Chapter 5 Mutual Interests

The champagne tastes like nothing in my mouth.

Yeah, that's because I haven't taken a single sip all night. I just hold it and watch the bubbles die while I scan the room. The crystal flute is merely a prop, like everything else about me tonight.

The dress I'm wearing cost more than my first month's rent after college. It's aubergine - dark purple - and cuts sharp angles across my shoulders. There's the subtle makeup. And of course, the carefully arranged smile. Another piece of armor.

Two days since that text from Tyler, and I still feel eyes on me everywhere.

The Labyrinth Gallery is packed with San Francisco's rich and powerful. They bunch up around weird metal sculptures and paintings, nodding like they get it. I spot three tech CEOs I've worked with, two state senators who owe me favors, and enough venture capital money to buy a small country. My natural habitat, supposedly.

I check my phone again. Nothing from Vivienne about Koda's latest test results.

"Hunting or hiding?" asks a lilting voice behind me.

I turn to find Imara Okafor watching me. At sixty-two, she commands the room without effort – designer dress draped perfectly over her tall frame, gray locs swept into an elegant updo, intelligence radiating from her like heat. And, her eyes miss nothing.

"Observing," I tell her with a small nod. With Imara, respect is both earned and required.

"Mmm." She sips her champagne, eyes never leaving mine. "The Kingmaker never merely observes. You're here for the Collector, aren't you?"

My heart beats faster. Imara doesn't waste words on small talk. "I was hoping you might introduce us."

"Curious timing. I received a call yesterday from a charming young man asking about you." Her eyes lock on mine. "Nasir Leviné. Mentioned he's considering you for his campaign strategy."

The name hits me hard. I haven't heard it spoken aloud in years. Not this close to me. Haven't even allowed myself to even think it. My mind flashes images I've tried to forget - his hands, his voice, the way he would-

Stop. I push it down. Lock them where they belong.

"Senator Williams has a fifteen-point lead," I say coolly. "Leviné needs more than I can give him."

"Perhaps." Imara tilts her head. "But I found it interesting that he asked specifically about your methods. Your client selection process." She pauses. "Your son."

My fingers tighten around the champagne flute. The stem feels fragile, liable to snap. "Did he?"

"Don't worry. I said only that your personal life is as meticulously curated as your client list." Imara leans closer. "Now..." She nods toward a corner where people are clustered. "Jeremiah Vale. The Collector. Owns a big chunk of Titan Media through shell companies. Nasir Leviné's roommate at Yale."

I look over. Vale stands taller than the people around him. Dark hair with silver at his temples. His laugh carries across the room - too perfect, practiced.

"And," Imara adds, her voice dropping, "the man who just bought the patents to a new treatment for rare blood disorders."

My chest tightens. "How do you know that?"

"Information is the only currency that matters, my dear."Imara smiles slightly. "Vale collects rare things – art, medical patents, secrets. Be careful what you trade with him."

She walks away before I can ask more – leaving me with a knot in my stomach. Across the room, Vale looks up and catches me watching. Something flickers in his eyes - recognition.

I wait for him to come over. I'm already mentally cataloging what I know about him, points of leverage I might use. But he just raises his glass to me and turns his back.

The message is clear: You come to me. Not the other way around.

"He's not worth your time." Says a woman who appears beside me. Her black jumpsuit and architectural gold jewelry speak of money and taste that doesn't need to announce itself. "Jeremiah collects people like paintings-to be displayed and eventually stored away when he tires of them."

I study her face – mid-thirties, striking features, shrewd eyes. "You seem to know him well."

"Nivedita Shah." She extends a hand adorned with a single dramatic ring. "I used to curate his collection before I realized art deserves better guardians."

"Amelia Kingsley." Her handshake is firm, confident.

"I know who you are." Nivedita's smile reveals nothing. "The woman who transforms executives into visionaries through carefully constructed mythology. Not unlike what I do with artists."

"Art curation and strategic consulting are hardly comparable."

"Aren't they? We both select which truths to highlight and which to obscure. We both create narratives that shape perception." She gestures toward Vale with her champagne glass. "He believes your Kingmaker methods could help him consolidate influence at Titan Media."

I feel my guard go up. "And how would you know what he thinks?"

"Because he asked me to arrange an introduction three days ago." Nivedita studies my face with uncomfortable precision. "Which is curious, since you're already working with his oldest friend's brother."

The connection to Nasir again. Nothing happens by chance in these circles. "I don't discuss my client relationships."

"Of course not. But if you were considering taking on Jeremiah Vale, I would advise caution. He collects influential women with particular zeal." Nivedita looks across the room. "Especially those with secrets worth protecting."

I follow her gaze to a redhead about my age. Something about her seems familiar - maybe her jawline, or the way she watches Vale like she's sizing him up.

"That's Velora Kincaid," Nivedita explains. "Ambitious social climber with mysterious funding sources. Recently acquired several medical research startups."

Velora Kincaid. The name hits me like ice water. Kairotha's maiden name. TheThe investor behind the shell company Vivienne had discovered.

"Excuse me," I say abruptly. "I need some air."

On the balcony, I grip the railing hard. My phone shows a new text from Vivienne: *Koda's doctor called. New treatment possibility, but requires Leviné family genetic markers. Specific ones.*

I close my eyes and try to breathe normally. Everything I've built. Everything I've protected.

It's all coming apart.

A shadow falls across my screen. The hairs on my neck rise before I even turn.

"Ms. Kingsley," says Jeremiah Vale, holding out a fresh glass of champagne. "I believe we have a mutual interest to discuss."

His smile reminds me of photographs I've seen of big game hunters – a man admiring potential prey, calculating its value as a trophy.

I take the glass, buying time. "Mr. Vale. I wondered if you'd make your way over."

"I like to observe before engaging," he says. "A habit we share, I believe."

I don't ask how he knows my habits. "What mutual interest did you have in mind?"

"Your son's treatment options." He says it like he's talking about the weather. "And my company's future."

The champagne turns sour in my mouth. I set the glass down on the balcony ledge. "I don't recall mentioning a son."

"Just as I don't recall mentioning my connection to the Leviné family." Vale's eyes never leave mine. "Yet here we both are, aware of facts neither of us has spoken aloud."

The night air feels suddenly thin. Beyond the balcony, San Francisco glitters – oblivious to the game unfolding in its midst. Somewhere in that sprawl of light and shadow is my son, safe in our home. I've protected him with resource at my disposal.

Until now.

"What exactly are you proposing, Mr. Vale?"

His smile widens. "A mutually beneficial arrangement. My medical patents for your... particular expertise."

My phone vibrates in my hand – another text from Vivienne: *Koda's fever is back. We need to talk. Now.*

Vale notices my screen lighting up, though I'm certain he can't read it from his position. "Time-sensitive situations require decisive action, Ms. Kingsley. Shall we discuss terms?"

I slip my phone into my clutch, mind racing through options, contingencies, escape routes. "I'll need specifics. About the treatment."

"Of course. Perhaps tomorrow? My office. Say, ten o'clock?"

"Nine." I counter, needing to establish some control, however illusory.

"Nine it is." Vale takes a business card from his jacket pocket – heavy stock, minimalist design, just a name and number. "I look forward to a productive partnership."

As he walks away, I feel people watching me – Nivedita from near the bar, Velora Kincaid from across the room, and someone else I can't see but know is there.

My fingers find the tiny scar behind my ear – a nervous habit I'd nearly forgotten. I've built walls for a reason. Protected what's mine.

But walls work both ways. They keep threats out – and they keep you in.

I look at the city lights one more time, then turn back toward the gallery. Time to shake this game.