Maddox turns the laptop to face us. “Money trail leads to a shell company in Delaware. Buried three layers deep, but the digital signature is familiar.”
“Hammond,” I say.
“Hammond,” he confirms.
I stare at the muted TV, where the crying mother has been replaced by stock footage of the burned school.
“I need to make a call,” I tell them. “Give me ten minutes.”
They file out to the kitchen. I dial a number I rarely use.
“Alexander.” My father's voice is smooth, unsurprised. “I wondered when you would reach out.”
“Call off your dogs.”
A long pause. I can picture him in his study. The leather chair. The crystal glass of scotch. The portrait of my grandfather watching from the wall.
“I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“The media circus. The distraught parents. The shell company in Delaware.” My grip on the phone turns my knuckles white. “I know it's you.”
“You always had a vivid imagination.” He sighs. “Perhaps if you'd stayed in the family business instead of playing savior with these charity projects?—“
“A school burned down. Kids were almost hurt.”
“Yet they weren't.” His voice sharpens, the mask slipping. “You want to play the martyr, Alexander. You want to pretend you're different from me. You're not. You're just worse at the game.”
“Don't call me that.”
“Blood is blood. You can change your name, start your little company, surround yourself with your righteous friends. When this falls apart, you'll have nowhere else to go.”
I hang up before I say something I can't take back.
The others drift back into the living room. They don't ask how it went. My face tells the story.
“We need to get ahead of this,” Ethan says. “PR firm. Crisis management. Someone who can spin this back in our favor.”
Logan nods. “Our comms team has been struggling. I know a few firms. I'll have Sarah reach out.”
“Do it.” I'm still staring at the TV. “Set up the meetings. Pitches by end of week.”
After they leave, the silence presses in. My father's voice echoes.Blood is blood.
I think about Emma. Her cramped apartment. The omelette she made. The way she smiled when I admitted it was a first for me. She's the only part of my life that doesn't feel like a war.
I pull up our message thread.
Kai: How are you holding up?
Her reply comes a few minutes later.
Emma: Drowning in data. Miles added three more reports to my pile. Might be here until midnight. How's your day?
A disaster. A war zone. I don't mention the news vans or the headlines.
Kai: Better now that I heard from you.
The idea forms as I stare at her name on the screen. GVM is Emma's firm. Solid reputation, respected client list. If I request her specifically for the pitch team, everything aligns. She gets the chance to prove herself on a major campaign. I get a team I can trust because someone on it knows me. We get to see each other during the day, legitimately.
