“Which is why this conversation is crucial.” He smoothed his tie, eyes glinting. “Your father agrees.” My stomach went tight.
He held out a sleek navy folder stamped with a white compass logo. NorthStar Integrity Network.
The name alone made my hackles rise.
“Absolutely not,” I said immediately.
“You haven’t even opened it.”
“I don’t need to.”
He sighed, the long-suffering kind. “Cole, it’s a values consultancy. They help companies and communities ‘align personal identity with societal wellness’—their words.”
“Conversion therapy research, Evan. Anti-trans think tanks. Lobbying dressed up as ‘wellness.’ I know exactly what they do.”
His jaw twitched. “Look. They’ve rebranded. They’re trying to broaden their reach. This is a crossover opportunity.”
“A crossover into bigotry, you mean.”
He gave me a tight, polished smile. “They want you for a video campaign. Talking about discipline. Mental strength. Grounding. Inspirational stuff. Nothing political.”
I stared at him. He genuinely believed that. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe he just didn’t care. “And my father?” I asked.
Evan didn’t hesitate. “He’s enthusiastic. NorthStar has major private investors. Your involvement would raise their profile. And yours.”
“My father wants their money.”
“He wantsyourfuture secured.”
No. He wanted control. Always had.
“This is vital,” Evan said smoothly. “You’re at a delicate point in your career, Cole. A teetering franchise, inconsistent media narratives, the loss—”
“I said no.”
The look he gave me was startled, like a dog hearing a whistle outside human range. “No?” he repeated like I'd suddenly started speaking Russian.
“No, Evan. I’m not fronting a company built on harming vulnerable minorities.”
He blinked, regrouped quickly. “This is not a sexuality issue, Cole—”
“Oh, spare me. Their entire business is sexuality issues.”
“That’s an exaggeration.”
“It’s a fact.”
His jaw locked, frustration bleeding through the corporate polish. “Your father is expecting your cooperation.”
“I’m not giving it.”
The silence between us went sharp as broken glass. “He'll be disappointed,” Evan warned.
“Good,” I said. “Tell him exactly this: I won’t do it.”
Evan stared at me like I’d grown a second head. Maybe because he knew better than anyone that I’d never defied my father in anything that touched my career. “You’re letting feelings cloud your judgment,” he said.
“No,” I answered. “I'm letting my conscience do that.”
