Victor Lang’s office didn’t look like a set-up. That was the whole point. Clean wood, soft lighting, and floor-to-ceiling windows that made the city skyline look like it was on its knees. A freshly brewed pot of tea sat on the coffee table, steam curling up like this whole meeting was just a friendly favor, not a test. Ethan showed up in his usual gear: plain shirt, no jacket, and work boots he’d wiped down instead of replacing. He sat down right where Victor pointed, letting the room swallow him up and make him look small. Victor poured the tea himself. “Unconventional,” Victor said, flashing a smooth smile like he’d just paid him a compliment. “Most guys in your shoes would’ve dropped cash on a fancy new suit first.” Ethan watched his cup fill up. “I didn’t come here for a dress code.” “Right. You came because your old man is sick, and out of nowhere, the hospital bumped him up to the penthouse suite.” Victor set the teapot down real quiet. “That kind of sudden upgrade makes

The hospital charity dinner was never meant for men who still had dust in the seams of their shoes, and Ethan understood that the moment he walked into the grand hall on the top floor of Reed Medical’s private events wing. Crystal lights hung from the ceiling in careful rows, long tables stretched under white cloth so clean it made ordinary people look out of place, and the whole room carried that polished quiet that only money seemed able to buy. Doctors in evening jackets stood with donors who smiled as if generosity were a language they had practiced in mirrors, and every tray that passed smelled like a world Ethan used to clean up after, not sit inside. He had not wanted to come. Dr. Grant had made the case that afternoon with the calm firmness of a man who had watched boards destroy people for smaller absences than this. According to him, if Ethan stayed upstairs with his father, Victor would walk through the evening telling anyone important that the new heir was hiding because