sent you - he’ll assume you’re another vulture.”
“And if I can’t persuade him and he still refuses to sell?”
Maria shrugged. “Then he burns. But you convinced people to invest tens of millions in desert mining tech. Thornberry’s easier prey.”
Back in her apartment that evening, Hannah went through the Eridios dossier - reports, patent abstracts, production figures, and a handful of press clippings tracing the company’s rise and decline. The full story of Eridios Recovery steadily came into focus.
The company’s fall hadn’t been a story of incompetence. Its lithium recycling process had worked beautifully at pilot scale, reclaiming battery-grade material with near-zero waste. But when they tried to scale up, the chemistry turned unpredictable. Output purity fluctuated, energy costs spiked, and shipments fell behind schedule.
To keep the expansion alive, management borrowed heavily - mezzanine debt, convertible notes, even bridge loans from private lenders who smelled both risk and opportunity. When the larger facility failed to meet production targets, cash flow dried up almost overnight. Suppliers demanded payment, investors retreated, and the Eridios creditors moved in for the kill.
Now, what remained was a cluster of near-operational plants, several unexpired patents, and a demoralized team. But beneath the ruins, Hannah saw potential - a technology that had faltered, not because it didn’t work, but because it had grown faster than its funding.
She turned to the patent portfolio next, cross-checking ownership filings. One notation caught her eye - a transfer of partial rights to a company in Luxembourg six months earlier. That was something interesting. Certainly something she would have to look into. She had been thinking that the big opportunity staring her in the face was for somebody to acquire Eridios cheaply, clear the debt away and gobble up the patents. Now she wasn’t so sure.
She called Lena the next morning. “I’m Hannah Hartwell, an independent consultant,” she said briskly. “I understand Eridios is navigating some challenges. I may have a solution that doesn’t involve a fire sale.”
A pause. “Mr. Thornberry isn’t seeing consultants,” Lena replied, her voice guarded.
“Tell him I specialize in saving companies from hostile takeovers,” Hannah countered, keeping her tone confident. “Especially when sabotage is suspected.”
Silence stretched. Then Lena sighed. “He’ll give you ten minutes. Tomorrow, 11 AM. Don’t be late.”
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