I inhale, forcing myself to think.
I pick at the hem of my sleeve, keeping my eyes anywhere but the front of the room. “Well… a fair business should, um… have transparency. Equal opportunity. It should—” I hesitate, then take a quiet breath, forcing the nerves down. “It shouldn’t be exploitative.”
Anderson hums, as if considering that. “Exploitative how?”
I sit up slightly. “It shouldn’t take advantage of people. Whether it’s employees or customers, it should be built on something real—not manipulation or loopholes or hiding behind policies that only serve those in power.”
Anderson nods once, but I notice the way he watches me now—more focused, more interested.
“Go on,” he says.
I wet my lips. I should stop there. I know I should. But something about the way he’s looking at me—so composed, so infuriatingly calm…
Did you really do this?
“Of course, fairness in business is subjective,” I continue. “Some would argue that a fair business is simply one that follows the law… but laws can be bent. Just because something is technically legal doesn’t mean it’s right.”
I glance at Anderson briefly, watching for any reaction.
And then, as the words come, I don’t look away. And then, because I just can’t help myself, I let my tone turn just a fraction sharper.
“And, of course, a fair business would also be accountable. Because when people in power aren’t held accountable, they tend to think they can get away with anything. And that…” I pause just for a second, my gaze locked onto his, my voice steady now. “That isn’t fair at all.”
A beat of silence.
Anderson holds my gaze.
His expression doesn’t change. But something in his eyes flickers—something quick, before it disappears just as fast.
Then, finally, he nods once. “An interesting perspective,” he says simply, before turning back toward the board.
THIRTY-THREE
It takes a small miracle and a borderline intervention to get everyone here. Especially Kym, who made practically every excuse under the sun. But somehow—after an entire hour of negotiating, bribery, and Lilia threatening to show up at Kym’s house with a blow-up mattress and a megaphone—Kym finally caved.
She made it clear she wouldn’t be staying long, but that was enough. For now.
So here we are, crammed into Lilia’s room for anactualsleepover.
“Hold still,” Lilia mutters, thumb pressing against my chin to tilt my head while she smears something suspiciously green across my face.
Somehow, Lilia has convinced us all that facemasks are “essential bonding”.
“I am holding still,” I say, voice muffled because she’s practically got her palm on my mouth.
“Not still enough.”
From across the room, Bea groans. “You realize this is basically just expensive mud, right?”
“It’s not mud,” Lilia says without missing a beat. “It’s detoxifyingclay.”
Bea raises an unimpressed brow. “So… expensive mud.”
Kym sits on the beanbag, mask already applied, arms folded tightly. She’s perfectly still, not a single muscle twitching.
“You look terrifying,” I tell her.
Lilia snorts, dragging the brush across my cheekbone. “She’s embracing the spirit. Meanwhile, you’re squirming like a toddler.”
