26-05-2026, 05:12 AM
Chapter 107: Waymo who?
Scene 1
The conference room on the twenty-third floor of the SOMA tech building gleamed with expensive furniture and understated power. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered views of San Francisco Bay that would have commanded attention if the men around the table had been the type to be impressed by views. Selvam settled into the leather chair Summer had indicated, adjusting his cuffs with a practiced motion. The deal they were about to discuss was worth four hundred million dollars, but Selvam’s face showed nothing more than calm interest as the client representatives filed in through the glass doors.
Summer sat to his right, her laptop already open, fingers poised above the keyboard. Her confidence was visible in the set of her shoulders, the directness of her gaze as she nodded to each of the four men taking seats across the table. She had arranged this meeting... the culmination of three months of calls, demos, and preliminary negotiations. Selvam had been content to let her handle the details while he focused on perfecting the technology.
“This is Miles Chan, Chief Product Officer,” Summer said, nodding to the slim Asian man at the head of the table. “And his team: Derek Winters, Legal; James Chen, Engineering; and Alan Woodfield, Business Development.”
Selvam nodded to each man in turn, noting their reactions... Miles’s careful neutrality, Derek’s practiced smile, James’s genuine interest, Alan’s barely concealed eagerness. The hierarchy was clear even before anyone spoke.
“We’re excited about the potential here,” Miles began, his voice measured. “The measurement technology your team has developed represents a significant advancement in retail personalization.” He gestured, and a display on the far wall lit up with graphs and figures. “Our modeling suggests integration with our platform could increase conversion by as much as thirty percent while reducing returns by half.”
Summer typed a quick note, her eyes moving between the screen and Miles’s face. Selvam remained still, his expression giving nothing away. The numbers were impressive... better than their internal projections... but he had learned long ago that the first offer was rarely the best one.
“Our user base is eighteen million and growing,” Miles continued. “We have the infrastructure to scale this integration immediately. With the holiday season approaching, timing is crucial.” He paused, looking directly at Selvam. “We’ve prepared an initial offer of one hundred seventy million for exclusive licensing rights.”
The room went quiet. Summer’s typing paused, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. One hundred seventy was solid... respectable... but nowhere near the four hundred they had discussed as a ceiling. Selvam leaned forward slightly, his first movement since the presentation began.
“That’s significantly lower than our valuation,” he said, his tone neutral. “I’m curious about the methodology behind your calculation.”
Miles glanced at Alan, who stepped in smoothly. “We based it on comparable acquisitions in the space, adjusted for your IP portfolio and market position.” Alan smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Of course, we’re open to discussion. This is just a starting point.”
Summer’s fingers moved across the keyboard, typing a note Selvam couldn’t read. He kept his eyes on Alan, noting the slight tension in the man’s jaw, the too-quick smile. Pressure was coming... Selvam had seen it too many times not to recognize the signs.
“We have another meeting scheduled with Quantix this afternoon,” Alan continued, his voice taking on a practiced casualness. “They’ve expressed strong interest in similar technology. Their user base is smaller, of course, but their offer is... competitive.”
The threat hung in the air... take our lowball offer or risk losing everything to a competitor. Summer’s typing had stopped completely. Selvam sat perfectly still, his eyes on Alan’s face, saying nothing.
One second passed. Two. Three. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy. Alan’s smile began to falter. His eyes darted to Miles, then back to Selvam.
“Though of course we believe our platform represents the best fit,” Alan added, his voice less sure. “Our integration capabilities are unmatched in the industry.”
Still, Selvam said nothing. His expression remained calm, attentive, giving away nothing of his thoughts. Five seconds. Six. Seven.
“We might be able to improve our offer,” Miles said finally, breaking the silence. “Given the unique aspects of your technology.”
Selvam nodded slightly. “I’d be interested to hear how you arrived at the one-seventy,” he said. “Specifically, which comparables you used and how you adjusted for our patent position.”
The question landed like a stone in still water. Miles blinked, momentarily thrown. “Our legal team handled that analysis,” he said, glancing at Derek.
Derek leaned forward. “We looked at the Merry acquisition last year, the Clover buyout, and the FitMe licensing deal from Q2. Adjusted for your narrower application but stronger IP.”
“Interesting,” Selvam said. “Those were all B2C plays with limited patent protection. We have seventeen patents filed and eight granted, all in the measurement space, with applications across B2B, B2C, and potentially B2G.” He paused. “Did your model account for the DoD interest we’ve received?”
The room went quiet again. Summer’s head came up sharply, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. The DoD interest was real... a preliminary inquiry, nothing more... but Selvam had mentioned it only to her, in strictest confidence.
Miles recovered first. “We weren’t aware of that development,” he said, his tone carefully controlled. “That would certainly change our valuation approach.”
“I thought it might,” Selvam said mildly.
The meeting shifted then, the balance of power visibly tilting. Miles leaned forward, his casual confidence replaced by focused intensity. “We’d need to see the correspondence, of course,” he said. “But if you’re open to sharing that, we could revisit our numbers.”
“Three fifty,” Summer said suddenly, her first words since the introductions. “Minimum.”
Miles didn’t flinch. “Three hundred,” he countered. “With performance bonuses up to four twenty if conversion targets are met.”
“Three twenty-five,” Selvam said. “Cash at signing. Performance metrics to be negotiated separately.”
Miles held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Three twenty-five,” he agreed. “With a thirty-day due diligence period.”
“Two weeks,” Selvam replied.
“Three,” Miles said. “With accelerated payment if we confirm the DoD interest.”
Selvam considered, then nodded. “Acceptable.”
The handshake that followed carried a particular warmth... the genuine respect of men who had tested each other and found worthy opponents. Derek and James were already pulling out documents, the discussion turning to timelines and integration points. Summer’s typing resumed, faster now, her eyes bright with suppressed excitement.
As the meeting wrapped up twenty minutes later, Miles paused beside Selvam’s chair. “That was well played,” he said quietly. “The DoD mention. Very effective.”
Selvam smiled slightly. “I find honesty usually is,” he said.
Miles laughed, the sound genuine. “Next time I’ll remember that.” He shook Selvam’s hand again, firmer this time. “Looking forward to working with you.”
Summer waited until the client team had left the room before turning to Selvam, her expression a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “You didn’t say more than ten sentences the entire meeting,” she said. “And you just moved them forty million dollars.”
Selvam gathered his notes, his movements unhurried. “They moved themselves,” he said. “I just provided the right questions.”
Summer closed her laptop slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. “That’s not what I saw,” she said. “What I saw was a man who didn’t need to say a word to have the entire room doing exactly what he wanted.” She paused. “I’ve sat through hundreds of meetings with founders and VCs and tech bros who talk and talk and never actually say anything. That wasn’t what just happened here.”
Selvam shrugged, a small movement of his shoulders. “The deal’s not done yet,” he said. “We still have due diligence and contract terms.”
Summer stood, slipping her laptop into her bag. “That deal is done,” she said confidently. “They’re just figuring out how to sign the paperwork without looking like they got played.” Her smile widened. “And now we have three hours before the office tour. Lunch?”
Selvam nodded, already moving toward the door. Behind them, the conference room stood empty, the leather chairs still warm, the view of the bay unchanged. But something had shifted in the space... a new current of awareness, of possibility. Summer walked half a step behind Selvam, watching the set of his shoulders, the confident stride that carried him through the glass doors and into whatever came next.
Scene 2
The Peruvian restaurant sat tucked between a software consultancy and a microbrewery, its narrow storefront marked only by a hand-painted sign. Summer pushed open the door with practiced ease, leading Selvam into a space that smelled of citrus and spice and fresh herbs. The lunch crowd had thinned, leaving just three other tables occupied... tech workers with laptops open beside plates of ceviche, a pair of women in business attire sharing a bottle of sparkling water, an older man reading a physical newspaper over a half-empty plate.
“I found this place last year,” Summer said, sliding into a booth by the window. “The owner’s from Lima. He opened it after working at Google for five years. Said he got tired of explaining Peruvian food to people who thought it was just Mexican with different spices.”
Selvam settled across from her, his eyes moving over the room... the exposed brick walls hung with black and white photographs of Lima, the copper pans gleaming behind the bar, the single chef visible through the kitchen pass, his movements quick and precise. “It’s not what I expected,” he said.
“That’s why I like it,” Summer replied. “No pretense. No trying to be the next big thing. Just good food and decent lighting.” She handed him a menu printed on heavy cardstock. “The ceviche is amazing. So is the lomo saltado if you’re in the mood for something hot.”
A server appeared, her smile genuine as she set down two glasses of water. “What can I get you started with?”
They ordered... ceviche for Summer, lomo saltado for Selvam, sparkling water for both. The server nodded and disappeared back toward the kitchen, leaving them in a moment of comfortable silence.
“That was impressive,” Summer said finally, breaking the quiet. “Back there. I’ve sat through a hundred client meetings, and I’ve never seen anyone move a negotiation that way.” She leaned forward slightly. “How did you learn to do that? Business college? Some fancy negotiation course?”
Selvam considered the question, his fingers tracing the rim of his water glass. The truth was complicated... years of experience layered on experience, lessons learned through failure and observation and the simple passage of time. But Summer deserved honesty, not the polished version he might give an investor or journalist.
“It came from raising Ashok alone,” he said finally. “And from running fitness sessions in that park in Chennai, where no one had to show up.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You learn to speak in a way that makes people want to stay in the room, or you learn to be comfortable when they leave it.”
Summer set her fork down, her eyes on his face. “That’s the most useful thing I’ve heard anyone say about leadership in two years of working in tech,” she said, her voice serious.
Selvam looked up, mildly surprised. “I was talking about a park in Chennai,” he said. “Not leadership.”
Summer shook her head. “I know what I heard,” she said firmly.
Their food arrived then... Summer’s ceviche arranged in an artful spiral, the fish translucent white against the bright orange of the leche de tigre; Selvam’s lomo saltado steaming, the beef tender and glistening with sauce. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the flavors bright and complex on their tongues.
“Ashok mentioned you’ve been running those sessions for twenty years,” Summer said between bites. “That’s a long time to watch people show up when they don’t have to.”
Selvam nodded. “Some of them have been coming since they were children. Now they bring their own children.” He smiled slightly. “It creates a different kind of obligation than a contract or a salary.”
Summer studied him across the table, her expression thoughtful. “Is that why you sold the first company? The one in Chennai? Because it stopped feeling like people were choosing to be there?”
The question hit closer to home than Selvam had expected. He set his fork down, considering his answer. “It stopped being what I built it to be,” he said finally. “Started being about growth and valuation and expansion into markets I didn’t understand.” He shrugged. “I could have stayed, taken the money, watched it become something else. Or I could step aside, let someone else run it, and start something new.”
“And you chose to start something new,” Summer said. “With Ashok. And eventually with me.”
Selvam nodded. “With people who choose to be there,” he agreed.
Summer’s smile widened. “Well,” she said, raising her water glass in a small toast, “I choose to be here. For the record.”
They finished lunch with easy conversation... Summer describing her previous startup experiences, Selvam sharing stories about Chennai that made her laugh. Outside, the afternoon had warmed, the spring sunlight bright against the buildings. They paid the check... Summer insisting it was on her company card... and stepped back onto the sidewalk.
“The next showing is in twenty minutes,” Summer said, checking her phone. “Embarcadero area. We should grab a Waymo.”
The autonomous taxi arrived three minutes later, a sleek black vehicle with no driver and a small screen displaying their destination. They settled into the back seat, the car pulling smoothly into traffic.
“It’s weird at first,” Summer said, noticing Selvam’s careful observation of the empty driver’s seat. “But you get used to it. The algorithms are actually better than most human drivers at this point. Fewer accidents, more consistent speed.”
Selvam nodded, his eyes on the city passing outside the window. “It’s efficient,” he agreed. “If somewhat...”
“Impersonal?” Summer supplied.
“I was going to say unnecessary,” Selvam replied. “In Chennai, we have drivers. Real people who know the streets, who can tell you which market has the best mangoes, which temple is worth visiting on which day.” He shrugged. “But yes, impersonal works too.”
Summer laughed. “Well, this impersonal algorithm is taking us to see some very expensive office space, so let’s hope it knows where it’s going.”
The Waymo deposited them in front of a gleaming glass tower in the Embarcadero district, its façade reflecting the afternoon sun. A man in a tailored suit waited by the entrance, his smile professional as he extended his hand.
“Summer Hamilton? Richard Keller, Bay Area Commercial Realty. You must be Mr. Chandran.” His handshake was firm, his eyes assessing. “I’ve prepared three properties for your review today, all within your specified parameters. Shall we start with the penthouse level? It has the views you mentioned were a priority.”
The tour moved at Richard’s pace... quick, practiced, designed to showcase the most impressive features first. The penthouse space spanned the entire top floor, floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the bay. Richard pointed out the executive bathroom with its marble countertops, the private terrace accessible through sliding glass doors, the state-of-the-art conference room with its embedded technology.
“Completely renovated last year,” Richard said, his voice carrying the particular cadence of a man reciting a well-practiced script. “The previous tenant was a crypto exchange that went under after the FTX collapse. Their loss, really. The space was designed by Nakamura himself... you might have seen his work in the Apple store downtown.”
Selvam moved through the space at his own pace, ignoring Richard’s timeline. He tested the water pressure in the bathroom sink, examined the electrical outlets with careful attention, ran his hand along the baseboard where it met the carpet.
“What’s the subfloor situation?” he asked. “Concrete or raised?”
Richard blinked, thrown by the question. “Ah, concrete, I believe. With radiant heating throughout.”
Selvam nodded, moving to the window. “And the load-bearing capacity? For server racks?”
“We’d have to check the building specs,” Richard said, recovering. “But these are Class A offices. They’re designed for tech companies.”
The second property was in Mission District, a converted warehouse with exposed brick and steel beams. Richard’s pitch had adjusted slightly, now emphasizing the “authentic character“ and “creative energy” of the space. Selvam asked about ventilation systems, emergency exits, and lease break clauses... none of which were glamorous questions but all of which were exactly the right ones.
Summer watched the exchange with growing interest, noting how Richard’s polished presentation faltered each time Selvam asked about something practical rather than prestigious. By the third property... a mid-rise in SoMa with a rooftop terrace... Richard had abandoned his script entirely, answering Selvam’s questions directly without the flourishes.
“This one has the best infrastructure,” he admitted. “Fiber already run, backup generators, the works. The previous tenant was a biotech firm that got acquired. They left most of the lab equipment... it’s all yours if you want it.”
They stood on the rooftop terrace, the city spread out around them. Richard checked his watch... a quick, practiced movement... then turned to Selvam with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I should mention there’s another party very interested in this space,” he said. “A crypto mining operation looking to expand. They’ve asked for a second showing tomorrow, and they’re prepared to move quickly.” He shrugged, the gesture calculated to appear casual. “The market’s quite competitive right now. Properties like this don’t stay available long.”
Selvam nodded, his expression giving nothing away. “Thank you for your time today,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Something in Richard’s posture changed... a subtle loosening of his shoulders, a softening around his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Take your time. The building owner is quite flexible on terms. And the lab equipment is really first-rate.”
They rode the elevator down in companionable silence, Richard having abandoned his pitch entirely. At the building’s entrance, he shook their hands with genuine warmth. “It was a pleasure showing you the properties,” he said. “Please don’t hesitate to call with any questions. Any at all.”
Outside, the afternoon had begun its slow slide toward evening, the light golden against the glass facades. Summer fell into step beside Selvam as they walked down the front steps.
“I’m going to start using that exact move in every negotiation I have for the rest of my career,” she said quietly. “Just ‘thank you for your time’ and nothing else. It’s brilliant.”
Selvam glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “It only works if you mean it,” he said.
Summer nodded. “I know.”
“That’s the hard part,” Selvam replied.
They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city around them... cars passing, a bus hissing to a stop, someone laughing into a phone. Summer’s shoulder brushed Selvam’s as they navigated around a group of tourists consulting a map.
“The first space was better,” she said finally. “The penthouse. For the optics, if nothing else. Investors like views.”
Selvam considered this. “The second one,” he said. “With the exposed brick. Better airflow, more natural light, lower operating costs.” He paused. “And it felt like a place where actual work could happen, not just meetings about work.”
Summer laughed, the sound bright in the afternoon air. “You realize most founders would kill for that penthouse, right? The one with Nakamura’s name on the design documents?”
“I’m not most founders,” Selvam said simply.
Summer looked at him... really looked at him... taking in the set of his shoulders, the calm certainty in his eyes. “No,” she agreed. “You’re really not.”
Scene 3
They walked back to where Summer had parked her car, a sleek red Panamera GTS tucked into a pay-by-phone spot two blocks from the last office showing. The afternoon had begun its slow fade toward evening, the light softening as it slanted between buildings. Selvam’s phone had buzzed three times during their walk... once with a text from Ashok, twice with notifications from the fitness app he still monitored despite having sold the company... but he had let them go unanswered. Some conversations deserved his full attention.
“You should think about getting a car,” Summer said, unlocking the Panamera with a tap of her phone. “Now that you’re splitting time between Los Gatos and the city. The villa’s beautiful, but it’s not exactly walking distance from anything.”
Selvam nodded, considering. “I’ve been looking at the Waymo autonomous taxis,” he said. “They seem more practical than owning a vehicle in a city I don’t yet know.”
Summer laughed, the sound bright in the quiet street. “Waymo doesn’t run all the way to Los Gatos,” she said. “Their service area stops at Mountain View. So your autonomous car plan has a pretty significant geographic problem.”
Selvam frowned slightly. “I hadn’t checked the service area,” he admitted.
“It’s fine,” Summer said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive you home. It’s on my way.”
He accepted without the performance of protest that Summer had expected... no “I couldn’t possibly” or “You’ve done enough already,” just a simple nod and “Thank you” as he settled into the passenger seat. The Panamera hummed to life, the dashboard lighting up with a constellation of icons and indicators.
“Home to Los Gatos,” Summer told the navigation system. The car’s display flashed acknowledgment, then projected their route onto the windshield... highway 280 south, then the surface streets that would take them to Selvam’s villa.
They pulled into traffic, merging smoothly with the late afternoon flow. Summer drove with confident ease, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the climate control. Selvam watched the city slide past the windows... the tall buildings giving way to smaller storefronts, then to the rolling hills that marked the transition from urban to something approaching suburban.
“I’ve been thinking about the app’s next phase,” Summer said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “If the four hundred million comes through... and after today, I’m pretty sure it will... we’ll have more than enough to fund the boutique side of Vanitha’s business independently.” She glanced at Selvam. “No more need for the house money. She could keep everything separate if that’s what she wants.”
Selvam nodded, considering. “She mentioned wanting to expand the studio,” he said. “Hire another videographer, maybe bring on a dedicated social media person.” His lips curved in a small smile. “Though I think Ashok’s already handling most of that. He’s quite good at it.”
“The Instagram growth has been impressive,” Summer agreed. “Three million new followers in the last month alone. At this rate, she’ll hit a 24 million by year-end.” She paused. “You know shed doesn’t even need her Instagram anymore.”
Selvam’s smile widened. “That’s her passion, I’m glad her boutique dream came true.”
“She does love engaging with her follower and the Boutique is doing amazing because of her instagram and the measurement app.” She changed lanes, the car responding smoothly to her touch. “Her business alone is going to generate several millions every year.”
They drove in silence for a moment, the late afternoon light moving across the hills in long golden beams. Selvam watched the landscape change... the dense urban core giving way to the more spacious outskirts, then to the rolling countryside that marked the approach to Silicon Valley. The transition was gradual but unmistakable, like watching one idea transform into another.
“We should look into building our own company to do what Waymo can’t,” Selvam said casually. “If they can’t run from San Francisco to Los Gatos, we should create something that fills that gap.”
Summer’s head turned sharply, her eyes leaving the road for just a moment. “You’re serious,” she said, not a question.
Selvam nodded. “The market’s clearly there. The technology exists. It’s just a matter of implementation and scaling.” He shrugged. “We have the team, the funding, the connections. Why not?”
Summer was quiet for a moment, considering. “What would we call it?” she asked finally.
Selvam thought for less than five seconds. “Vanmmer,” he said. “Vanitha and Summer.”
The car’s tires hit a small bump in the road, the slight jolt breaking the moment. Summer’s hands tightened on the wheel, then relaxed. “That’s not bad,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Catchy. Memorable.”
“It has potential,” Selvam agreed.
They drove in silence after that, the conversation turning to lighter topics... a new restaurant Summer had discovered in Palo Alto, Selvam’s plans for the olive grove between the two villas, Ashok’s latest coding breakthrough. The miles passed beneath them, the landscape opening up as they left the city behind.
Summer pulled into the villa’s driveway forty minutes later, the Panamera’s tires crunching softly on the gravel. She cut the engine but left the headlights on, their beams cutting through the gathering dusk to illuminate the front steps. The olive grove between the villas caught the last of the light, the gnarled trunks and silver-green leaves glowing with an almost supernatural brightness.
“Thanks for the ride,” Selvam said, his hand already on the door handle.
Summer turned to him, her profile sharp against the darkening sky. “Are you going to invite me in?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.
The air between them changed... charged, suddenly, with possibility. Selvam turned to look at her directly, the same unhurried attention he had given the negotiating table and the real estate agent and the park in Chennai. His eyes met hers without flinching, without the performative desire that Summer had come to expect from men in these moments.
“I’m not going to do that tonight,” he said. The words carried no apology, no cruelty... just simple honesty. “I had a good day with you. One of the better days I’ve had in a long time.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to spend the end of it the way we’ve spent other evenings. Those evenings are easy. This day was something different. I want to let it be different.”
Summer stared at him, her eyes wide. Then she exhaled a long, slow breath, her shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly. “That is the most frustrating and most decent thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it.
“I’m sorry about the frustrating part,” Selvam said.
Summer shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said firmly. “Really. Don’t.”
He nodded, accepting this. Then, with a movement so slight Summer almost missed it, he reached across the center console and touched her hand... just once, just briefly, his fingers warm against her skin. “Thank you for today,” he said. “All of it.”
Then he was gone, the car door closing behind him with a soft click. Summer watched him walk to the front door, his silhouette dark against the villa’s warm stone. The olive trees cast long shadows across the driveway, their branches moving slightly in the evening breeze. Selvam’s key turned in the lock, the door swung open, and then he was inside, the warm light from the entryway spilling across the threshold before the door closed again.
Summer sat in the driveway for a long moment, the Panamera’s engine silent, the headlights still cutting their twin beams through the gathering dark. She didn’t reach for the radio, didn’t check her phone, didn’t do any of the dozen small things that might have filled the sudden quiet. Instead, she let herself sit with the feeling... the particular weight of being seen, really seen, by someone who had no need to perform desire or virtue or anything else for her benefit.
She had been around men who used restraint as a performance... who held back not out of genuine consideration but as a calculated move to make themselves more desirable. She knew what that looked like, had encountered it often enough to recognize the particular cadence of their voices, the careful construction of their words. This was not that. Selvam’s restraint came from the same place as his silence in the negotiation room: a man who knew what he wanted and was willing to wait for the right conditions rather than take the available substitute.
The distinction mattered to Summer in a way she was still working out as her headlights swept through the California dark toward home. And on top of that, he casually suggested they should build a company to compete with Waymo... Google’s years of engineering and research investment. His confidence rubbed against her, a pleasant friction that warmed her from the inside out.
As she pulled onto the main road, Summer found herself smiling. Tomorrow she would look into the autonomous vehicle market, would research the patents and the players and the possibilities. Tonight, she would let herself sit with the simple, complicated fact of having been seen... really seen... by someone who asked for nothing in return but the truth.
The road stretched before her, familiar and unknown all at once. Summer pressed the accelerator gently, feeling the Panamera respond with smooth precision. Whatever came next... the licensing deal, the office space, the potential of a company called Vanmmer... she would face it with the same clear-eyed confidence Selvam had shown in that conference room. The same willingness to wait for what was right rather than settle for what was available.
The night deepened around her, stars appearing one by one in the darkening sky. Summer drove with careful attention, her eyes on the road ahead, her mind already full of possibilities.
Scene 1
The conference room on the twenty-third floor of the SOMA tech building gleamed with expensive furniture and understated power. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered views of San Francisco Bay that would have commanded attention if the men around the table had been the type to be impressed by views. Selvam settled into the leather chair Summer had indicated, adjusting his cuffs with a practiced motion. The deal they were about to discuss was worth four hundred million dollars, but Selvam’s face showed nothing more than calm interest as the client representatives filed in through the glass doors.
Summer sat to his right, her laptop already open, fingers poised above the keyboard. Her confidence was visible in the set of her shoulders, the directness of her gaze as she nodded to each of the four men taking seats across the table. She had arranged this meeting... the culmination of three months of calls, demos, and preliminary negotiations. Selvam had been content to let her handle the details while he focused on perfecting the technology.
“This is Miles Chan, Chief Product Officer,” Summer said, nodding to the slim Asian man at the head of the table. “And his team: Derek Winters, Legal; James Chen, Engineering; and Alan Woodfield, Business Development.”
Selvam nodded to each man in turn, noting their reactions... Miles’s careful neutrality, Derek’s practiced smile, James’s genuine interest, Alan’s barely concealed eagerness. The hierarchy was clear even before anyone spoke.
“We’re excited about the potential here,” Miles began, his voice measured. “The measurement technology your team has developed represents a significant advancement in retail personalization.” He gestured, and a display on the far wall lit up with graphs and figures. “Our modeling suggests integration with our platform could increase conversion by as much as thirty percent while reducing returns by half.”
Summer typed a quick note, her eyes moving between the screen and Miles’s face. Selvam remained still, his expression giving nothing away. The numbers were impressive... better than their internal projections... but he had learned long ago that the first offer was rarely the best one.
“Our user base is eighteen million and growing,” Miles continued. “We have the infrastructure to scale this integration immediately. With the holiday season approaching, timing is crucial.” He paused, looking directly at Selvam. “We’ve prepared an initial offer of one hundred seventy million for exclusive licensing rights.”
The room went quiet. Summer’s typing paused, her fingers hovering above the keyboard. One hundred seventy was solid... respectable... but nowhere near the four hundred they had discussed as a ceiling. Selvam leaned forward slightly, his first movement since the presentation began.
“That’s significantly lower than our valuation,” he said, his tone neutral. “I’m curious about the methodology behind your calculation.”
Miles glanced at Alan, who stepped in smoothly. “We based it on comparable acquisitions in the space, adjusted for your IP portfolio and market position.” Alan smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. “Of course, we’re open to discussion. This is just a starting point.”
Summer’s fingers moved across the keyboard, typing a note Selvam couldn’t read. He kept his eyes on Alan, noting the slight tension in the man’s jaw, the too-quick smile. Pressure was coming... Selvam had seen it too many times not to recognize the signs.
“We have another meeting scheduled with Quantix this afternoon,” Alan continued, his voice taking on a practiced casualness. “They’ve expressed strong interest in similar technology. Their user base is smaller, of course, but their offer is... competitive.”
The threat hung in the air... take our lowball offer or risk losing everything to a competitor. Summer’s typing had stopped completely. Selvam sat perfectly still, his eyes on Alan’s face, saying nothing.
One second passed. Two. Three. The silence stretched, uncomfortable and heavy. Alan’s smile began to falter. His eyes darted to Miles, then back to Selvam.
“Though of course we believe our platform represents the best fit,” Alan added, his voice less sure. “Our integration capabilities are unmatched in the industry.”
Still, Selvam said nothing. His expression remained calm, attentive, giving away nothing of his thoughts. Five seconds. Six. Seven.
“We might be able to improve our offer,” Miles said finally, breaking the silence. “Given the unique aspects of your technology.”
Selvam nodded slightly. “I’d be interested to hear how you arrived at the one-seventy,” he said. “Specifically, which comparables you used and how you adjusted for our patent position.”
The question landed like a stone in still water. Miles blinked, momentarily thrown. “Our legal team handled that analysis,” he said, glancing at Derek.
Derek leaned forward. “We looked at the Merry acquisition last year, the Clover buyout, and the FitMe licensing deal from Q2. Adjusted for your narrower application but stronger IP.”
“Interesting,” Selvam said. “Those were all B2C plays with limited patent protection. We have seventeen patents filed and eight granted, all in the measurement space, with applications across B2B, B2C, and potentially B2G.” He paused. “Did your model account for the DoD interest we’ve received?”
The room went quiet again. Summer’s head came up sharply, her eyes widening almost imperceptibly. The DoD interest was real... a preliminary inquiry, nothing more... but Selvam had mentioned it only to her, in strictest confidence.
Miles recovered first. “We weren’t aware of that development,” he said, his tone carefully controlled. “That would certainly change our valuation approach.”
“I thought it might,” Selvam said mildly.
The meeting shifted then, the balance of power visibly tilting. Miles leaned forward, his casual confidence replaced by focused intensity. “We’d need to see the correspondence, of course,” he said. “But if you’re open to sharing that, we could revisit our numbers.”
“Three fifty,” Summer said suddenly, her first words since the introductions. “Minimum.”
Miles didn’t flinch. “Three hundred,” he countered. “With performance bonuses up to four twenty if conversion targets are met.”
“Three twenty-five,” Selvam said. “Cash at signing. Performance metrics to be negotiated separately.”
Miles held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “Three twenty-five,” he agreed. “With a thirty-day due diligence period.”
“Two weeks,” Selvam replied.
“Three,” Miles said. “With accelerated payment if we confirm the DoD interest.”
Selvam considered, then nodded. “Acceptable.”
The handshake that followed carried a particular warmth... the genuine respect of men who had tested each other and found worthy opponents. Derek and James were already pulling out documents, the discussion turning to timelines and integration points. Summer’s typing resumed, faster now, her eyes bright with suppressed excitement.
As the meeting wrapped up twenty minutes later, Miles paused beside Selvam’s chair. “That was well played,” he said quietly. “The DoD mention. Very effective.”
Selvam smiled slightly. “I find honesty usually is,” he said.
Miles laughed, the sound genuine. “Next time I’ll remember that.” He shook Selvam’s hand again, firmer this time. “Looking forward to working with you.”
Summer waited until the client team had left the room before turning to Selvam, her expression a mixture of admiration and disbelief. “You didn’t say more than ten sentences the entire meeting,” she said. “And you just moved them forty million dollars.”
Selvam gathered his notes, his movements unhurried. “They moved themselves,” he said. “I just provided the right questions.”
Summer closed her laptop slowly, her eyes never leaving his face. “That’s not what I saw,” she said. “What I saw was a man who didn’t need to say a word to have the entire room doing exactly what he wanted.” She paused. “I’ve sat through hundreds of meetings with founders and VCs and tech bros who talk and talk and never actually say anything. That wasn’t what just happened here.”
Selvam shrugged, a small movement of his shoulders. “The deal’s not done yet,” he said. “We still have due diligence and contract terms.”
Summer stood, slipping her laptop into her bag. “That deal is done,” she said confidently. “They’re just figuring out how to sign the paperwork without looking like they got played.” Her smile widened. “And now we have three hours before the office tour. Lunch?”
Selvam nodded, already moving toward the door. Behind them, the conference room stood empty, the leather chairs still warm, the view of the bay unchanged. But something had shifted in the space... a new current of awareness, of possibility. Summer walked half a step behind Selvam, watching the set of his shoulders, the confident stride that carried him through the glass doors and into whatever came next.
Scene 2
The Peruvian restaurant sat tucked between a software consultancy and a microbrewery, its narrow storefront marked only by a hand-painted sign. Summer pushed open the door with practiced ease, leading Selvam into a space that smelled of citrus and spice and fresh herbs. The lunch crowd had thinned, leaving just three other tables occupied... tech workers with laptops open beside plates of ceviche, a pair of women in business attire sharing a bottle of sparkling water, an older man reading a physical newspaper over a half-empty plate.
“I found this place last year,” Summer said, sliding into a booth by the window. “The owner’s from Lima. He opened it after working at Google for five years. Said he got tired of explaining Peruvian food to people who thought it was just Mexican with different spices.”
Selvam settled across from her, his eyes moving over the room... the exposed brick walls hung with black and white photographs of Lima, the copper pans gleaming behind the bar, the single chef visible through the kitchen pass, his movements quick and precise. “It’s not what I expected,” he said.
“That’s why I like it,” Summer replied. “No pretense. No trying to be the next big thing. Just good food and decent lighting.” She handed him a menu printed on heavy cardstock. “The ceviche is amazing. So is the lomo saltado if you’re in the mood for something hot.”
A server appeared, her smile genuine as she set down two glasses of water. “What can I get you started with?”
They ordered... ceviche for Summer, lomo saltado for Selvam, sparkling water for both. The server nodded and disappeared back toward the kitchen, leaving them in a moment of comfortable silence.
“That was impressive,” Summer said finally, breaking the quiet. “Back there. I’ve sat through a hundred client meetings, and I’ve never seen anyone move a negotiation that way.” She leaned forward slightly. “How did you learn to do that? Business college? Some fancy negotiation course?”
Selvam considered the question, his fingers tracing the rim of his water glass. The truth was complicated... years of experience layered on experience, lessons learned through failure and observation and the simple passage of time. But Summer deserved honesty, not the polished version he might give an investor or journalist.
“It came from raising Ashok alone,” he said finally. “And from running fitness sessions in that park in Chennai, where no one had to show up.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “You learn to speak in a way that makes people want to stay in the room, or you learn to be comfortable when they leave it.”
Summer set her fork down, her eyes on his face. “That’s the most useful thing I’ve heard anyone say about leadership in two years of working in tech,” she said, her voice serious.
Selvam looked up, mildly surprised. “I was talking about a park in Chennai,” he said. “Not leadership.”
Summer shook her head. “I know what I heard,” she said firmly.
Their food arrived then... Summer’s ceviche arranged in an artful spiral, the fish translucent white against the bright orange of the leche de tigre; Selvam’s lomo saltado steaming, the beef tender and glistening with sauce. They ate in companionable silence for a few minutes, the flavors bright and complex on their tongues.
“Ashok mentioned you’ve been running those sessions for twenty years,” Summer said between bites. “That’s a long time to watch people show up when they don’t have to.”
Selvam nodded. “Some of them have been coming since they were children. Now they bring their own children.” He smiled slightly. “It creates a different kind of obligation than a contract or a salary.”
Summer studied him across the table, her expression thoughtful. “Is that why you sold the first company? The one in Chennai? Because it stopped feeling like people were choosing to be there?”
The question hit closer to home than Selvam had expected. He set his fork down, considering his answer. “It stopped being what I built it to be,” he said finally. “Started being about growth and valuation and expansion into markets I didn’t understand.” He shrugged. “I could have stayed, taken the money, watched it become something else. Or I could step aside, let someone else run it, and start something new.”
“And you chose to start something new,” Summer said. “With Ashok. And eventually with me.”
Selvam nodded. “With people who choose to be there,” he agreed.
Summer’s smile widened. “Well,” she said, raising her water glass in a small toast, “I choose to be here. For the record.”
They finished lunch with easy conversation... Summer describing her previous startup experiences, Selvam sharing stories about Chennai that made her laugh. Outside, the afternoon had warmed, the spring sunlight bright against the buildings. They paid the check... Summer insisting it was on her company card... and stepped back onto the sidewalk.
“The next showing is in twenty minutes,” Summer said, checking her phone. “Embarcadero area. We should grab a Waymo.”
The autonomous taxi arrived three minutes later, a sleek black vehicle with no driver and a small screen displaying their destination. They settled into the back seat, the car pulling smoothly into traffic.
“It’s weird at first,” Summer said, noticing Selvam’s careful observation of the empty driver’s seat. “But you get used to it. The algorithms are actually better than most human drivers at this point. Fewer accidents, more consistent speed.”
Selvam nodded, his eyes on the city passing outside the window. “It’s efficient,” he agreed. “If somewhat...”
“Impersonal?” Summer supplied.
“I was going to say unnecessary,” Selvam replied. “In Chennai, we have drivers. Real people who know the streets, who can tell you which market has the best mangoes, which temple is worth visiting on which day.” He shrugged. “But yes, impersonal works too.”
Summer laughed. “Well, this impersonal algorithm is taking us to see some very expensive office space, so let’s hope it knows where it’s going.”
The Waymo deposited them in front of a gleaming glass tower in the Embarcadero district, its façade reflecting the afternoon sun. A man in a tailored suit waited by the entrance, his smile professional as he extended his hand.
“Summer Hamilton? Richard Keller, Bay Area Commercial Realty. You must be Mr. Chandran.” His handshake was firm, his eyes assessing. “I’ve prepared three properties for your review today, all within your specified parameters. Shall we start with the penthouse level? It has the views you mentioned were a priority.”
The tour moved at Richard’s pace... quick, practiced, designed to showcase the most impressive features first. The penthouse space spanned the entire top floor, floor-to-ceiling windows offering panoramic views of the bay. Richard pointed out the executive bathroom with its marble countertops, the private terrace accessible through sliding glass doors, the state-of-the-art conference room with its embedded technology.
“Completely renovated last year,” Richard said, his voice carrying the particular cadence of a man reciting a well-practiced script. “The previous tenant was a crypto exchange that went under after the FTX collapse. Their loss, really. The space was designed by Nakamura himself... you might have seen his work in the Apple store downtown.”
Selvam moved through the space at his own pace, ignoring Richard’s timeline. He tested the water pressure in the bathroom sink, examined the electrical outlets with careful attention, ran his hand along the baseboard where it met the carpet.
“What’s the subfloor situation?” he asked. “Concrete or raised?”
Richard blinked, thrown by the question. “Ah, concrete, I believe. With radiant heating throughout.”
Selvam nodded, moving to the window. “And the load-bearing capacity? For server racks?”
“We’d have to check the building specs,” Richard said, recovering. “But these are Class A offices. They’re designed for tech companies.”
The second property was in Mission District, a converted warehouse with exposed brick and steel beams. Richard’s pitch had adjusted slightly, now emphasizing the “authentic character“ and “creative energy” of the space. Selvam asked about ventilation systems, emergency exits, and lease break clauses... none of which were glamorous questions but all of which were exactly the right ones.
Summer watched the exchange with growing interest, noting how Richard’s polished presentation faltered each time Selvam asked about something practical rather than prestigious. By the third property... a mid-rise in SoMa with a rooftop terrace... Richard had abandoned his script entirely, answering Selvam’s questions directly without the flourishes.
“This one has the best infrastructure,” he admitted. “Fiber already run, backup generators, the works. The previous tenant was a biotech firm that got acquired. They left most of the lab equipment... it’s all yours if you want it.”
They stood on the rooftop terrace, the city spread out around them. Richard checked his watch... a quick, practiced movement... then turned to Selvam with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I should mention there’s another party very interested in this space,” he said. “A crypto mining operation looking to expand. They’ve asked for a second showing tomorrow, and they’re prepared to move quickly.” He shrugged, the gesture calculated to appear casual. “The market’s quite competitive right now. Properties like this don’t stay available long.”
Selvam nodded, his expression giving nothing away. “Thank you for your time today,” he said. “We’ll be in touch.”
Something in Richard’s posture changed... a subtle loosening of his shoulders, a softening around his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “Take your time. The building owner is quite flexible on terms. And the lab equipment is really first-rate.”
They rode the elevator down in companionable silence, Richard having abandoned his pitch entirely. At the building’s entrance, he shook their hands with genuine warmth. “It was a pleasure showing you the properties,” he said. “Please don’t hesitate to call with any questions. Any at all.”
Outside, the afternoon had begun its slow slide toward evening, the light golden against the glass facades. Summer fell into step beside Selvam as they walked down the front steps.
“I’m going to start using that exact move in every negotiation I have for the rest of my career,” she said quietly. “Just ‘thank you for your time’ and nothing else. It’s brilliant.”
Selvam glanced at her, his expression thoughtful. “It only works if you mean it,” he said.
Summer nodded. “I know.”
“That’s the hard part,” Selvam replied.
They walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the city around them... cars passing, a bus hissing to a stop, someone laughing into a phone. Summer’s shoulder brushed Selvam’s as they navigated around a group of tourists consulting a map.
“The first space was better,” she said finally. “The penthouse. For the optics, if nothing else. Investors like views.”
Selvam considered this. “The second one,” he said. “With the exposed brick. Better airflow, more natural light, lower operating costs.” He paused. “And it felt like a place where actual work could happen, not just meetings about work.”
Summer laughed, the sound bright in the afternoon air. “You realize most founders would kill for that penthouse, right? The one with Nakamura’s name on the design documents?”
“I’m not most founders,” Selvam said simply.
Summer looked at him... really looked at him... taking in the set of his shoulders, the calm certainty in his eyes. “No,” she agreed. “You’re really not.”
Scene 3
They walked back to where Summer had parked her car, a sleek red Panamera GTS tucked into a pay-by-phone spot two blocks from the last office showing. The afternoon had begun its slow fade toward evening, the light softening as it slanted between buildings. Selvam’s phone had buzzed three times during their walk... once with a text from Ashok, twice with notifications from the fitness app he still monitored despite having sold the company... but he had let them go unanswered. Some conversations deserved his full attention.
“You should think about getting a car,” Summer said, unlocking the Panamera with a tap of her phone. “Now that you’re splitting time between Los Gatos and the city. The villa’s beautiful, but it’s not exactly walking distance from anything.”
Selvam nodded, considering. “I’ve been looking at the Waymo autonomous taxis,” he said. “They seem more practical than owning a vehicle in a city I don’t yet know.”
Summer laughed, the sound bright in the quiet street. “Waymo doesn’t run all the way to Los Gatos,” she said. “Their service area stops at Mountain View. So your autonomous car plan has a pretty significant geographic problem.”
Selvam frowned slightly. “I hadn’t checked the service area,” he admitted.
“It’s fine,” Summer said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “I’ll drive you home. It’s on my way.”
He accepted without the performance of protest that Summer had expected... no “I couldn’t possibly” or “You’ve done enough already,” just a simple nod and “Thank you” as he settled into the passenger seat. The Panamera hummed to life, the dashboard lighting up with a constellation of icons and indicators.
“Home to Los Gatos,” Summer told the navigation system. The car’s display flashed acknowledgment, then projected their route onto the windshield... highway 280 south, then the surface streets that would take them to Selvam’s villa.
They pulled into traffic, merging smoothly with the late afternoon flow. Summer drove with confident ease, one hand on the wheel, the other adjusting the climate control. Selvam watched the city slide past the windows... the tall buildings giving way to smaller storefronts, then to the rolling hills that marked the transition from urban to something approaching suburban.
“I’ve been thinking about the app’s next phase,” Summer said, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them. “If the four hundred million comes through... and after today, I’m pretty sure it will... we’ll have more than enough to fund the boutique side of Vanitha’s business independently.” She glanced at Selvam. “No more need for the house money. She could keep everything separate if that’s what she wants.”
Selvam nodded, considering. “She mentioned wanting to expand the studio,” he said. “Hire another videographer, maybe bring on a dedicated social media person.” His lips curved in a small smile. “Though I think Ashok’s already handling most of that. He’s quite good at it.”
“The Instagram growth has been impressive,” Summer agreed. “Three million new followers in the last month alone. At this rate, she’ll hit a 24 million by year-end.” She paused. “You know shed doesn’t even need her Instagram anymore.”
Selvam’s smile widened. “That’s her passion, I’m glad her boutique dream came true.”
“She does love engaging with her follower and the Boutique is doing amazing because of her instagram and the measurement app.” She changed lanes, the car responding smoothly to her touch. “Her business alone is going to generate several millions every year.”
They drove in silence for a moment, the late afternoon light moving across the hills in long golden beams. Selvam watched the landscape change... the dense urban core giving way to the more spacious outskirts, then to the rolling countryside that marked the approach to Silicon Valley. The transition was gradual but unmistakable, like watching one idea transform into another.
“We should look into building our own company to do what Waymo can’t,” Selvam said casually. “If they can’t run from San Francisco to Los Gatos, we should create something that fills that gap.”
Summer’s head turned sharply, her eyes leaving the road for just a moment. “You’re serious,” she said, not a question.
Selvam nodded. “The market’s clearly there. The technology exists. It’s just a matter of implementation and scaling.” He shrugged. “We have the team, the funding, the connections. Why not?”
Summer was quiet for a moment, considering. “What would we call it?” she asked finally.
Selvam thought for less than five seconds. “Vanmmer,” he said. “Vanitha and Summer.”
The car’s tires hit a small bump in the road, the slight jolt breaking the moment. Summer’s hands tightened on the wheel, then relaxed. “That’s not bad,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “Catchy. Memorable.”
“It has potential,” Selvam agreed.
They drove in silence after that, the conversation turning to lighter topics... a new restaurant Summer had discovered in Palo Alto, Selvam’s plans for the olive grove between the two villas, Ashok’s latest coding breakthrough. The miles passed beneath them, the landscape opening up as they left the city behind.
Summer pulled into the villa’s driveway forty minutes later, the Panamera’s tires crunching softly on the gravel. She cut the engine but left the headlights on, their beams cutting through the gathering dusk to illuminate the front steps. The olive grove between the villas caught the last of the light, the gnarled trunks and silver-green leaves glowing with an almost supernatural brightness.
“Thanks for the ride,” Selvam said, his hand already on the door handle.
Summer turned to him, her profile sharp against the darkening sky. “Are you going to invite me in?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it.
The air between them changed... charged, suddenly, with possibility. Selvam turned to look at her directly, the same unhurried attention he had given the negotiating table and the real estate agent and the park in Chennai. His eyes met hers without flinching, without the performative desire that Summer had come to expect from men in these moments.
“I’m not going to do that tonight,” he said. The words carried no apology, no cruelty... just simple honesty. “I had a good day with you. One of the better days I’ve had in a long time.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “I don’t want to spend the end of it the way we’ve spent other evenings. Those evenings are easy. This day was something different. I want to let it be different.”
Summer stared at him, her eyes wide. Then she exhaled a long, slow breath, her shoulders relaxing almost imperceptibly. “That is the most frustrating and most decent thing anyone has ever said to me,” she said, her voice steady despite the emotion behind it.
“I’m sorry about the frustrating part,” Selvam said.
Summer shook her head. “Don’t be,” she said firmly. “Really. Don’t.”
He nodded, accepting this. Then, with a movement so slight Summer almost missed it, he reached across the center console and touched her hand... just once, just briefly, his fingers warm against her skin. “Thank you for today,” he said. “All of it.”
Then he was gone, the car door closing behind him with a soft click. Summer watched him walk to the front door, his silhouette dark against the villa’s warm stone. The olive trees cast long shadows across the driveway, their branches moving slightly in the evening breeze. Selvam’s key turned in the lock, the door swung open, and then he was inside, the warm light from the entryway spilling across the threshold before the door closed again.
Summer sat in the driveway for a long moment, the Panamera’s engine silent, the headlights still cutting their twin beams through the gathering dark. She didn’t reach for the radio, didn’t check her phone, didn’t do any of the dozen small things that might have filled the sudden quiet. Instead, she let herself sit with the feeling... the particular weight of being seen, really seen, by someone who had no need to perform desire or virtue or anything else for her benefit.
She had been around men who used restraint as a performance... who held back not out of genuine consideration but as a calculated move to make themselves more desirable. She knew what that looked like, had encountered it often enough to recognize the particular cadence of their voices, the careful construction of their words. This was not that. Selvam’s restraint came from the same place as his silence in the negotiation room: a man who knew what he wanted and was willing to wait for the right conditions rather than take the available substitute.
The distinction mattered to Summer in a way she was still working out as her headlights swept through the California dark toward home. And on top of that, he casually suggested they should build a company to compete with Waymo... Google’s years of engineering and research investment. His confidence rubbed against her, a pleasant friction that warmed her from the inside out.
As she pulled onto the main road, Summer found herself smiling. Tomorrow she would look into the autonomous vehicle market, would research the patents and the players and the possibilities. Tonight, she would let herself sit with the simple, complicated fact of having been seen... really seen... by someone who asked for nothing in return but the truth.
The road stretched before her, familiar and unknown all at once. Summer pressed the accelerator gently, feeling the Panamera respond with smooth precision. Whatever came next... the licensing deal, the office space, the potential of a company called Vanmmer... she would face it with the same clear-eyed confidence Selvam had shown in that conference room. The same willingness to wait for what was right rather than settle for what was available.
The night deepened around her, stars appearing one by one in the darkening sky. Summer drove with careful attention, her eyes on the road ahead, her mind already full of possibilities.
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