Chapter 24
PARKER
The boardroom is exactly what I expected—all dark wood and leather chairs, windows overlooking the harbor where ships move cargo that’s probably only half-legal.
The table could seat twenty, but today there are only ten people: Charles at the head, me beside him, and eight members of Ryan Matthews’s shipping operation spread across both sides.
Ryan sits directly across from me, flanked by his CFO and operations manager. He’s handsome in that clean-cut, all-American way—sandy brown hair styled with expensive product, suit that screams custom-tailored. Confident stride when he entered. Easy smile.
When his eyes landed on me, recognition flickered. Then surprise. Then something that looked like genuine pleasure.
“Parker Carter.” He’d offered his hand across the table, warm and firm. “Wow. It’s been—what? Over ten years?”
“Something like that.” I keep my voice neutral.
“You look amazing.” His smile is friendly. Familiar in a way that suggests we knew each other better than we actually did. “I heard you were back. Charles mentioned you’d taken a position with the organization.”
“Chief Strategic Officer,” Charles clarifies, his tone making it clear this isn’t honorary. “Parker’s here to help us navigate the modernization of our operations. Bring us into the twenty-first century with cleaner business practices and better public relations.”
“Smart move.” Ryan’s eyes haven’t left my face. There’s warmth there. Interest. “Your background in behavioral psychology must be invaluable in negotiations.”
I feel rather than see the three men positioned in the observation room adjacent to the boardroom. Floor-to-ceiling glass that’s currently dimmed to one-way, giving them a perfect view of this meeting while remaining invisible to everyone inside.
Jace will be watching with that careful assessment, cataloging Ryan’s body language, calculating threat levels.
Cal will be amused, probably lounging in a chair with that knowing smirk.
And Silas... Silas will be radiating silent menace at a man who dared to look at me like that. He’s probably thinking of all the ways he can use a damn stapler on Ryan just for smiling towards me.
“It has its uses,” I say carefully. “Understanding what motivates people, what they’re afraid of, what they want—it’s helpful in any business.”
“I bet.” Ryan leans forward slightly. “It’s good to see you back. There were rumors—” He stops himself, glancing at Charles.
“Rumors?” I keep my voice even, curious. Not defensive.
Ryan’s CFO—an older man named George something—clears his throat. “Just speculation, Ms. Carter. You know how people talk when someone from a prominent family disappears suddenly. Some said you’d left to start a family. Others thought—” He hesitates.
“Thought what?” I press gently.
“That there’d been a falling out with your father,” Ryan finishes diplomatically. “Given Dominic’s...reputation, people assumed the worst.”
Charles’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt. This is part of it. Part of what I’ll face in every meeting today.
“My father and I had philosophical differences,” I say calmly. “About how this organization should operate. How we should treat people, both inside and outside the family. I left to build a life on my own terms, raise my sons without those influences.”
“Sons,” Ryan repeats, and there’s genuine interest in his voice. “Charles mentioned you have twins?”
“Two boys. They’re five.”
“That must be incredible.” His smile softens. “And their father?”
The question hangs in the air—polite curiosity or calculated probe? I can’t quite tell.
“Not in the picture,” I say smoothly. The practiced response.
George leans back, exchanging glances with the woman beside him—Ryan’s operations manager, I think. They’re assessing. Calculating. Wondering if the single mother of mystery children equals a liability or an asset.
“Let’s focus on business,” Charles cuts in, his voice carrying authority. “Ryan, walk us through quarter three performance for the shipping operation.”
The next forty-five minutes pass in a detailed financial review.
The Matthews shipping network moved significant cargo up and down the East Coast—legitimate and otherwise.
Revenue is up eighteen percent from quarter two.
They’ve successfully navigated new customs regulations while maintaining operational flexibility for our less-legal interests.
Ryan presents with confidence and competence. He’s good at this. Smart. Strategic. I can see why his family’s operation is valuable to the Carter organization.
“Final item,” Charles says, pulling up a new slide. “Charleston expansion. We’ve been approached about establishing a shipping partnership that would significantly increase our coastal coverage. Ryan, you’ve been reviewing the proposal?”
“I have.” Ryan swipes through documents on his tablet. “The infrastructure is solid. The existing operation has clean books—or at least, books that appear clean. But any expansion into new territory comes with territorial disputes. We’d be disrupting existing power structures.”
“What’s the risk profile?” I ask.
“Medium-high.” He looks at me directly. “The potential revenue increase is substantial—a thirty percent boost in shipping capacity. But we’d be making enemies of whoever currently controls that territory.”
“So don’t disrupt them,” I say. “Partner with them.”
George frowns. “That’s not typically how we expand.”
“It’s how we should expand,” I counter. “Find the existing players. Identify what they want more than territorial control. Make them willing partners instead of displaced enemies. It’s cleaner, more sustainable, and doesn’t leave us dealing with revenge plots for the next decade.”
Ryan’s operations manager—a sharp-eyed woman named Linda—nods slowly. “That’s actually... not a bad approach. It would take longer, but the long-term stability would be worth it.”
“It also requires better intelligence gathering,” George points out. “We’d need to understand their operations intimately before approaching with an offer.”
“That’s why we have people for that,” I say. Meeting his eyes. Not backing down. “I can draft a proposal. Research the key players, identify leverage points, and create a negotiation framework that benefits everyone involved.”
Charles leans back, satisfaction clear in his expression. “This is exactly why I brought Parker on board. Fresh perspective. Different approach. We’re not our father’s organization anymore—we need to evolve.”
The statement hangs in the air. A line in the sand. The Dominic Carter era is over.
“I think it’s brilliant,” Ryan says, and his tone carries respect. “Parker, I’d love to go over some of the details with you. Maybe over coffee or dinner? I can provide context on the Charleston players that might not be in official reports.”
Before I can respond, Charles nods enthusiastically. “That’s an excellent idea. Parker, you should definitely take Ryan up on that. He’s got valuable insights that could inform your strategic planning.”
I feel the shift in the observation room. The tension that suddenly crackles through the one-way glass.
“I’d need to check my calendar,” I say diplomatically. “With the boys starting school and getting settled, my schedule’s fairly packed.”
“Of course.” Ryan’s smile doesn’t dim. “No pressure. But the offer stands. Even just as colleagues comparing notes.”
“Just let me know what night works,” Charles interjects. “Or day, if you prefer coffee. I can help secure someone to watch the boys. Sienna’s always happy to have them over with Lottie and Jimmy. Or Mom would love the quality time. Hell, I bet Jace, Cal, and Silas would even step up if needed.”
From the observation room, I hear it—a quiet snort covered immediately with a cough. Cal. Definitely Cal.
I risk a glance at the dimmed glass and immediately regret it.
I can’t see them clearly. Just silhouettes through the tinted surface. But Silas’s form is unmistakable—all height and breadth and that particular way he holds himself when he’s containing violence.
Even through glass and distance, the intensity radiating from him makes my skin prickle. Heat rises up my neck, pooling low in my belly. Chills race down my spine.
He’s not moving. Not speaking. Just watching.
And somehow that’s more overwhelming than anything he could actually do.
I clear my throat, redirecting my attention to the table. “We’ll figure something out. But let’s table that for now. Ryan, send me the Charleston files, and I’ll start preliminary research.”
“Will do.” He pulls out his phone, tapping quickly. “I’ll have Linda compile everything we have and send it to your email by the end of the day.”
“Perfect.”
Charles closes his laptop with a decisive click. “Unless anyone has additional concerns, I think we’re done here. Ryan, excellent work this quarter. Keep me updated on any developments.”
“Will do.” Ryan stands, offering his hand across the table again. This time to me. “Parker, it was really great seeing you again. I’m glad you’re back.”
I shake his hand—brief, professional. “Thank you.”
“And seriously,” he adds, lowering his voice slightly. “If you need anything. Local recommendations, someone to show you around since you’ve been gone so long, or just a friendly face—I’m around.”
“I appreciate that.”
He holds my gaze for a beat too long before releasing my hand and gathering his things. His team files out behind him, Linda shooting me an appraising look that feels less hostile than curious.
The door closes behind them, leaving just Charles and me in the boardroom.
“Well,” he says, standing and stretching. “That went better than expected. You handled yourself perfectly.”
“Thanks.” I gather my notes, trying to ignore the prickling awareness of being observed. “Ryan seems nice.”