“Good morning, Lily.”
“I—good morning. Mr. Cross is upstairs.”
“I know.”
Lily swallowed. “Do you need me to call—”
“No. Thank you.”
Madison placed a hand on the scanner.
The gate flashed red.
Access denied.
Another mini-payoff.
Preston had already tried to erase her.
Lily’s face went pale. “I’m so sorry. It must be a system mistake.”
Madison looked at the small red screen.
Then at the security camera.
Then she smiled faintly.
“Actually, it’s evidence.”
Rachel stepped up behind her and handed Lily a printed letter.
“This is notice of unlawful exclusion of a beneficial shareholder representative from a scheduled board meeting,” Rachel said. “Please timestamp receipt.”
Lily stared.
The head of security hurried over, a thick man named Collins who had once refused Madison entry to Preston’s executive floor because “spouses wait downstairs.”
Madison remembered.
He probably did too.
“Mrs. Cross,” Collins said, “Mr. Cross requested—”
“I’m not here as Mrs. Cross.”
The lobby seemed to hold its breath.
Madison opened her folder and removed a cream card embossed with a small silver V.
Vale Strategic Holdings.
Collins frowned.
He recognized the name.
Everyone in tech recognized it vaguely, the way sailors recognized dark clouds.
Powerful.
Private.
Rarely seen.
Never ignored.
“I’m here,” Madison said, “as the appointed representative of CrossCore’s largest secured debt holder and a disclosed minority voting bloc.”
Collins looked at Rachel.
Rachel smiled without warmth. “You can let her through, or you can explain to the board why security created another exhibit.”
The gate opened ninety seconds later.
Madison stepped into the elevator.
By the time the doors closed, the lobby had already started texting.
Preston was waiting on the forty-sixth floor.
His tie was perfect again.
Men like him believed grooming could cover panic.
Behind him stood Eleanor Cross in winter-white wool, lips pressed thin.
The Cross family always dressed like old money, though their money was barely thirty years old and mostly built from real estate deals that left lawsuits behind like oil slicks.
Eleanor looked Madison up and down.
“Pregnancy has made you dramatic,” she said.
Madison removed her gloves finger by finger.
“Good morning to you too, Eleanor.”
Preston stepped closer. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I have a board seat proxy.”
“You have a vendetta.”
“I have both.”
His nostrils flared.
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened. She understood danger faster than her son did.
“Madison,” Eleanor said, softening her voice, “last night was unfortunate. Preston should have handled the announcement privately.”
Madison looked at her.
“Announcement?”
Eleanor’s face remained smooth.
“Yes. These things happen. Marriages fail. Public figures move on. The healthiest choice now is dignity.”
“Dignity,” Madison repeated.
“Think of the baby.”
Madison felt the words slide across her skin like something dirty.
There it was.
The favorite weapon of people who had none.
Think of the baby.
As if Madison had forgotten the child pressing beneath her ribs.
As if Preston had not stood beneath a chandelier and kissed another woman’s hand while that child heard applause for her mother’s erasure.
Madison took one step closer to Eleanor.
“I am thinking of my daughter,” she said. “That is why I’m not letting your son leave her with a bankrupt name, a poisoned company, and a father who uses women as press strategy.”
Preston’s face darkened. “Be careful.”
Madison looked at him.
“You keep saying that.”
Rachel appeared at her shoulder. “The board is assembled.”
Preston turned on Rachel. “You’re enjoying this.”
Rachel’s smile was small. “Professionally.”