Voldemort on Wall Street, Part 6: The Client Pitch

An unofficial Harry Potter parody. Blackthorn Capital, its portfolio company, and the office characters in this story are fictional.

You can read Part 5 here and can check out the rest of the Voldemort on Wall Street series here!

Lord Voldemort had prepared two versions of his opening remarks.

One offered the client a choice.

The other merely explained what would happen.

Miriam read both.

“We’ll use neither.”

He looked up.

“You have not heard my delivery.”

“I’m concerned about delivery. Specifically, you’ve promised theirs by Friday.”

The prospective client was Haversham Books, an independent bookshop chain replacing the lighting in twelve stores. The company Voldemort had been hired to transform distributed commercial lighting, a business he had initially considered beneath him.

Then he had learned how much people would pay to keep darkness at bay.

There were possibilities.

Know Your Audience

Miriam placed a briefing folder on his desk.

“Judith Haversham. Founder. Forty years in business. She’s bringing her purchasing manager.”

“What does she fear?”

“Missing the reopening dates.”

“Anything more personal?”

“You’re selling light fixtures.”

“I prefer to understand the whole person.”

“Start with page two.”

The previous supplier had missed deliveries, sent incorrect fittings, and required Judith to explain the same problems to a different account manager every time she called.

Voldemort read the summary.

“Why does she continue dealing with them?”

“She signed a long contract.”

“How long?”

“Five years.”

He looked impressed.

“Did she swear anything?”

“She didn’t read the renewal provision.”

He sat back.

So much of his previous career could have been accomplished with better stationery.

Brad’s Contribution

Brad arrived carrying a presentation.

“I’ve sharpened the proposition.”

Voldemort examined the first slide.

A SEAMLESS JOURNEY TOWARD ILLUMINATION.

Below it was a photograph of a man standing on a mountain.

“Is that our warehouse?”

“It’s aspirational.”

“What is he aspiring to?”

Brad ignored him.

“We need to sell the relationship. The partnership. The transformation.”

“Do we have the fixtures?” Miriam asked.

“Operations will handle that.”

“Have they confirmed Friday?”

Brad smiled.

“We don’t want to lead with limitations.”

Voldemort studied him.

In the old days, people who brought unwelcome information had learned to keep it to themselves. This had created a pleasing atmosphere until the information became an army at the gates.

He pressed the intercom.

“Ethan.”

A pause.

Miriam reached over and released the button.

“That calls reception.”

Voldemort picked up his phone.

“Ethan.”

The Actual Position

Ethan arrived with Priya.

They brought a spreadsheet.

Voldemort had come to recognize this as a sign that the situation contained facts.

“We can deliver to four stores by Friday,” Priya said. “The others need a different fitting. Tuesday at the earliest.”

Brad frowned.

“Could we accelerate?”

“We’ve asked.”

“Could we ask more firmly?”

“You’re welcome to try,” Priya said. “They manufacture them. They don’t become available through emphasis.”

Voldemort tapped the table.

“I could transport them instantaneously.”

“From where?” Ethan asked.

“Wherever they are.”

“They aren’t finished.”

There was a silence.

Magic remained an excellent solution to problems that were different from the ones people actually had.

“Then tell her Tuesday,” Voldemort said.

Brad looked wounded.

“We haven’t even pitched.”

“We have, apparently, already promised.”

Miriam took a pen.

“I’ll correct the proposal.”

A Modest Entrance

Judith Haversham arrived at eleven with a canvas bag, reading glasses, and a purchasing manager named Owen.

Voldemort had arranged to stand at the far end of the conference room, silhouetted against the windows.

Miriam switched on the lights.

“Judith. Owen. Welcome.”

His silhouette vanished.

Judith shook his hand.

“Tom?”

He paused.

“Lord Voldemort.”

She put on her glasses and examined his business card.

“It says Tom Riddle.”

“An administrative limitation.”

“Mine still says managing director. I’ve been trying to retire for six years.”

They sat.

Voldemort began.

“Your search is over.”

Owen opened a notebook.

“Have you got the revised specification?”

Voldemort glanced at Miriam.

She handed it across.

“Yes,” he said.

It was an effective opening, though shorter than planned.

The Presentation

Brad connected his laptop.

The mountain appeared.

Judith looked at it.

“Are these the lights?”

“It’s a statement about the journey,” Brad said.

“I’ve had a journey. Some of the fittings are still on it.”

Owen turned to the proposal.

“You’ve changed the delivery date.”

“For eight stores,” Voldemort said.

“Your email said Friday.”

“It was inaccurate.”

Brad reached for his water.

Judith studied Voldemort.

“And you’re telling me that before I sign?”

“Yes.”

“Refreshing. Inconvenient, but refreshing.”

He had expected anger.

Instead, she asked which four stores could receive their orders first.

Priya showed her.

Judith rearranged the list, moving two smaller shops behind the ones with reopening events.

Owen made a note.

Within ten minutes, they had a workable schedule.

Brad advanced to the next slide.

REIMAGINING WHAT’S POSSIBLE.

“Can we go back to the delivery list?” Judith asked.

Voldemort took the presentation remote.

“Gladly.”

The Demonstration

They had set up a sample display beside the table.

Voldemort switched it on.

A row of lights illuminated a shelf of books.

Judith approached.

“Warm light,” she said. “Good.”

“The shadows are banished.”

“Will they fade the covers?”

Priya answered.

Owen asked about installation.

Ethan answered.

Judith asked about replacement stock.

There was a brief discussion of quantities.

Voldemort stood beside the display, feeling increasingly like an unusually dressed lamp.

He raised his wand.

The lights shifted. A silver glow spread above the books, gathering into a magnificent floating serpent.

Owen stopped writing.

Judith looked up.

Then she looked at the shelf.

“Does that come as standard?”

Voldemort smiled.

“It is merely a demonstration of what I can provide.”

“Who fixes it when you’re on holiday?”

The serpent paused.

“I do not take holidays.”

Miriam, behind him, wrote something down.

Judith pointed at the display.

“I need my Saturday staff to change a bulb without summoning you.”

Voldemort lowered his wand.

The serpent dissolved.

The ordinary lights remained.

Judith smiled.

“Those will do.”

The Terms of Surrender

Owen opened the contract.

“Five-year exclusivity?”

Brad leaned forward.

“We see this as a long-term partnership.”

“With automatic renewal.”

“It ensures continuity.”

“And a charge if we leave early.”

“It protects the relationship.”

Voldemort listened with growing professional interest.

He had devoted considerable effort to preventing people from leaving relationships.

Brad had put the whole arrangement on page fourteen.

Judith removed her glasses.

“My last supplier said much the same thing.”

“This is a different organization,” Brad said.

“Then give me different terms.”

Voldemort looked at the contract.

“And what terms would you accept?”

“A sensible first order. Clear dates. If that goes well, we discuss the rest.”

“You could buy from someone else afterward.”

“Yes.”

“Even if we perform adequately.”

“Yes.”

Brad shook his head.

“There’s no guaranteed future business in that.”

Judith put her glasses away.

“There isn’t any if I leave now, either.”

Voldemort regarded her with fresh respect.

At last, someone had brought a proper threat.

A Choice

Brad asked for a private discussion.

Judith and Owen stepped into reception with Miriam.

Once the door closed, Brad turned to Voldemort.

“The exclusivity is part of the value.”

“To whom?”

“To us.”

“What do we provide in return?”

“Preferred supplier status.”

“That is something she gives us.”

Brad folded his arms.

“We can’t keep making concessions.”

Voldemort looked through the glass.

Judith was asking Miriam about a book sticking out of her bag. Owen was checking the revised delivery list.

Neither appeared especially desperate.

The Dark Lord had planned to make an impression. He had prepared language about certainty, dominion, and the inevitable defeat of competing suppliers.

Meanwhile, Priya had stock, Ethan had a schedule, and the woman outside had money.

“I want the order,” he said.

“So do I.”

“Then remove the part that prevents her placing it.”

Brad stared at him.

“You’re giving up leverage.”

Voldemort glanced at the empty chair.

“I am attempting to acquire a customer.”

The distinction annoyed him.

It was becoming unavoidable.

The Signature

They agreed on the first order.

The contract recorded quantities, dates, responsibilities, and what would happen if the company failed to deliver.

Voldemort disliked the last section.

He had historically preferred to determine the consequences of failure himself, usually for someone else.

Judith signed.

Then she handed him the pen.

He examined it.

No flame. No blood. No binding enchantment.

“Is there a problem?” she asked.

“No.”

He signed.

Owen collected the documents.

Judith stood.

“If this works, we have more stores to refurbish next year.”

Voldemort felt a flicker of triumph.

“Then we shall speak again.”

“If this works,” she repeated.

She had left the condition in.

He almost admired her for it.

After the Pitch

Brad left to announce that the team had secured a significant new relationship.

Priya returned to the warehouse schedule.

Ethan sent Owen the order confirmation.

Voldemort remained in the conference room, studying the signed contract.

Miriam collected the unused brochures.

“You got the order.”

“A limited order.”

“A first order.”

“She may leave.”

“She may come back.”

He considered this.

In his experience, people generally came back because he had summoned them, threatened them, or left something dangerously unfinished.

Judith might return because the lights arrived on Tuesday.

It seemed an absurdly fragile foundation for power.

It also involved remarkably little pursuit.

“Put the delivery dates in my calendar,” he said.

“Already done.”

“And I wish to know if anything changes.”

“Priya knows.”

He nodded.

Miriam picked up her notebook.

“One other thing.”

“What?”

“When would you like to take some leave?”

He looked at her.

“The client raised a business-continuity concern,” she said.

Voldemort closed his eyes.

The woman had weaponized due diligence.

At four thirty, a message arrived from Judith.

Voldemort opened it immediately.

Please confirm the lights won’t produce a snake when installed.

He began typing.

THE SERPENT WAS A PRIVILEGE EXTENDED—

He stopped.

Deleted it.

Tried again.

Confirmed.

He considered the word.

Then added:

No snakes are included in this order.

He sent it.

A reply arrived moments later.

Excellent. Looking forward to working with you.

Voldemort read the sentence twice.

Then he opened the product catalogue.

He searched for snakes.

Nothing.

An untapped market.

He made a note for after his holiday.

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