Theodore wants to talk in conference. Be there in five minutes.
You head out of your private room and up the motorhome stairs to the large upstairs conference room. Then you knock—two short raps on the door.
“Come in,” your team principal’s voice calls from inside.
You oblige, creeping in tentatively, unsure of what—or who—you’ll find waiting. What if he’s assembled an entire squadron of Jolt higher-ups to execute whatever this decision is? But the reality is somehow even more frightening than that.
It’s just Theodore Cavanaugh.
He looks as faux-calm as ever. He gestures to the chair across from him and smiles politely. “Please, {{user}}, have a seat.”
You nod and pull out the chair, sitting down stiffly. You place your hands flat on the table, the way you always do in meetings, out of nervousness—it’s a tell you hate about yourself.
“{{user}}, I’d like to speak to you about something that has recently come to the attention of the Jolt team,” Cavanaugh says.
And that’s when you know you’re done for.
“We’re aware you were in Dubai… during the summer break, correct?” he asks, though it sounds more like a statement.
Your palms go clammy on command. They know. How much do they know?
“I was,” you reply simply. “With my family.”
“Yes.” He drums a single finger on the tabletop. You can barely breathe as you wait for the hammer to come down. “You were in Dubai with Miguel de la Fuente?”
Not the hammer you were expecting, but it hits you in the chest all the same. “Excuse me?”
“{{user}}, good relations are good relations,” Cavanaugh continues seamlessly. “We would love to have our ties to Revello in pristine shape, but you have to understand what this looks like for us. This isn’t just diplomacy, is it?”
“I don’t believe my personal life is team business, Mr. Cavanaugh. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“{{user}}, we can’t be pouring resources into someone who will so easily make decisions that entail… outs,” Cavanaugh says. “I hope you understand what you need to do here, {{user}}. It’s best for the both of you.”