CARL
The boardroom smelled of expensive cologne and fear.
Carl stood at the head of the table, his palms pressed flat against the polished wood to keep them from curling into fists. The directors of Harris Consolidated stared at him like he was a live grenade.
On the screen behind him, the headlines screamed:
**HARRIS COO INVOLVED IN MURDER PLOT?**
**SANDEKE CEO CLAIMS "EXTORTION" IN SHOCK INTERVIEW**
The youngest board member—Lydia Cho—cleared her throat. "Carl, we need damage control. The stock's down 18% since the arrest."
Carl didn't blink. "Hansen's dead. Kray's in custody. The damage is contained."
"Not when the press is asking why your *personal* enemies targeted the company." Her gaze flicked to the security feed still playing on mute—Alina being carried out of the penthouse, her face buried in the nanny's shoulder. "Or why your niece was part of this."
Carl's vision tunneled. "Careful, Lydia."
She leaned forward. "We're voting to instate an interim CEO while this blows over."
The room held its breath.
Carl smiled—the one that made interns quit on the spot. "Try it."
His phone buzzed. A text from Kathleen:
**You need to see this.**
An attachment: a scanned document from 20 years ago.
Carl's blood turned to ice.
---
AVA
Ava's hospital room was a nest of empty coffee cups and conspiracy.
Kathleen paced by the window, her arms wrapped tight around herself. "Tell me you have more."
Ava zoomed in on her screen. "Oh, I've got *plenty*."
The document was a faded social services report—one she'd pulled from a digitized archive after her last bombshell.
**Subject: Carl Harris (Age 14)**
**Facility: Willowridge Group Home**
**Incident Report: Altercation with staff. Subject defended younger resident (Kathleen Palmer, Age 9) from assault.**
Kathleen's voice was barely audible. "I don't remember this."
Ava swiveled the laptop. "But *he* does."
The security footage on screen showed Carl in his office, staring at the document with something like devastation.
Kathleen sank into a chair.
Ava hesitated, then pulled up another file. "There's more. After Willowridge, Carl was transferred to juvie for 'violent tendencies.' His foster records were sealed, but..." She tapped a key. "Guess who testified against him?"
The name made Kathleen flinch:
**Hansen Leroy.**
---
CARL
Carl stood in the ruins of his past.
The Willowridge Home had been demolished years ago, but the chain-link fence remained, sagging under the weight of old ghosts. He hadn't set foot here since he was fourteen—since the night he'd broken a staff member's nose for cornering a scrawny dark-haired girl in the laundry room.
He hadn't known her name then. Just her eyes—wide with a fear he recognized.
Now he knew.
*Kathleen.*
His phone rang. Alina's nanny.
"Mr. Harris, she's asking for you. And—" A pause. "She keeps crying for Kathleen."
Carl closed his eyes.
Behind him, gravel crunched.
He turned.
Kathleen stood ten feet away, the wind tugging at her clothes, her face streaked with tears he'd never seen her shed.
"You knew," she whispered.
Carl's throat burned. "Not until today."
A beat. Then—
Kathleen crossed the distance and slapped him. Hard.
"Bullshit." Her voice shook. "You looked me in the eye and *lied*."
Carl didn't block the second strike. Let her fists slam against his chest. Let her rage tear through him.
Then he caught her wrists. "I didn't recognize you."
Kathleen froze.
"Not at first." His thumb brushed the scar on her wrist—the one she'd gotten that night, shielding her face from the broken glass. "But when you talked about SafeHaven's mission, something clicked. I thought—" He choked on the words. "I thought if I could protect your company, it might make up for failing you then."
Kathleen's breath hitched. "You didn't fail me."
Carl released her. "Didn't I?"
The silence between them was louder than gunfire.