A/N: I'm so, so sorry for the delay. I just had the mother of all writing blocks to deal with, but now my muse is finally back. I hope you still want to read the rest of my fanfic and please let me know if you enjoyed it! Again a big thank you to my beta, Yankee Countess, she's a real life-saver.

Disclaimer: Do you really think I would have let Matthew and Sybil die if I owned anything?! Hell NO!

Chapter 5: With a little help from my friends

A traffic jam. Great. ' How much trouble can a person run into in one day?!' Even the voice in Sybil's head sounded frustrated. It had only been yesterday she'd told Larry about her decision to take over the company, but to Sybil it felt like years ago.

Larry had taken the news as well as to be expected from a man with enough self-confidence to take on the entire world.

"You what?!" He shouted, his hand dropping away from his bloody and swollen nose in surprise. Sybil could tell it wasn't broken, but it would definitely be painful for the next couple of days.

Sybil's anger from earlier had simmered down a bit and suddenly she felt a lot less confident than she did before. "You he—heard me," she whispered not trusting herself to repeat the exact words she had used before.

"You think you can just come in here and take over?!" Larry snarled, pushing himself into a sitting position. "Without knowing anything about this company and without any experience whatsoever?!" His voice was growing louder and louder and Sybil wondered if the entire building was now listening in on their 'conversation'.

"I've worked here for eight years!" Larry was standing by now, slightly swaying on his feet. Mrs. Hughes was looking on in awe, telephone in hand; ready to call an ambulance, or security.

"I'm not asking you to leave, Larry," Sybil patiently told him. Even though he was the biggest jerk she'd ever met, she could definitely use his expertize as head manger. To be honest she had no idea where to start without him.

"My father offered me a top position at his company; I was going to leave after I sold Crawley Tec." Larry's face was as red as a tomato; he had to wipe his brow several times to keep sweat from dripping into his eyes. "I wasn't planning to stay then and I certainly don't see any reason for me to stay now!" With those words Larry turned around and marched back to his office, all the while holding the walls with his hands for support. "I'll be gone by the end of the day!"

A few harsh curses from the cabbie brought Sybil back to the present. "How much further is it?" she asked the bald, gum chewing man.

"We're about ten minutes away from the place, I'd say," he replied in between curses and furiously honking the horn. "And then you'll have to walk three more blocks," he added as an afterthought.

"Walk?!" Sybil exclaimed. At the meantime a Mercedes tried to cut the cab off from the left and the cabbie flipped the driver the bird.

"Yep, I refuse to stop this pretty car anywhere near that slum you're going," the cabbie explained. "Too high a risk of getting robbed or carjacked." Sybil snorted, the cab was anything but pretty; it was a mud-covered, malfunctioning piece of machinery and nothing more.

"Surely it can't be that bad?" It wasn't really a question; Sybil was just really surprised to hear places like that still existed these days.

"It can and it is," was the cabbie's short reply. For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Sybil wondered if this whole undertaking had been a good idea.

After Larry had left, like he promised, she was hit at an all-time low and softly cried to herself in her new office. Mrs Hughes, who Sybil now believed to be psychic, had come in to bring her a cup of tea and some comforting words.

"Don't worry dear," she whispered as she placed a hand on Sybil's shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. "You'll figure it all out."

"How? The Chinese who want to buy Crawley Tec will stop by for a meeting tomorrow and I have no idea what to do or say!" Sybil choked out in between sobs.

She looked up at Mrs. Hughes, and through her tearstained eyes she could see the older woman was troubled about something. Again the people reading skills she had picked up working as a nurse didn't let her down. "Tell me," she whispered.

Mrs Hughes seemed surprised that Sybil was on to her, but didn't comment on it. Instead she cast her eyes downward. "It's not really my place to say," she admitted.

This time it was Sybil's turn to place a comforting hand on the other woman's wrist, causing Mrs. Hughes to look her in the eye. "I'm not Larry," she said, her voice growing stronger and more confident as she spoke "I'd like for you and all the other employees to be completely open and honest with me, and I promise I'll listen to them and try to help wherever I can."

"That's kind of you to say," Mrs. Hughes gave her a soft smile. "But it's not Mr. Grey I'm worried about," she admitted while stepping away from Sybil and walking over to the big window that looked out over a beautiful park with a big fountain in the middle. "I promised your father."

This made Sybil even more curious. She knew her father had held more secrets then she'd care to count. Like the fact that he was leaving their mother for another woman. He never told her until a week before he left, and Sybil had never really forgiven him for it.

She wiped away her tears and joined Mrs. Hughes by the window. "If it's something that can help me save this company, I'm sure my father would have wanted you to tell me."

Mrs Hughes considered this for a few minutes. "I suppose you're right," she finally admitted as she turned to face Sybil. "Your father, Mr Crawley, and Mr Branson, used to spend a lot of time in this office together to discuss things," Mrs Hughes uncomfortably shifted her weight from one foot to the other as she said this.

Sybil was shocked to say the least. What on earth would her father and the postman have to discuss with each other?! "What things?" she demanded a bit harsher then she meant.

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. "I'm sure Mr Branson can help you fill in the blanks." With that final piece of advice, Mrs. Hughes took her leave. It took Sybil thirty minutes to ponder on what she'd just heard before she finally worked up the courage to call Mr Tom Branson and ask him about it.

She shouldn't have been surprised to find his number in the rolodex on her father's desk, but she was. Her father had been a born and raised aristocrat and god knew her grandma had never let him forget that. He had raised Sybil and her sisters in a slightly more modern, but still very aristocratic style. To him there was still a big difference between upper-class and working-class citizens. According to her entire family, except for maybe her sister Edith, those two classes did not mix.

Sybil dialled the number and waited patiently for Branson—Tom— Mr. Branson?—she wasn't sure what to call him anymore—to pick up.

He didn't.

"This is Tom's voicemail; please leave a message and I'll call you right back. PS: If this is someone from Crawley Tec, I don't accept apologies over the phone."

Sybil rolled her eyes in frustration, but let out a small giggle at the same time. It looked like she was going on a road trip through Dublin.

And that's how she ended up in the middle of the day, with only a few hours to go before 'the meeting', in search of the very man who may or may not be able to help her.

Without much help from the cabbie, she had finally reached her destination. Sybil was standing on the narrow steps that led to the front door of a house the size of Downton Abbey's garden house back home. It was squeezed in between a row of similar looking houses, painted light blue and only had two windows. One upstairs and the one right next to the door, which was fully opened. As she got closer she heard music and paused to listen to it for a while. She didn't recognize the song or the singer, but she had to admit she quite liked it, even though it was far from the kind music she was used to listening to at home.

As the song ended Sybil felt like she had gathered enough courage and with a nervous smile plastered on her face, she rang the doorbell. Inside the music was turned off and she could hear footsteps approaching the door. When it opened, Sybil felt her cheeks turn red.

Branson was dressed in a simple white t-shirt, blue jeans and sneakers. Very unlike the fancy clothes and polished black shoes that were the dress code at Crawly Tec.

"Sybil?!" he exclaimed in his thick Irish accent, obviously surprised to find her on his doorstep. "You were definitely the last person I expected to see here." The way he spoke was not welcoming and by the looks of it he wasn't planning to let her in anytime soon. He effectively blocked the doorway with his body.

At that moment Sybil felt her self-confidence shrink to the size of a pea. She only now realized that she had never told him her last name; he had no idea who she really was. He probably thought Larry had sent someone else to do his bidding.

Just as Branson opened his mouth to say something that was undoubtedly rude or mean, Sybil stopped him by saying the first thing she could think of. "My last name is Crawley!"

For a moment they stared awkwardly at each other. Tom because he was surprised by Sybil's revelation and Sybil because she felt really stupid for blurting out something like that out of nowhere. They were both tomato red with shame.

"You're one of Robert's daughters," Tom said to himself after a while. It wasn't a question.

Sybil felt a brief stab of annoyance when Branson used her father's first name like that, but decided not to comment until she knew the full story.

Unfortunately the full story would have to wait, a glance at her watch told her that she needed to get back to the office to face a bunch of businessmen who were very eager to take over her father's company and exterminate their biggest competition.

"Look," Sybil started. "I came here to ask for your help. Larry arranged a meeting with some people from Beijing and they want to take over my father's company." Tom was still staring into the distance and she wasn't sure if he'd even heard her. "I don't know the first thing about business meetings," was the last thing she mumbled.

Tom suddenly snapped out of his trance and shook his head before focussing on her. She couldn't help but notice the beautiful sparkle he had in his eyes. "I'll do it!" he said without hesitation.

Sybil let out a sigh of relief and happiness. She held out her hand for him to shake. She remembered how her father had taught her that when two people make a business deal, they always shake on it.

Tom smiled broadly, but instead of taking her hand he raised his right hand high above his head and held it there. "Uhm, what are you doing?" Sybil questioned when he looked at her expectantly.

Tom rolled his eyes and used his left hand to grab a hold of one of Sybil's wrists and he brought it up to the same level as his own raised hand, slapping the two against each other.

"It's called a high-five," he said and his smile grew even wider.

"I knew that!" Sybil snapped in mock anger.

TBC

Next chapter will follow soon, don't forget to review please.