He doesn’t say the word poison. He dances around it. Poison indicates premeditation, a predator. This is only an attempted murder. And that would put a great big cross against the university’s reputation. And the university had already had its share of scandals over the past eighteen months. There’d be more scrutinous media exposure. The fallout would be massive.
“Why do you need me on this?” I ask. There’s only so much I can do, and although damage control is Goliath’s jam, there’s not really a way I can erase an attempted murder that happened in front of potentially hundreds of witnesses.
“Because,” the dean tells me, taking in a deep breath “the man is William Scott-Evans.”
My brain has a momentary glitch before I shake my head, even knowing that the dean can’t see me.
“William Scott-Evans,” I repeat, as though asking for confirmation. “The senator’s son?”
“One in the same. He’s an esteemed lawyer himself. So as you can see, this is a monumental fuck up.”
Goliath doesn’t existin a way that anyone can point to without sounding insane. But when universities need problems to disappear, when scandals need to be softened, rerouted, buried—everyone has us on speed dial.
Officially, we’re crisis consultants. Unofficially, we’re the ones who make sure the right story survives.
I tell the dean I’ll be on campus as soon as I can. I rather relish the idea of making him wait.
When the call ends, I sit back and stare at the ceiling.
Titan should be handling this.
He would’ve liked it. This is one of those clean incidents that poses more questions than it answers. And Titan loved a good old puzzle.
But Titan Ward stepped down from head of Goliath two years ago. He didn’t make a speech. Didn’t call a meeting. He just… left.
Lily Snow needed him more than Goliath did. The world, the lost and broken, needed him more than we did. That was the official version, anyway.
My sister Bethany likes to remind me that those two had a true love story with a redemption arc. The King walking awayfrom the throne for the woman he loved. And giving closure to families whose children had gone missing many years ago.
What people don’t say is that when Titan left, he took the center of gravity with him.
Goliath didn’t fracture loudly. There was no civil war. No blood was shed. It was just a quiet shift, like a building settling after an earthquake and everyone pretending the cracks were cosmetic.
And then they put the crown on me.
Titan did it, technically. But the moment it settled, heavy and cold, I understood the truth with a sick, quiet clarity—this had always been my father’s plan.
He’d laid the groundwork decades ago, back when Goliath was still just an idea. One of its original founders, he never truly left. He lingered instead, a shadow at the edges, keeping his seat on the board while pretending distance was the same as disinterest. He didn’t involve himself in the day-to-day. He didn’t need to. He only dropped in when it mattered—whenImattered—offering opinions no one asked for and guidance I hadn’t earned yet.
He liked to call them pearls of wisdom.
I called them pressure. Conditioning. A slow tightening of the noose.
Every comment, every correction, every look that lingered a second too long—it was all preparation. He hadn’t raised a son. He’d groomed a successor. And now, standing there with the weight of Goliath settling onto my shoulders, I realized this wasn’t a promotion.
It was an inheritance.
Titan had carried Goliath like a religion. I carry it like a ledger. And somehow, he was still a better man than I’ll ever be.
But I’m King now. Which means the curious poisoning of analumni member lands squarely in my lap—unwanted, intimate, and deeply uncomfortable
Just before six, the preliminary report lands in my inbox.
Male. Thirty-two. No prior history of heart trouble. Elevated heart rate. Loss of motor control. Pulmonary distress. Frothing consistent with acute toxicity, but no known substances detected on the rapid panel.
This was not a recreational incident, nor was it accidental. This was definitely intentional. I read it twice. Then a third time, slower. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. This was calculated. They deliberately targeted this man. But why?
By the time I arrive on campus, the place feels like it’s holding its breath. There’s security everywhere, and it’s tight. There are students whispering in clusters, their phones out, stories mutating by the minute. I look around at the scattered crowds, wondering why this incident specifically had garnered such immense interest.
