Not that the emails contain anything I want to deal with anyway. More legal threats. More board member panic about the Brazilian lawsuit. More demands that I issue a public statement, settle quietly, step down gracefully.
Fuck that.
The leaked documents showing we knowingly caused environmental damage in two countries. The class action lawsuit that’s going to drain millions in legal fees even if we win.
Which we won’t.
Because the documents are real.
Because I signed off on those extraction methods.
Because profit margins matter more than some remote village’s water supply when you’re trying to corner the global rare earth market.
I sigh.
The machine beeps. I pull two cups of espresso that are bitter and probably too strong, but they’re hot and caffeinated and that’s all that matters right now.
I pour them into proper mugs, black, and carry them back to the great room.
She’s curled into the corner of the sectional, staring at the fire like it holds the secrets of the universe. Which it probably does.
Her hair’s starting to dry, turning from dark wet strands to something softer, wavier.
She’s pulled her knees up under the hoodie, making herself as small as possible in a room designed to intimidate.
Mission accomplished, I guess.
“Coffee.” I set both mugs on the table in front of her.
She reaches for one with both hands, wrapping her fingers around the ceramic like she’s trying to suck as much heat out of it as possible. “Thank you.”
Her voice is quieter now. The manic energy from earlier has drained away, leaving something more fragile behind.
I sit in one of the wingback chairs opposite her. Far enough away to maintain distance. Close enough to keep watch. Because she’s still shivering and her skin has that flushed look that has nothing to do with the fire.
“So,” I say, because someone needs to break this silence and it sure as hell isn’t going to be her. “You’re a researcher?”
“PhD candidate,” she clarifies. “Environmental sciences. University of Colorado. Boulder.” The words come out practiced, like she’s given this introduction a thousand times. “Fourth year. My dissertation is on mycorrhizal network restoration in post-mining alpine ecosystems.”
Post-mining ecosystems.
Of fucking course it is.
The universe really does have a sick fucking sense of humor.
“Sounds important,” I say, and I’m surprised to find I actually mean it.
“It is.” There’s passion in her voice now, cutting through the exhaustion. “Or it was. Until my equipment failed and I lost three months of data and now I’m sitting in some stranger’s house having an existential crisis about whether I should just quit and become a barista.”
“Don’t quit.” The words come out before I can stop them. “The world needs people who give a damn about fixing what’s broken.”
She looks at me then, and I can see her trying to reconcile what I just said with the rich asshole she assumes I must be.
“I should call someone,” she says suddenly. “Let people know I’m okay. I had everything mapped out, my whole route, but when the equipment failed I kind of went off grid and my advisor is probably panicking and my roommates definitely think I’m dead by now.”
“Phone’s not working.” I pull out my cell to demonstrate. Still no signal.
Her eyes widen. “What? But this is 2026. How is there no signal?”
