MY WAY TO THE BILLIONAIRE'S HEART.

Untitled Episode

"This is where we've implemented the new safety protocols Mr. Langston approved last month. Every unit now goes through triple inspection before shipment."

Maeve walked over, examining the inspection station. It looked legitimate, detailed checklists, testing equipment, workers who actually seemed to know what they were doing. But something nagged at her.

"When did these protocols start?" she asked.

"March fifteenth," Douglas replied smoothly.

Maeve pulled out her phone, checked the calendar. March fifteenth was three days after Carter had announced the Challenge. Three days after he'd decided he needed a wife to stabilize his image.

"And before March fifteenth?" she pressed. "What were the protocols then?"

Douglas shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Carter. "We had protocols, of course. Just, not as extensive."

"Show me the data," Maeve said. "Defect rates for the six months before March fifteenth versus after."

"Miss Wells, I'm not sure…"

"She's VP of Product Development," Carter interjected smoothly. "If she wants the data, get her the data."

Douglas nodded reluctantly and scurried off.

One of the camera crews moved closer, clearly sensing a story. Carter's hand found Maeve's back, a gesture that looked supportive but was actually a warning. Don't push too hard.

But Maeve was done pretending everything was fine.

When Douglas returned with a tablet showing production data, Maeve studied it carefully. The defect rate had dropped dramatically after March fifteenth…from 8.7% to 0.3%. Which should have been good news.

Except 8.7% was catastrophically high. That meant nearly one in ten refrigerators produced before March had potentially dangerous defects.

"How many units shipped with defects?" Maeve asked, her voice tight.

Douglas paled. "I'd need to calculate…"

"Approximately." She wasn't letting this go.

"Roughly... forty-three thousand units. Over eighteen months."

The number hit like a physical blow. Forty-three thousand faulty refrigerators in people's homes. Forty-three thousand potential fires, electrical failures, injuries.

"And how many have been recalled?"

Douglas looked at Carter, whose expression remained neutral. "We've issued voluntary recalls to all registered purchasers…"

"How many have actually been returned?" Maeve interrupted.

Silence.

"Miss Wells," Carter said quietly, "perhaps we should discuss this in private…"

"No." Maeve turned to face him, ignoring the cameras. "You put me in this position. You made me VP of Product Development. So I'm developing products, which means I need real answers. How many of those forty-three thousand units are still out there?"

Carter's jaw tightened, but something like respect flickered in his eyes. "Approximately thirty-one thousand. We've recovered twelve thousand through voluntary recalls and trade-in programs."

Thirty-one thousand ticking time bombs in people's kitchens.

"That's unacceptable," Maeve said flatly.

"Which is why we're expanding the recall program," Carter replied, his voice maddeningly calm. "But we can't force people to return products they've purchased. We can only incentivize and educate."

"No." Maeve pulled out her phone, opened the notes app. "We're doing a mandatory recall. Full refunds, no questions asked. And we're going door-to-door if necessary. Every single one of those units comes back."

Douglas looked like he might faint. "That would cost millions…"

"I don't care what it costs." Maeve's voice was steel. "We're not leaving faulty products in people's homes. Period."

The camera crews were eating this up, she realized dimly. This was supposed to be a puff piece about the new engaged couple caring about safety. Instead, she'd just publicly committed Carter to an enormously expensive recall expansion.

Carter's hand on her back tightened. Not painful, just... present. A reminder that they'd discuss this later.

"Excellent point, darling," he said smoothly, the endearment sounding foreign and calculated. "Douglas, work with Miss Wells to develop a comprehensive mandatory recall strategy. Budget is approved. Whatever it takes."

Douglas nodded, looking shell-shocked.

Carter guided Maeve away from the cameras, toward a quieter section of the factory floor. Once they were relatively alone, he leaned close, his voice low and dangerous.

"That was quite the performance."

"That wasn't a performance. Those are real people with real safety risks…"

"I know that." His grey eyes bored into hers. "But you just committed me to a fifty-million-dollar recall expansion on live camera without consulting me first. That's not how partnerships work, Maeve."

"You said I had authority…"

"Over product development, yes. Not over budget allocation and public relations strategy." He stepped closer, and she refused to back down. "You want to play executive? Fine. But executives don't make unilateral decisions that affect the entire company without running them past the CEO first."

"Then maybe you should have thought about that before putting me in this position!" Maeve's voice rose despite herself. "You can't give me a title and expect me to just be decorative. You said I could fix things. Well, I'm fixing them."

For a long moment, Carter just stared at her. Then, impossibly, he laughed, a short, sharp sound with no humor in it.

"You're either the bravest or most foolish woman I've ever met." But there was something in his voice that sounded almost like admiration. "Fine. We'll do your mandatory recall. But you're overseeing it personally. Every meeting, every logistical challenge, every angry board member who wants to know why we're hemorrhaging money, that's on you now. Still feel heroic?"

"I don't need to feel heroic. I need to do what's right."

"How refreshingly naive." Carter pulled out his phone, typed something rapidly. "I'm scheduling an emergency board meeting for tomorrow. You'll present your recall strategy. If you can convince them it's worth the cost, we proceed. If not…" he shrugged, "...you'll learn a valuable lesson about corporate politics."

"Is that supposed to intimidate me?"

"No. It's supposed to teach you that good intentions don't mean anything if you can't execute them." He glanced at his watch. "We have three more factory stations to visit. Try not to commit me to any more expensive idealism before lunch."

He walked away, leaving Maeve standing on the factory floor, adrenaline still pumping, wondering if she'd just won a victory or dug her own grave.

The board meeting was worse than she'd imagined.

Twelve men and two women sat around a table that probably cost more than her old car, all of them looking at Maeve like she was an amusing inconvenience. Carter sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable, offering no support.

She was on her own.

"Miss Wells," the oldest board member, a silver-haired man named Richard Sterling, spoke with barely concealed condescension. "We've reviewed your recall proposal. Fifty-three million dollars for a mandatory door-to-door campaign to recover products that consumers are legally entitled to keep. Perhaps you could explain the business rationale?"

Maeve stood, refusing to let her hands shake. "The rationale is simple. We have thirty-one thousand potentially dangerous products in people's homes. Products that could cause fires, injuries, or death. Every day we leave them there, we're liable, morally and legally."

"We've issued voluntary recalls," another board member interjected. "That fulfills our legal obligation."

"Legal obligation isn't the same as moral obligation." Maeve pulled up a slide on the conference room screen, photos of families, children, homes. "These are the people using our products. Real people. Not statistics, not liability calculations. People who trusted Langston Appliances to keep them safe. And we failed them."

"Failed them because of Reginald Langston's decisions," Sterling said coldly. "Carter wasn't even CEO when those defects occurred. Why should we pay for his father's mistakes?"