He kept his face neutral. “Thank you, Julian. I appreciate it.”
The number landed like a stone in still water. Marcus did the math in his head instantly. 15% of revenue. A strong multiplier. Above the desk average. Respectable. Life-changing, even. But not the $2.5 million he’d dreamed about. Not the “home run” number that would let him pay cash for the house in Greenwich and still have enough left to angel-invest in his friend’s hedge fund. wall street paytime
“Fine,” Marcus lied.
Marcus stood, shook Julian’s hand, and walked back to his desk. His assistant, a sharp-eyed woman named Priya who had been at Sterling for fifteen years, handed him a cup of black coffee. “You okay?” she asked quietly. He kept his face neutral
Then he deleted it and wrote instead: Bonus cut. Tell you tonight. Marcus did the math in his head instantly
Marcus closed the door. “I want to talk about my future.”
The 44th floor was the firm’s crown jewel: a glass-walled conference room overlooking the Hudson River. By the time Marcus arrived, nearly two hundred people had packed in. The mood was electric and volatile. At the front stood Victoria Sterling, the 61-year-old CEO and granddaughter of the firm’s founder. She was a legend—ruthless, brilliant, and unpredictable.