The night shift king

Chapter 7: The blacklist

Selene arrived at the atelier not long after Constance and Grady's retreat toward the elevator, stepping off it herself just as the doors opened for them, exchanging a brief, unreadable glance with Constance as they passed each other in the narrow hallway. By the time she reached the fitting floor, Percival had already returned Malcolm to the platform, resuming his work along the shoulder seam with the same unbothered precision as before, as though nothing had interrupted his afternoon at all.

"I take it the Ferris family paid you a visit," Selene said, taking a seat near the mirrors, watching Percival's assistants pin fabric along Malcolm's sleeve.

"You could say that."

"I heard enough on my way up." Selene pulled out her phone, scrolling through something with the unhurried calm of a woman handling a minor administrative matter rather than the aftermath of a confrontation. "I've already flagged both their names across the partner network. Every property tied to Halcyon's holdings, hotels, private clubs, boutiques like this one, will decline their accounts effective immediately. Reservations, memberships, standing invitations, all of it. By tonight, Constance and Grady Ferris will find themselves considerably less welcome in this city than they're used to."

Percival, without looking up from his work, made a small sound of approval.

"That seems excessive," Malcolm said, though he wasn't entirely sure he meant it.

"It's proportionate," Selene corrected. "They harassed a major shareholder in a place of business and attempted to physically take property that wasn't theirs. The network exists precisely for situations like this. Consider it standard protocol, not personal retaliation."

Down in the atelier's lobby, raised voices carried up faintly through the elevator shaft, Constance's clipped, furious tone rising above the ambient noise of the street. Selene glanced toward the sound without much interest.

"She's already discovered the first two declined reservations," Selene said. "I'd expect her to threaten legal action within the hour, followed by an attempt to leak your identity to whichever gossip outlet still owes her family a favor."

"Let her." Malcolm's jaw tightened. "I'm tired of hiding from people who've spent years humiliating me."

"I can arrange a statement confirming your position at Halcyon Meridian before she gets the chance," Selene offered, already reaching for her phone again. "It would neutralize whatever she tries to leak, take the story out of her hands entirely."

"No." Malcolm said it more firmly than he intended, and Selene paused, studying him with faint curiosity. "Not yet. I don't want this coming out through a press release chasing ahead of her gossip. I want the gala to be the reveal. I want to walk into that room exactly as everyone expects me to look, and let them realize the truth in real time, in front of the board, in front of Odalys, in front of every person who's spent years deciding what I was worth without ever actually asking me."

Selene considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly, something like respect settling into her expression. "That's a considerably bolder approach than most new chairmen choose. I like it."

Percival finished the final pin along Malcolm's shoulder and stepped back, surveying his work with a critical eye before finally offering a small, satisfied nod. "The suit will be ready three days before the gala. Charcoal, as discussed, cut close through the shoulders. You'll look like you were born into rooms like that one, Mr. Reyes, which I understand is somewhat ironic given the afternoon we've just had."

"Somewhat," Malcolm agreed, allowing himself the faintest trace of a smile as he changed back into his own clothes.

Selene walked him down to the car afterward, the two of them moving through the atelier's quiet lobby past a staff now visibly deferential in a way they hadn't been an hour earlier, word of the confrontation clearly having spread through every corner of the building. Outside, a black sedan waited at the curb, and Selene held the door as Malcolm climbed in, sliding into the seat across from him once the car pulled away from the curb.

"There's something else you should know before the gala," she said, folding her hands neatly in her lap. "The card you're carrying has no functional ceiling. Not a high limit, Mr. Reyes. No limit at all. The board has spent the last several days quietly transferring dormant assets back under your name, properties, holdings, research patents that have sat idle since your father's departure. By the time you walk into that ballroom in three weeks, you won't simply be a silent shareholder reclaiming a seat. You'll be one of the wealthiest individuals in the room, full stop, regardless of anyone else's name on the guest list."

Malcolm looked out the window at the city sliding past, the same streets he'd walked exhausted a hundred times before, the same buildings that had never once acknowledged him as anything other than invisible. Something shifted quietly in his chest, not triumph exactly, not yet, but something adjacent to it, a feeling he hadn't allowed himself since the week his mother died and the world had first taught him how little his name was worth to the people who mattered.

"I'm ready," he said, and for the first time in longer than he could remember, he meant it completely.

Selene studied him for a moment, as though weighing whether to say anything further, then seemed to decide it could wait. She turned instead to a folder resting on the seat beside her, sliding it across the small distance between them. "Preliminary gala logistics. Seating arrangements, the current guest list, a summary of the board members you'll want to speak with directly before the vote. I'd suggest reviewing it before your father wakes, while you still have a quiet hour to yourself."

Malcolm took the folder without opening it, resting it on his knee instead, watching the hospital come into view through the windshield ahead. Three weeks ago he'd been a man counting bus fare in coins, invisible to everyone who mattered, and now he was riding in a car discussing board votes with a woman who spoke about billions the way other people discussed grocery lists. It should have felt more disorienting than it did. Instead it felt, strangely, like something finally settling back into its correct shape after years of being forced into one that never quite fit.

"Selene," he said as the car slowed at the hospital entrance. "Thank you. For finding me. For not letting me hide any longer than I already had."

"You found yourself, Mr. Reyes," she said simply, opening the door for him. "I only knocked."

He stepped out into the afternoon light, folder tucked under one arm, and for the first time since the night his father collapsed at that dinner party, Malcolm walked back through the hospital doors feeling less like a man bracing for another blow, and more like one preparing, finally, to stand upright.