Ronan peeled the black tape away from the fire report while Serafina Vale stood beside the Starbucks table with one hand still wrapped around her untouched coffee.
The name beneath the tape was Daniel Mercer.
My name.
For several seconds, Serafina said nothing.
Her assistants stared at the report.
The barista behind the counter held his phone at chest level, still recording.
Customers who had been pretending not to watch no longer bothered pretending.
Serafina finally looked at Ronan.
“Where did you get that?”
“I kept a copy.”
“You stole confidential company property.”
“I preserved evidence.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You have worked for me for six years.”
“Yes,” Ronan said.
“And I have regretted one of them every day.”
The phone in Serafina’s hand rang again.
The screen showed Evelyn Shaw, chairwoman of Valent Technologies’ board.
Serafina declined the call.
It rang a third time.
Ronan closed the report and slid it into his briefcase.
“You should answer.”
Instead, Serafina turned to her senior assistant.
“Find Daniel Mercer.
I want his employment history, debts, lawsuits, custody records—everything.”
The assistant hesitated.
“Now.”
Ronan’s expression hardened.
“You still think he is the threat.”
Serafina looked toward the café windows, where I had disappeared into the afternoon crowd.
“A stranger occupied my reserved table, provoked me, and created a public spectacle.”
“You slapped him.”
“He baited me.”
“The camera has sound.”
That sentence finally silenced her.
By the time I reached Alera’s school, I had convinced myself that none of it mattered.
Rich people survived scandals.
Companies issued statements.
Lawyers turned facts into fog.
Men like me still had rent due on Friday.
Alera came through the doors wearing her purple backpack and carrying a paper turkey she had made in art class.
She saw my cheek immediately.
“What happened?”
“I bumped into something.”
She narrowed her eyes.
She was nine and had inherited her mother’s ability to detect lies before they finished leaving my mouth.
“You bumped into a hand?”
I almost laughed.
“Something like that.”
She slipped her small hand into mine.
“Was it a bad person?”
I looked down at her.
“It was a person who made a bad choice.”
That answer seemed to satisfy her for exactly six seconds.
Then she asked whether we could afford pizza.
