Chapter 2 #2
Logan is already at the main table, sleeves rolled and shoulder-length hair askew, barely covering the birthmark on his temple, scanning a digital overlay of schematics. He looks up and grins when he spots me.
“Hey, Kai. How did it go with the she-devil?”
I punch him on the shoulder. “She's my mother, asshole. My father, however, is still lying about taking over Rhodes Industries.”
Ethan is at the end of the table, face half-buried in his laptop. His fingers move at a speed that borders on violence. “If you'd given us five more minutes, we might have uncovered who's been feeding Hammond intel about us.”
“Only five minutes to track down another spy,” Logan chimes in, reclining in his chair. “Maybe you should ask Maddox to sniff them out.”
Ethan finally looks up, his expression unimpressed. “Who do you think flagged the problem in the first place?”
I lean against the table and cross my arms. “Focus on reinforcing our security measures instead of playing detective.”
Ethan smirks. “Just think of it as multitasking.”
I drop into my seat and tap the tablet to bring up the agenda. “Where are we?”
Logan sweeps his hands across the blueprints.
“Ravenwood. Since Hammond's merger swallowed every independent energy provider in the region, that whole community has been bleeding.
Schools can't keep the lights on past five, families are rationing electricity.
We're building them a clean energy grid, and if the pilot works, we can scale it across three districts.”
“The issue is going to be sabotage,” Ethan says.
“Already handled,” I say, scrolling through my notifications.
There's a string of encrypted messages from Hex, Maddox's preferred name for work that skirts the legal line.
It's a weird comfort knowing we have our own cybersecurity team on retainer, tracing the threads of our own cold war.
Six months ago, only Hex's insane skills saved ELK from being absorbed into Hammond's merger.
“Maddox says to prepare for corporate espionage. We're stepping on toes.”
Logan sketches a flow chart on the glass wall. “If we frame it as community investment, we get the teachers and the parents on our side. The council can't say no to that.”
“Ethan, get the specs reviewed by tonight. Logan, prep the materials. I'll—”
My words trail off as Ethan's phone buzzes. He stares at the screen, the colorful tattoos on his neck rippling as his muscles contract. He locks the screen and grabs his things.
“I have to run,” he says. “Carla needs me.”
Logan's brow arches. “Again?”
Ethan nods, avoiding our eyes. “She's... you know how it is.” He tries to smile. It looks more like a grimace.
He's halfway to the door before I shout after him, “Tell her we're rooting for her.”
The door closes and leaves a silence that only happens between people who have known each other long enough to read every gap.
“Do you think he'll be okay?” Logan asks.
I want to say yes. Instead, I look at the schematic. All those clean, beautiful lines mean nothing without the mess of actual lives to back them up.
“He has us,” I say. “That's more than most people get.”
Logan flicks a marker at me. “You're running point on the council meeting, Rhodes. Try not to set the room on fire.”
I catch the marker. “No promises.”
The day grinds on. Sunlight shifts across the wall. Logan cues up a playlist, something synthy and wordless, and we work in parallel until the sky turns amber.
By evening, I'm still at my desk. My jaw is locked. I keep scrolling through notifications that multiply faster than I can clear them. I shove back from the desk. My father's voice is still rattling around in my skull. Your company has no value to me.
The walls are closing in.
I grab my jacket and head for the elevator. Logan's voice follows me. “You okay?”
“Need air.”
He doesn't push. That's one of the things I appreciate about him.
Downstairs, my driver is already pulling the car around. I wave him off.
“Sir?”
“I'm walking. Take the evening off, George. I'm sure Linda will enjoy having you home for dinner.”
He looks at me as if I'd announced I'm joining a monastery. The car pulls away, and I'm left standing on the sidewalk.
I pick a direction and move.
The financial district empties out after six, all those glass towers bleeding suits onto the sidewalks before swallowing them into parking garages and subway stations.
I walk against the current with my collar up.
Nobody looks twice. I'm just another guy in expensive clothes, and in this neighborhood, that's camouflage.
The anger fades as I walk, replaced by something flatter and emptier. I pass the tower where my mother's lawyer works, the bodega where Ethan buys energy drinks by the crate, a wine bar I took Brianna to once, back when I still believed her performance.
I keep walking.
The city changes character as I move deeper into the arts district.
Glass gives way to older stone, art deco facades from a time when buildings were made to inspire rather than to flip.
The crowd thins and the noise softens. I pass galleries with their windows lit like stages, restaurants spilling warmth onto the sidewalk, a bookshop with a cat sleeping in the display.
I'm not sure how long I've been walking when I notice the queue.
It spills out of a converted warehouse, maybe thirty people waiting behind a velvet rope. Above the entrance, a banner announces the Silverpoint Museum of Modern Art Opening Night.
I don't do museums or art or anything that can't be measured, optimized, or converted into quarterly projections. Yet something about this queue makes me pause. These people are waiting patiently to look at things that serve no practical purpose.
A couple sharing earbuds. A woman in paint-stained jeans, maybe an artist herself. An older man reads a paperback as he waits. Nobody is angling for an advantage.
I could join them. I could be anonymous for an hour. The thought is almost absurd. Kaiden Rhodes doesn't wait in queues.
But I'm not Kaiden Rhodes tonight. I'm not Alexander Hammond either. I am just a guy who walked until his feet brought him somewhere unexpected.
I take a step toward the line and stop. Check my phone out of habit before shoving it back in my pocket. I should go home. I should review the Ravenwood projections.
I should do so many things.
Instead, I hover at the edge of the queue. I am an intruder in a world of people who actually know how to feel.