Skyward Technology's headquarters rose out of the skyline like something built to be looked up at, glass and steel catching the morning light in a way that made every building around it look apologetic by comparison. Francis had seen it a hundred times in photos over the last three years, always from a distance, always as an abstract number rather than an actual place. Standing in the parking lot now, it felt less like arriving somewhere new and more like finally walking into a life that had been waiting for him the entire time. He walked through rows of cars that got progressively more expensive the closer they sat to the entrance, a small unspoken hierarchy written in chrome and horsepower. Somewhere in there, he knew, sat a spot reserved for him, though he hadn't bothered asking Naomi which one. There'd be time enough to learn the geography of his own company. He was halfway to the entrance when a voice cut across the lot, bright and performative in the particular way that meant i

Naomi led him through a floor of glass offices to a corner suite at the end, knocked once, and stepped back to let him through alone.The man behind the desk looked younger than Francis expected for someone credited with building a hundred-billion-dollar company from nothing. Chris Jones stood as he entered, extending a hand with the easy confidence of a man who rarely needed to explain himself twice."Mr. Cole. Finally." Chris's grip was firm, his smile genuine in a way that caught Francis slightly off guard after two days of smiles that weren't. "I've been waiting three years to shake this hand.""You've got the advantage on me," Francis said, taking the seat across the desk. "I don't remember ever meeting you.""We haven't. Not in person." Chris sat back down, studying him with something between amusement and disbelief. "But you built the thing that built my company, so I feel like I know you fairly well."Francis's eyebrows drew together slightly. "I put in some money. That's the

The White Night Cafe sat tucked behind frosted glass and quiet, expensive lighting, the kind of place built specifically for conversations people didn't want overheard. Naomi pulled the car up out front at ten to three, and Francis stepped out into an afternoon that felt considerably colder than the weather accounted for."Want me to come in?" Naomi asked, already reading something in his expression."Not this time." Francis straightened his jacket, the same plain one he'd worn since prison, and felt no particular urge to change that fact for anyone waiting inside. "This one's mine to handle."He crossed the sidewalk alone, the afternoon crowd parting around him without a second glance, still just an ordinary man in an ordinary jacket to anyone who didn't already know what sat in his bank account. There was something almost peaceful about that anonymity, he thought. It wouldn't last much longer.A hostess led him to a private room in the back, and the moment the door opened, he unders

Andrews's office sat on the twelfth floor of a building his fiancée's money had furnished, glass walls, imported furniture, everything selected to project a level of success he'd been carefully performing for years. He barely noticed any of it tonight. His attention was fixed entirely on the folder sitting open on his desk, edges slightly bent from being handled too many times in the last hour.His investigator, a quiet, unremarkable man named Dorsey who specialized in exactly this kind of discretion, had dropped it off personally an hour ago with instructions to call the moment Andrews finished reading.Andrews hadn't called yet. He'd been sitting here instead, staring at the same page for longer than he wanted to admit, the ambient hum of the building's climate system the only sound in a room that usually felt considerably more impressive than it did tonight.It had started as a precaution. Nothing more. He'd spotted Francis with Naomi outside Skyward's headquarters two days ago, st

Francis didn't get the text until close to midnight, long after he'd left the hospital and Chelsy had gone home with a promise to keep up appearances if her family called again. The suite was quiet in the particular way hotel rooms always were at that hour, the city's noise thinned down to a distant hum against the glass. He'd almost fallen asleep sitting up when the phone buzzed against the nightstand, sharp enough to pull him fully back awake. The same unfamiliar number as before. No name attached, same clipped, careful phrasing. I work inside Skyward. I'm loyal to you, not the board, and not whoever's paying attention to your name right now. Andrews hired an investigator two days ago. He has your release date, a partial shareholder match, and a photograph of you getting into a company car. He knows, or close enough to it. If this comes out on his terms before the board controls the story, they'll twist it into something ugly. Move fast. Francis read it twice, sitting alone i