Ethan
Clara requested the meeting through my assistant rather than calling directly, which told me before I'd even read the message that whatever she wanted to discuss carried a weight she didn't trust to a phone call.
She arrived at my office just after five, after most of the executive floor had emptied for the evening, dressed in the same careful composure she'd worn to every interaction between us since the press conference, though I noticed, the moment she sat down across from my desk, that something more urgent sat beneath her usual guardedness.
"I need to ask you for something," she said, without preamble. "And I need you to hear the whole request before you decide whether you're willing to help."
"I'm listening."
She hesitated, choosing her words with visible care. "Sebastian
