The silence after Mr. Zhang's firing hung in the air. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers flexed once before he opened his desk drawer. He pulled out a thick file, and walked towards me, then dropped the file on my lap.
The way it landed on me made me flinch. I looked down at the file, then up at him, with confusion on my face.
"This is the proposal for the Shanghai Zenith acquisition. The numbers are wrong. Find the discrepancy." He said.
I stared at him, my mouth opening but no words coming out.
"I don't…what do you want me to…"
"Find the error." He turned away, already walking back to his desk. "You have time."
It wasn't a request. It was a command.
He then called someone.
"I read your memo. Here's what we're going to do..." He continued his call.
And just like that, I ceased to exist for him again.
I sat frozen on the sofa, the file in my lap while my husband discussed international trade agreements as if he hadn't just handed me an impossible task and walked away.
For a long moment, I just sat there, staring at the logo on the cover. Finally, I opened it. The first page was a cover letter to the board of directors, dated three days ago. I turned the page.
Executive Summary: Wang Corporation proposes to acquire Shanghai Zenith Holdings, a mid sized manufacturing and real estate concern, for 4.2 billion yuan. The acquisition would strengthen Wang's position in the manufacturing sector, provide valuable real estates.
I flipped through the pages, and the numbers swam before my eyes. Dense financial models with rows and columns stretching across full pages. Valuation analyses comparing Shanghai Zenith to five other companies. Historical performance data going back ten years. Projected cash flows extending five years into the future, with growth rates and margin assumptions.
Was this a setup? A way to humiliate me? To prove that despite my complaints about being decorative, I was actually useless for anything else?
I could already imagine it: me sitting here, staring blankly at numbers I didn't understand, eventually having to admit defeat. Asher's lack of surprise.
See? This is why I didn't involve you. This is why you sit quietly and look pretty while the adults handle business.
My hands trembled as I turned another page. The panic built in my chest. This was too complex.
And then I heard my father's voice, as clear as if he were standing beside me:
Your pretty head is for marrying well, not for numbers."
No. I wouldn't fail because they expected me to fail. I wouldn't prove them right.
I forced the panic down, forced my hands to stop shaking, and opened the file again with new eyes. I started from the beginning, but this time, I read with full focus.
Purchase price: 4.2 billion yuan, representing an 8.5x EBITDA multiple. I made a mental note of that multiple and kept reading. Revenue had grown from 1.8 billion yuan five years ago to 2.3 billion currently. Profit margins had been stable around 15% EBITDA.
Then I reached the forward projections, and my eye caught something.
The model projected aggressive growth: Year 1: 2.5 billion. Year 2: 2.7 billion. Year 3: 2.9 billion. Year 4: 3.2 billion. Year 5: 3.5 billion.
That was roughly 50% growth over five years which was more than the 30% growth over the previous five.
I flipped to the assumptions page. The growth was predicated on three factors: organic growth from existing products, revenue from new product lines, and synergies from integration with Wang Corporation's operations.
I pulled out the tablet Asher had given me and opened the calculator app, starting to work through the math.
Across the room, Asher's was busy in his work, and I focused on mine.
Year 1 looked fine. I kept going, working through Years 2, 3 and 4. Then I reached Year 5.
The model showed 3.5 billion in total revenue, broken down as:
- Core business revenue: 2.3 billion
- New product lines: 800 million
- Synergies: 600 million
- Total: 3.7 billion
I stopped, reread the numbers. The components added up to 3.7 billion, but the model summary showed 3.5 billion. A 200 million yuan discrepancy.
I flipped back and forth between pages, trying to understand where the difference came from. Was there a rounding adjustment? Then I found it.
Buried in the footnotes of the detailed Year 5 breakdown was a line item I'd initially skipped: "Revenue synergies from cross division sales."
I pulled up multiple pages side by side on the tablet. There it was: the cross selling revenue was being counted twice. I grabbed the calculator and started working.
My hands were shaking again, but this time not from panic but from the felling of knowing I was right. I looked at the clock. One hour and seven minutes had passed since Asher had dropped the file in my lap.
I stood slowly. This was it. The moment I either proved I was more than decoration or made a fool of myself trying.
I walked towards his desk. Asher was reviewing something on his screen. I stopped at the edge of his desk and waited, holding the file against my chest. He glanced up.
"Yes?"
"I found it."
His eyebrows rose.
"Show me."
I placed the file on his desk, opening it to the Year 5 projections. My finger pointed to the relevant lines, and I explained him everything clearly with proper calculations.
Asher's expression was completely unreadable as he looked down at the pages. He didn't speak, didn't move, just stared at the numbers.
Had I made a mistake? Misunderstood the model?
Finally, Asher looked up from the file, and looked at me. Then, slowly, his expression transformed into something I'd never seen before.
A smile.
Not the polite smile he used at business dinners, neither the practiced smile he used for cameras. It was a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.
"Well, well. It seems I've been overlooking a valuable asset."
The words sent a jolt through my chest. His eyes never left my face, and in them, I saw the moment everything between us shifted.
I'd shown him I was more than he thought. And from the look in his eyes, I had no idea what he planned to do with that knowledge. But for the first time since our marriage, I wasn't afraid of the answer.