Chapter 2 A beat of silence

Three hours of sleep feels like a luxury these days.

I check my eye drops before stepping into the elevator – a trick I learned the hard way after eighteen-hour workdays started showing in the mirror. People pay for the illusion of invincibility. Kingsley Consulting sells certainty – and certainty doesn't come with dark circles.

"Morning, Ms. Kingsley." Arizona says, handing me a coffee as the elevator doors open to the 32nd floor. "Pharmaco brought their lawyers."

"Of course they did." I take a sip. Black. Scalding. Perfect. "Their stock?"

"Dropped another eight points this morning. CEO's wife just listed their Hampton house."

I almost feel sorry for them. Almost.

"Dr. Sengupta called again," Arizona adds quietly, knowing better than to ask why a pediatric hematologist keeps calling her boss. "Said it's–"

"I know what he said." The cup crumples slightly in my grip. "Move my afternoon appointments. I need to be at the clinic by three."

My phone screen lights up with a text from Vivienne: *Koda refused breakfast again. Oxygen levels at 92%.*

Ninety-two. Down from ninety-five last week. Numbers don't lie, and these numbers are killing me one percentage point at a time.

The conference room hushes when I enter. Six men in power suits, their collective confidence shrinking with their stock portfolio. Phillips, the CEO, stands to greet me, hand outstretched. His palm is damp.

"Ms. Kingsley, we appreciate–"

"Your second quarter earnings report leaked." I set down my coffee, ignoring his hand. "The market's already reacting."

His face drains of color. "That's not possible. We've only shared those numbers with–"

"Doesn't matter who leaked them. Matters what we do now." I click the remote. The wall screen illuminates with their dismal projections. "You're three weeks from total investor exodus."

The CFO clears his throat. "Our lawyers have prepared alternate language for the consulting agreement. Given the circumstances, we feel–"

"Your lawyers can't save you from what's coming." I move around the table, my heels striking the floor like punctuation. "But I can."

I click again. The screen changes to a narrative structure – the story their company needs to tell. Not a lie. A strategic truth.

"This drug of yours." I point to the image of their flagship product. "It works. Not spectacularly. Not miraculously. But it works better than the alternatives for a specific patient subset. That's your story."

"But our marketing has been positioning it as a breakthrough for all demographics," Phillips argues.

"Which is why you're failing." I tap my screen. Their actual clinical data appears. "The market doesn't believe you because you're lying. I don't sell lies. I sell believable narratives."

For the next thirty minutes, I reconstruct their reality. Not the one they wanted – the one they can actually have. By the time I finish, Phillips is nodding like I've thrown him a lifeline. Which I have.

"Triple the marketing budget for the targeted demographic," he tells his team. "Ms. Kingsley's approach makes perfect sense."

Of course it does. I've been restructuring corporate realities since these men were still trying to impress their business school professors.

The room clears, leaving just Phillips and me.

"There's something else," he says quietly. "My daughter... she has a rare blood disorder. When I heard about your son's condition, I thought..."

My spine stiffens. "My personal life isn't relevant to our business relationship."

"No, of course not." He looks embarrassed. "It's just – we've been working with some research partners at Mayo Clinic. Experimental protocols for rare hematological disorders. If you're interested, I could make an introduction."

For a moment, I just stare at him. This desperate man offering the one thing money can't easily buy – medical connections.

"Send the information to my assistant," I say finally. "But our agreement stands. My fee doesn't change."

"Understood."

I'm already thinking of Koda as I walk back to my office. His thinning frame. The way he pretends not to be tired. The research papers I read until 3 AM, looking for something – anything – that might help.

The door to my office stands open. I never leave it open.

I stop, instincts firing. Someone's sitting in my chair, back to the door. But I recognize the set of those shoulders. The watch. The entitled posture of a man who's never asked permission for anything in his life.

"The Kingmaker herself." Tyler Leviné swivels to face me. "Your security could use some work."

My heart thuds against my ribs, but my face reveals nothing. Professional necessity.

"Breaking and entering is a crime, Mr. Leviné," I say, voice flat. "Even for billionaires."

"Your assistant practically dropped her phone when I mentioned the Leviné name." He shrugs. "Some doors just open."

He picks up the framed photo from my desk – me receiving an industry award, Koda's handiwork with my camera. Tyler's fingers touch what my son's hands created, and something primal in me wants to snatch it away.

"Impressive empire," he says, setting down the photo. "Especially while raising a teenage son alone."

The word "alone" lands like a slap. He knows. He's always known.

"What do you want?" I ask, moving into my own space, refusing to be a visitor in my office.

"Direct. I appreciate that." He stands, circles my desk like he's measuring it. "I need you to make me a monster."

"Excuse me?"

"That's what you do, isn't it? Transform men into something powerful enough to be feared." He slides a check across my desk. The number makes my fingers itch. "I need the board of Titan Media to forget my father built this company. To see me as the only possible future."

I don't touch the check. "I don't do family businesses."

"Really?" His smile doesn't reach his eyes. "I thought family was exactly why you'd take this job."

My phone vibrates with a text from Vivienne: *Doctor wants another blood sample. Koda asking questions about treatment.*

Tyler watches me too closely, missing nothing.

"Interesting timing," he says, voice dropping lower. "My brother announcing his Senate run the same week your son's condition requires specialized treatment."

My stomach drops. "There's no connection."

"No? Nasir needs a family for his campaign. You need medical treatment that normal people can't access. I need someone who understands how perception becomes reality." His smile is all teeth. "Sounds connected to me."

I glance at the check again. That amount would cover experimental treatments for years.

"What exactly are you proposing?" My voice gives nothing away.

"A mutually beneficial arrangement." He leans against my desk. "You help me secure control at Titan. Help Nasir win his Senate seat with a family narrative that voters can embrace. Your son gets access to the best medical care – including specialized treatment for blood disorders that run in the Leviné genetic line."

The room seems to tilt. "How long have you known about Koda?"

Tyler stands, straightening his custom suit. "Longer than my brother. That's all that matters."

At the door, he pauses. "By the way, Nasir's at Westlake Clinic this afternoon. Same floor as your son's specialist." His eyes hold mine. "Small world."

When he's gone, I grip the edge of my desk until my fingers ache. With shaking hands, I grab my phone.

"Viv," I say, struggling to keep my voice steady. "Change plans. Keep Koda home. Don't let him go to the clinic."

"Too late," she answers, and everything inside me goes cold. "He's already with Dr. Sengupta."

A beat of silence.

"And Amelia... Nasir Leviné is here."

The phone slips from my hand, hitting the desk with a clatter that sounds like the end of everything I've built. Fourteen years of hiding. Of running. Of protecting Koda from the truth.

I stare at Tyler's check, still lying on my desk. The amount would save my son. The cost would change everything.

I straighten my jacket, apply fresh lipstick with a steady hand. I've built my life teaching powerful men how to make people believe.

Now I have to face the one man who always saw right through me.