The press conference was at ten.
Aria was there at eight thirty — not because she needed to be, but because she needed to see the room before it filled. The Meridian Tower lobby had been set with a podium, a Cole Enterprises backdrop, thirty chairs for press. Simple. Controlled. The architecture of a statement that intended to be believed.
She stood at the back and looked at it.
Clara appeared beside her. "How does it look?"
"Like the truth," Aria said.
Clara nodded. "Good. That's exactly what it should look like."
The press filed in at nine forty-five.
Aria recognized faces — financial journalists, two investigative reporters whose bylines she'd followed for years, a camera crew from a major network. They settled with the particular focused energy of people who had read the pre-rel
