Vanessa Cole didn't lose gracefully.
She never had.
She sat behind her desk in the kind of silence that wasn't peaceful — the kind that meant something was being calculated. Her office was all glass and clean lines, expensive and cold, the sort of room that told you exactly who she was before she ever opened her mouth.
On her screen, Daniel's press conference played on a loop.
"Nora Hayes is my daughter."
She watched it a third time.
Then a fourth.
Her assistant, Marcus, stood near the door. Smart enough to stay quiet. Smart enough to wait.
Finally Vanessa reached forward and closed the laptop.
"He confirmed it," Marcus said.
"I know what he did."
"The story we planted — it's already losing traction. His statement buried it."
Vanessa stood slowly, moving toward the window. The
