Chapter 19 The Plan
THE PLAN
KAIDEN
Each headline is a fresh wound.
ELK FOUNDERS' PET PROJECT NEARLY KILLS CHILDREN. PARENTS DEMAND ANSWERS.
I stare at the screen, jaw clenched. The article is a masterpiece of sensationalist garbage.
Quotes from concerned parents who were nowhere near Ravenwood.
A photo of the blackened wing that makes the school look like a war zone.
My name plastered across every paragraph like I'd personally struck the match.
My phone vibrates. Logan.
“You seeing this?”
“I am.” I scroll through the notifications. The stories are everywhere. “How bad is the exposure?”
“Total. News van outside the office. Two more at the research lab.”
I move to the window. A cluster of cameras and reporters crowds the sidewalk three stories below. One of them spots movement behind the glass and points. The zoom lens swings toward me. I pull the curtains shut.
“Get Ethan and Maddox. My place. Now.”
An hour later, we're gathered in my living room. The TV is muted on a morning talk show where a woman dabs at her eyes with a tissue. The caption reads her daughter could have died while she speaks out about a dangerous experiment.
“She wasn't even enrolled in the pilot program,” Maddox mutters, not looking up from his laptop. “Her kid goes to a school three districts over.”
“Doesn't matter.” Logan shakes his head. “The story's out. People believe what they see on the screen, not what happened.”
Ethan leans forward, elbows on his knees. “Who's feeding this? The fire was two days ago. This kind of coordinated media blitz doesn't happen organically.”
Maddox turns the laptop to face us. “Money trail leads to a shell company in Delaware. Buried three layers deep, but the digital signature is familiar.”
“Hammond,” I say.
“Hammond,” he confirms.
I stare at the muted TV, where the crying mother has been replaced by stock footage of the burned school.
“I need to make a call,” I tell them. “Give me ten minutes.”
They file out to the kitchen. I dial a number I rarely use.
“Alexander.” My father's voice is smooth, unsurprised. “I wondered when you would reach out.”
“Call off your dogs.”
A long pause. I can picture him in his study. The leather chair. The crystal glass of scotch. The portrait of my grandfather watching from the wall.
“I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about.”
“The media circus. The distraught parents. The shell company in Delaware.” My grip on the phone turns my knuckles white. “I know it's you.”
“You always had a vivid imagination.” He sighs. “Perhaps if you'd stayed in the family business instead of playing savior with these charity projects—“
“A school burned down. Kids were almost hurt.”
“Yet they weren't.” His voice sharpens, the mask slipping. “You want to play the martyr, Alexander. You want to pretend you're different from me. You're not. You're just worse at the game.”
“Don't call me that.”
“Blood is blood. You can change your name, start your little company, surround yourself with your righteous friends. When this falls apart, you'll have nowhere else to go.”
I hang up before I say something I can't take back.
The others drift back into the living room. They don't ask how it went. My face tells the story.
“We need to get ahead of this,” Ethan says. “PR firm. Crisis management. Someone who can spin this back in our favor.”
Logan nods. “Our comms team has been struggling. I know a few firms. I'll have Sarah reach out.”
“Do it.” I'm still staring at the TV. “Set up the meetings. Pitches by end of week.”
After they leave, the silence presses in. My father's voice echoes. Blood is blood.
I think about Emma. Her cramped apartment. The omelette she made. The way she smiled when I admitted it was a first for me. She's the only part of my life that doesn't feel like a war.
I pull up our message thread.
Kai: How are you holding up?
Her reply comes a few minutes later.
Emma: Drowning in data. Miles added three more reports to my pile. Might be here until midnight. How's your day?
A disaster. A war zone. I don't mention the news vans or the headlines.
Kai: Better now that I heard from you.
The idea forms as I stare at her name on the screen.
GVM is Emma's firm. Solid reputation, respected client list. If I request her specifically for the pitch team, everything aligns.
She gets the chance to prove herself on a major campaign.
I get a team I can trust because someone on it knows me.
We get to see each other during the day, legitimately.
The more I think about it, the more perfect it seems.
I call Logan. “Add GVM to the pitching list.”
A beat of silence. “The marketing firm? I'll have Sarah reach out.”
“Make sure Emma Sinclair is on their pitch team.”
The silence stretches longer. “Emma? Your Emma?”
“She's talented. She understands my priorities. It's a logical choice.”
“Kai, are you sure you want to merge these worlds?”
“Just add them to the list, Lo.”
“Kai—“
“I know what I'm doing.”
I hang up feeling a spark of satisfaction. Emma is struggling in the shadows while Miles buries her in spreadsheets. I have the power to change that.
Two days later, I'm in the ELK conference room with Ethan, Logan, and our head of communications, Sarah, when the GVM team arrives.
Thomas Hawthorne walks in first. Silver hair, expensive suit, the easy confidence of a man who's been closing deals for decades. Behind him two associates.
Then Emma.
She's in a sharp navy blazer, hair pulled back, portfolio tucked under her arm. Professional. Polished. She looks up, catches my gaze, freezes for a split second.
I offer a small smile. “Emma. Good to see you.”
Her eyes widen. Then her jaw tightens, nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale.
“Mr. Rhodes.” Her voice is cool. Formal.
We exchange introductions around the table. Sarah handles our side with practiced ease, presenting Logan as CEO, me as CFO, and Ethan as CTO.
Hawthorne gestures to his team. “Miles Porter, senior account manager. Diana Chen, analytics lead. And Emma Sinclair, creative lead.”
“Please, sit.” I gesture to the empty chairs. “We are looking forward to hearing your approach.”
Miles takes the seat closest to Hawthorne. He has the look of a man who believes he’s the smartest person in any room.
Hawthorne takes the lead, walking us through GVM's credentials, their crisis communications history. A polished performance. Miles jumps in at every opportunity, steering the conversation toward his own insights. Emma presses her lips together each time he speaks over her.
“Our approach would be three-pronged,” Miles says, clicking to the next slide. “Media training for executives, proactive outreach to sympathetic journalists, and—“
“What about the community angle?” I interrupt, looking directly at Emma. “The parents and school board. What's your read?”
Miles blinks. “Well, I was getting to that in—“
“I'd like to hear from Emma.”
The room goes quiet. Miles flushes red. Hawthorne's eyebrows rise.
Emma meets my gaze. For a heartbeat, I see the woman who told me feet are personal before a mask slides into place.
“The parents are terrified,” she says. “When people are scared, they look for a target. Right now, that's you and your company.” She pauses. “Fear isn't the same as anger. They're not your enemies. They're potential allies.”
She leans forward, eyes shining. “You need to meet them where they live. Town halls, not press releases. Face to face, not through a mouthpiece. Let them see a man who cares about their children, not a tech mogul playing with their futures.”
“And the media narrative?”
“You don't fight it. You redirect it. The current story is 'Reckless CEO Endangers Children.' The story you want is 'Community Comes Together After Tragedy.' You can't get there by being defensive. You get there by being present.”
I nod slowly. “That's strong.”
“It's the obvious approach,” Miles cuts in, voice tight. “We were planning to recommend exactly that in phase two of—“
“Emma.” I keep my focus on her. “What else?”
Her chin lifts. “You need to get ahead of the next strike. Whoever's feeding this media frenzy isn't going to stop. They're going to escalate. You need to identify their endgame and cut them off before they reach it.”
She knows. Maybe not the details, but she knows this isn't random.
“Thank you,” I say. “That's exactly the kind of thinking this account needs.”
Miles looks like he's swallowed something bitter. Hawthorne looks impressed.
“Well,” Hawthorne says, gathering his materials. “I believe we've provided a solid overview. Happy to answer any follow-up questions.”
“I want Emma to lead the account.”
The words are out before I can stop them. Miles makes a strangled sound. Hawthorne's composure slips.
“Emma is one of our rising talents,” Hawthorne says carefully. “Typically, for an account of this magnitude, we'd assign a senior lead.”
“I'm certain she'll have all the support she needs.” I offer a sharp smile. “I want her as the point person. That's my condition.”
I look at Emma, waiting for the spark of triumph, the secret look we’d share.
It doesn't come.
Her face goes blank. Completely blank. She doesn't look at me. Doesn't blink. She stares at a knot in the mahogany table with an intensity that makes the air feel thin.
Something is wrong.
“We'll discuss this internally and reach out,” Hawthorne says, breaking the silence.
After the goodbyes, the GVM team files out. Ethan and Logan head to their next meeting.
I catch Emma's arm as she passes. “Can you stay for a moment? I'd like to discuss some details.”
She glances at Hawthorne, who nods. Miles hovers by the door, eyes burning.
“Just Emma,” I say.
The door clicks shut. We're alone.
I've never seen Emma angry. Not really. I'm about to.
“What the hell was that, Kaiden?”
I blink. “What?”
“I want Emma to lead the account. That's my condition.” She mimics my voice, sharp and mocking. “Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”
“I gave you an opportunity. A major campaign that could fast-track your career.”
“You made me look like your pet project.” She's shaking, hands clenched at her sides. “You did it in front of my boss.” Tears form at the corners of her eyes. “In front of Miles. I feel like throwing up.”
“Emma—“
“Hawthorne is going to wonder why you specifically demanded me. Miles already thinks I slept my way onto this pitch. You just confirmed every suspicion they ever had.”
“That's ridiculous. You earned your place.”
“They don't know that!” Her voice cracks. “They don't know about us. All they saw was a company owner demanding a junior team member for a major account. What do you think their first assumption is?”
I stare at her. The architecture of my perfect plan crumbling.
“I was trying to help you,” I say, and it sounds hollow even to me.
“Help me?” She laughs, jagged and humorless. “You wanted to see me during the day. Admit it. This wasn't about my career. This was about you wanting access whenever you felt like it.”
The accusation lands like a blow. It's not entirely wrong.
“I thought—“
“You thought you could arrange my life to fit yours. Move people around like pieces on a board and call it a favor.” She presses her hand to her forehead, breathing shallow. “God, Kai. Do you have any idea how hard I've worked? How long it’s taken to get those people to take me seriously?”
“They'll take you seriously when you deliver results. I've seen what you're capable of.”
“That's not how the world works for me!” She's nearly shouting. “You don't get it. You've never had to. You walk into a room and people respect you automatically. I have to earn it every day. I had to restart from scratch, and you just destroyed all my progress.”
She breaks off, voice thick.
And then it hits me. What she told me in her apartment. James made her feel like nothing. Stupid. Worthless. He diminished her until leaving felt impossible.
I just did the same thing. Not with cruelty, but with carelessness. I undermined her in front of the people she needs to respect her. I made her small.
“Emma.” I reach for her arm.
She steps back. “Don't.”
“I didn't mean to—“
“I know.” She takes sharp breaths, steadying herself. “That's almost worse.”
She waits. I’ve got nothing.
“I don't have many people here,” she says finally, her voice hollow. “No friends at work. No family nearby. The people at GVM are the closest thing I have to a social circle, and you just made me an outsider all over again.”
I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.
“I need to go.” She gathers her portfolio, gaze fixed on the floor. “My team is waiting.”
“Emma, please. Let me fix this.”
She pauses at the door. When she turns back, her face is exhausted.
“You can't fix this, Kai. That's the whole point.”
The door clicks shut.
I stand alone in the conference room. The GVM materials are neatly stacked on the table. Proof of my perfect plan.
I pull out my phone. My thumb hovers over her name. I type three different messages and delete each one.
Finally, I set the phone face down on the table, sink into a chair.
My father's voice echoes in the silence. You want to pretend you're different from me. You're not.
I wonder if he's right.