A few minutes before the press conference, I stood in the executive bathroom, splashing cold water on my face. I wanted to wash away the guilt that stuck to me like smoke.
In the mirror, a man stared back,perfect hair, sharp suit, looking like someone fully in control.
But that wasn’t me. Not the man Maya had met on the balcony.
The bathroom door opened suddenly. My father walked in, filling the small room with his presence. Richard Stone didn’t need to shout to be scary,his silence spoke louder than most men’s anger.
"Cold feet?" he asked, adjusting his tie in the mirror beside me.
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not." He turned to face me fully, his steel-gray eyes boring into mine. "You're thinking about being noble. About telling the truth. About throwing away everything our family built
