The President strode in, flanked by his aides and a small group of discreet security personnel. Every guest rose to their feet in respect. Conversations died. Cameras turned. The room fell into reverent silence.“Good evening,” the President said with a warm but commanding smile, his voice naturally carrying through the vast hall. “I want to welcome you all tonight and thank you for honoring this invitation. It brings me great joy to host such fine company for what is meant to be a meaningful dinner—held in honor of some very special people in my life.”At the high table, Gale subtly straightened his suit jacket, brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve. He adjusted his tie, shooting a side glance at Laura.She was already smiling—flashing that perfect smile she’d rehearsed in the mirror a dozen times. Her eyes scanned the crowd like she was waiting for the spotlight to land on her. It was her moment. Their moment.Scott sat near the back corner of the room, seated quietly at one of the

The loud sound of Gale’s ringtone shattered the quiet of the morning.Groggy and half-asleep, Gale reached blindly for his phone on the nightstand, barely glancing at the screen before answering.“…Yeah?”“Gale?” came his friend's voice, sharp and urgent. “Please tell me you’re already watching the news," said Charles.Gale blinked, still heavy with sleep. “What? What are you talking about?”“Bro, just turn on your TV. Any channel. Literally any one. You’re trending—badly," Charles added.Gale sat up, frowning. “Trending? What do you mean trending?”Charles sighed, sounding both exasperated and amused. “Man… just turn it on. It’s all over the place. Front page on two morning broadcasts already. Your little dinner at the Executive House turned into a damn soap opera.”The words hit like a splash of cold water.Gale dropped the call without saying goodbye, grabbed the remote off the nightstand, and turned on the bedroom TV. The channel came to life just in time for the anchor to say:“A

HARRINGTON DYNAMICSGale sat behind his desk, fingers drumming against the wood while his eyes lingered on a report he wasn’t really reading. The silence in the office was thick, until his manager stepped forward with an awkward cough.“There’s… something I should bring to your attention, sir.”Gale didn’t look up right away. “This better be good.”The manager shifted on his feet. “A few days ago… a man came by the company. Said something strange and tried to cause a scene. Claimed he owned the company.”That got Gale’s attention. He lifted his gaze slowly, brow raised. “What man?”“That’s the thing—I didn’t catch his name,” the manager replied nervously. “He looked like a common beggar, sir. His shirt was wrinkled, shoes dusty… He smelled like he hadn’t touched a shower in weeks. So, naturally, I had security escort him out before he caused a scene. Thought he was crazy.”Gale’s expression darkened. His voice dropped a little, laced with irritation. “And you’re just telling me this

SCOTT'S GUEST HOUSE Scott stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his shirt. His jaw flexed slightly as he ran a hand through his short, neatly trimmed hair and straightened the sleeve of his jacket.The door clicked open behind him and soft footsteps followed.“Sir,” Cara’s voice rang out with her usual precision as she stepped into the room and offered a smart salute.Scott’s gaze met hers briefly in the mirror before he turned to face her. He returned the salute with a light nod, nothing too formal—but respectful all the same.Cara relaxed her posture slightly. “Where are we going today?” she asked. “I need to adjust my schedule.”Scott picked up his wristwatch from the dresser and began to strap it on. “There’s no need to adjust anything,” he said simply. “I’m going alone.”That answer didn’t sit well with her. It showed on her face, even if only for a second.“With all due respect, sir,” she began, her tone respectful but firm, “you’ve been moving around alone sinc

MR. EVANS' HOUSE Scott stood on the porch of Mr. Evans' house, staring at the wooden door like it held secrets. He hadn't even knocked yet, but something didn't sit right in his gut. His instincts—finely tuned after years in war zones and dark cells—were rarely wrong. Still, he shook the feeling off and lifted a hand to press the doorbell.The sound echoed faintly through the house. Then silence.Seconds passed.Then the door cracked open.It was Mrs. Evans. Her face was slightly flushed, her hair a little frazzled, as if she'd been pacing—or crying. Her eyes locked on his face, and for a second, she looked like she might slam the door shut again. But she didn’t. Her lips parted.“Mr. Grayson?” she asked, voice low and shaky.Scott offered a small nod. “Yes, ma’am.”She didn’t return his greeting—didn’t even smile. Instead, she stepped aside, still gripping the doorknob like it was the only thing keeping her steady. “Please… come in.”Scott hesitated for half a second, then stepped