Chapter 458 | Six Out of Seven

Chapter 458: 458 | Six Out of Seven

Study Room 412B smelled like whiteboard markers and anxiety. Brooke had arrived before him, obviously, and sat at the far end of the table in a cream blouse buttoned to her throat. Her long black hair was pulled into a low ponytail, and her thin glasses caught the overhead light. A single sheet of paper sat face down in front of the empty chair across from her, lined up square with the table edge.

Jordan set a white bakery box beside it. The logo on the lid belonged to the French place on Bristol, the one with the line out the door and the cashier who judged your pronunciation.

Brooke stared at the box. Her crimson eyes flicked from the logo to his face and back three times.

"You went to Maison Colette," she said.

"You told me you wanted their pastries but couldn’t order there because of the cashier."

"I told you that eleven days ago, in passing, at four forty-seven in the afternoon." Her voice stayed flat, but her fingers had stopped moving on her pen. "Most people do not retain passing statements beyond seventy-two hours."

"I’m not most people, I’m a golden retriever with a debit card."

Brooke blinked. "Chloe said you would say that, and she told me to tell you it is not endearing."

"It’s a little endearing."

"It is somewhat endearing." Brooke opened the box with both hands, looked inside, and went very still. "There are six almond croissants in here, which exceeds the recommended caloric intake for one sitting by a significant margin."

"Three are for you, and three are for later, when you forget to eat dinner."

She closed the lid slowly, and a faint pink rose up her neck. Then she cleared her throat and flipped the sheet of paper over with one finger.

"You have four minutes to read this summary in full," she said. "I will then ask seven questions, and your score will be recorded."

"Recorded where?"

"In a file titled Jordan Comprehension Baseline," she said. "I update it monthly to track your retention trajectory." She clicked a small stopwatch app on her phone, held it at a forty-five degree angle from his face, and looked up. "Your time has begun. Please stop talking."

He read the whole page. Top to bottom, including three footnotes in eight-point font that explained state-specific filing variations. It explained registered agent services in language that didn’t assume he had a law degree, the Delaware filing procedure, and the reason a fifteen percent partner might be listed on paperwork even if they weren’t writing checks. One line near the bottom had been bolded with a highlighter: Answer only the question asked, and never volunteer the word inheritance.

At four minutes exactly, Brooke took the paper back with both hands and rotated it one hundred eighty degrees so it faced her.

"Question one," she said. "What is a registered agent?"

"A person or company that receives legal mail for a business, so the owners don’t have to put their home address on public records."

"Correct." She made a small checkmark on her own notes. "Question two, why is my name on the filing?"

"Because you’re a partner in Nova Network, you handled the paperwork, and it’s normal for a partner to serve as agent."

"Correct, and delivered at an acceptable volume." She made another mark. "Question three. Your sister asks where the startup capital came from, and you respond how?"

"I say it was personal savings plus early revenue, and then I stop talking."

"You stop talking for how long?"

"Until she asks something else, even if it gets awkward, because awkward is free."

Brooke’s pen stopped mid-stroke. "That phrasing is not in my summary."

"Chloe taught me that one last night."

"It is a superior phrasing." She wrote it down in tiny, perfect letters along the margin. "I am adding it to version two." She looked up. "Question four. Your sister says Brooke Hastings is a nineteen-year-old undergraduate and asks why you trust her with legal filings."

Jordan looked at her, then at the table, then back at the paper she was holding. The honest answer involved a forty-seven page market analysis written in one sleepless night with citations formatted in Chicago style. It involved a clause buried in page thirty-two that legally protected Chloe from ever being sold again. It also involved a girl who flinched at hugs but remembered his drink order after fourteen visits and corrected his posture when he slouched during study sessions.

"I tell her you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met," he said. "And that includes her."

"I tell her you’re the smartest person I’ve ever met, and that includes her."

Brooke set her pen down. She looked at the table, then at the pastry box, then at a spot somewhere to the left of his ear.

"That answer is not tactically optimal," she said. "It may provoke your sister’s competitive instincts and prolong her investigation."

"It’s still the answer."

"Yes." Her voice came out smaller than usual. "I am choosing not to deduct points for it."

She asked the last three questions in a row, and he got two right and fumbled the one about annual franchise tax deadlines. She marked him down without mercy for that one, which he respected. When she finished, she tallied the page twice and then a third time.

"Six out of seven, which is eighty-five point seven percent," she said. "Your previous baseline was reading only sections four through seven, so this represents a substantial improvement."

"So I passed?"

"You passed." She opened the pastry box again, took out one almond croissant with two fingers, and set it on a napkin in front of her like a lab sample. "I will now eat this, and you will not watch me eat it, because being observed while eating is uncomfortable for me."

Jordan turned his chair to face the window. Behind him he heard paper tear and a small, soft sound that might have been a crunch or might have been a very happy sigh.

"This is extremely good," Brooke said to the back of his head. "Please note in your records that I said thank you, since I am saying it now."