Chapter 2: The Face of the Company

The red dialogue box from the night before was still burned into my retinas, a square of blood-colored pixels floating over the twins' oatmeal. *Beneficiary Data Unverified.*

I hadn’t fixed it. I couldn’t. At 2:00 AM, I had slammed the laptop shut, terrified that if I tried to override the system again, I would lock the entire corporate account. Now, six hours later, the unresolved error sat in the back of my throat like a swallowed stone.

"Mom, Leo took my shin guard."

"I did not. It's under the table."

"Liar."

"Enough," I said, flipping a pancake with more force than necessary. Batter sizzled against the cast iron. "Leo, give it back. Maya, finish your juice. The bus is here in eight minutes."

I was wearing yesterday’s yoga pants and a sweatshirt with a coffee stain on the cuff. My hair was pulled back in a clip that was digging into my scalp. I felt like I was vibrating, the caffeine from my third espresso warring with the exhaustion dragging at my eyelids.

Then Richard walked in.

The kitchen air shifted, rearranging itself around him. He was immaculate in a charcoal suit, the fabric draping perfectly over his broad shoulders. He smelled of sandalwood and freshly printed money. He didn't look like a man whose family business was hemorrhaging cash; he looked like a GQ spread on "The Modern Tycoon."

"Has anyone seen my lucky tie?" He asked the room at large, pouring himself a coffee from the pot I had brewed. He didn't ask *me* specifically, but we both knew who the question was for.

"It's hanging on the valet stand in the closet," I said, sliding a plate of pancakes onto the island. "Where I put it last night."

He flashed that smile—the one that had charmed the Zoning Board, the bank officers, and, fifteen years ago, me. "You’re a lifesaver, El. What would I do without you?"

"You'd be wearing a striped tie with a plaid shirt," I muttered, wiping syrup off the counter.

He chuckled, leaning against the island, completely unbothered by the morning chaos swirling around his ankles. He took a sip of coffee and checked his watch. "Oh, before I forget. Marcus called. There’s a hiccup with the bridge loan renewal."

My hand stopped moving. The rag went still on the cold marble. "What kind of hiccup?"

"Nothing major. Just some compliance thing about debt-to-income ratios. They need an updated personal financial statement from the guarantor."

Me.

I was the guarantor. Because Richard’s credit was tied up in the Trust, and Eleanor’s assets were shielded in offshore holdings, I was the one who signed on the dotted line. My inheritance, my savings, my name.

"Richard," I said, my voice tight. "I just sent them a statement last month. If they’re asking again, it means the liquidity triggers are tripping. We’re too leveraged."

He waved a hand dismissively. "It’s just protocol, darling. Banks love paperwork. Just work your magic, okay? Talk to them. Charm them. You know how to make the numbers sing."

He set his mug down—on top of the permission slip I had just signed—and walked over to me. He tipped my chin up, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were a warm, melting brown, devoid of worry.

"You’re my rock, Elena," he whispered, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "The invisible engine."

The compliment tasted bitter. An engine is something you use until it burns out, and then you replace it.

"Bus!" Leo shouted, kicking the back door open.

"Go, go, go," Richard said, clapping his hands. "Have a great day, monsters."

The twins scrambled out. Richard grabbed his briefcase, blew me a kiss, and followed them out the door, the heavy oak slamming shut behind him.

Silence rushed back into the room, heavy and suffocating.

I stood there, surrounded by dirty plates and sticky countertops. *My rock.* I looked at the permission slip, now ringed with a coffee stain. I reached for the sponge.

Buzz.

The sound came from the island.

Richard had left his phone. It was sitting face-up on the marble, right next to the fruit bowl.

I sighed, drying my hands on a towel. I needed to run out to the driveway to catch him before he pulled away. I took a step toward the counter.

Buzz.

The screen lit up, illuminating the lock screen photo of the two of us on our honeymoon in Capri. A banner notification slid into view at the top.

**Mother**

The message below it was short. Three words that stopped me cold.

*Is it done?*