Olivia Grant, pharmaceutical heiress, crossed her legs. “Maybe it’s unsolvable. If the Swiss couldn’t fix it, maybe it’s fundamentally flawed. Unless you’ve got a direct line to heaven, we should revert to the old system.”
Alexander slammed his hand on the table. “There is no old system! The market punishes hesitation. Someone can solve this. I don’t care if I have to find a NASA physicist—I want it fixed.”
The air grew heavy.
Then the oak door creaked open.
Not an executive.
A cleaning cart.
Pushing it was Rosa Martinez, uniform faded from years of washing. Beside her stood a small boy, trying to shrink into invisibility.
Lucas. Ten years old. Oversized pants, a worn comic-book T-shirt, sneakers with holes revealing mismatched socks. His eyes, though—sharp and observant.
The room went still.
Alexander stared. “What is this?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Harrington,” Rosa said quickly. “I thought the meeting was finished. My mother fell ill. I had no one to watch him. He’ll be quiet.”
Olivia smirked. “At least someone here knows how to clean up messes.”
Laughter circled the table.