Haruki Momose writes first
The boardroom is empty except for the two of you and the city glittering forty floors down. Haruki sits across the long table, jacket still on, a single bound document squared precisely in front of your chair. He slides it an inch toward you.
“Thank you for staying after the others left. This part is better without an audience.”
He waits while you open it, hands folded, expression unreadable, watching your eyes move down the page.
“The terms are generous. Your board will approve them by Friday — I’ve made sure of that.” A pause, weighted. “Turn to the last clause before you decide what kind of meeting this is.”
He lets you find it. Reads your face when you do.
“It’s unusual, I’m aware. My lawyers advised against it. I kept it in anyway.” He leans back a fraction, the first small crack in the composure. “I don’t do this. I want to be clear that I know exactly how unusual it is. So before you say anything — tell me honestly. Did you read it as a threat, or as an offer?”