The rest of the day at the office had not gone well for Milo.

Milo sat at his desk with three folders open in front of him and a headache building quietly behind his left eye.

Liam had brought many contracts for him to review. The man made the proposal side by side so Milo could see where the numbers connected, and for the past two hours, he’d been working through them slowly, making notes, trying to understand how it worked.

After all, he just needed to sign. But he remembered Salvatore always saying to check everything and know himself what the document he needed to sign was about.

So, Milo learned to read and understand.

"Milo, in half an hour, the meeting will start." Liam looked at his watch and reminded Milo.

Milo looked at him in horror. "What? What meeting?"

Liam looked back, his gaze serious. "Oh, I thought I told you two days ago. Today’s meeting. Don’t worry about it, they will just report about the financial situation."

Milo looked at the documents in his hand. Suddenly, he wanted to vomit. He was nervous!

Meeting again?!

"Why do they like to make meetings? Can’t they just talk?"

"Well, in the meeting, they are talking, clearer as everyone is there. If you have questions, it’s easier to ask."

Milo sighed. "I don’t like it..."

Liam smiled. "As I told you. Don’t worry. They will not ask you anything."

But this time, Liam was wrong.

The meeting was on the fourth floor, in a glass-walled boardroom that overlooked the city. Milo had been in it twice before, both times with Liam walking him through everything quietly from the seat beside him, both times with people who were polite enough to pretend they weren’t watching or judging him.

Today felt different the moment he walked in.

There were eleven people around the table. He recognized the faces, but only a few whose names he remembered.

He knew the operations director, the head of finance, a woman from legal whose name he kept forgetting.

But there were three people on the far side of the table he hadn’t seen before, and the way they looked at him when he entered wasn’t the careful, neutral look he’d gotten used to.

It was assessing and made Milo uncomfortable immediately.

Liam pulled out his chair. Milo sat, trying to calm himself, and told himself to breathe normally. He looked at Liam to stay by his side.

Liam just nodded and smiled.

The meeting opened the way they usually did: reports, numbers, a presentation from the finance team about Q2 projections.

Milo followed quite well, which was better than the first time. He made small notes in the margin of his papers the way Liam had taught him, flagging things to ask about later rather than interrupting the flow.

He was doing fine. He almost relaxed.

Then the man at the far end of the table spoke.

His name was Caruso, Liam told him. One of the shareholders, someone who had been with the company since before Milo’s uncle had taken over.

He was maybe sixty or more, silver-haired, his jaw set, and he looked like he was ready to swallow everyone.

"I’d like to hear from Mr. Hartley directly," Caruso said, cutting across the finance director mid-sentence. "About the Veltran contract."

The room shifted slightly. Quieter now, nobody moved, and Milo felt it.

He knew about the Veltran contract. Liam had briefed him on it. It was a logistics partnership.

But knowing the man asked him directly made him nervous. He looked at Liam.

Liam just assured him everything was fine. He looked at Milo with a gesture of ’just answer.’

"What specifically would you like to know?" Milo asked, his voice soft and a bit trembling.

"Your position on the renewal terms," Caruso said. "The current rate structure has been in place for four years. Given the market shift in the last two quarters, I’m curious whether you think it still reflects the company’s interests."

Milo looked at him. He knew the contract was up for renewal. He knew the rate structure existed. He did not know enough about the market shift in the last two quarters to say anything intelligent about whether the numbers still made sense.

The silence stretched about two seconds too long.

"I... need to look at the current terms against," Milo said carefully. The cold sweat formed on his forehead.

"You haven’t reviewed them yet?" Caruso’s tone didn’t change. That was almost worse than if it had.

"I’ve reviewed the contract," Milo said. "I just haven’t seen a view on the renewal."

"The renewal opens in six weeks." Caruso folded his hands on the table. "I’d imagine that’s something the majority shareholder would want to have a view on fairly soon."

"Yes..." Milo said. "I’ll have one."

"With respect, Mr. Hartley—" and the way Caruso said with respect made it clear he meant very little of it. "The board has been patient through the transition period. But it’s ended now. Some of us would like to understand what direction this company is actually moving in, and who is making those decisions."

Milo held his gaze. His hands were flat on the table, and he was very carefully not looking at Liam.

"I’m... making those decisions," Milo said. He cursed himself for not being able to sound confident enough.

"Then perhaps you could walk us through your thinking on the restructure as well," Caruso continued, smooth and unhurried. "Since that’s been sitting without a final sign-off for three weeks now."

This was the part where Milo’s chest tightened. He knew about the restructure in the same way he knew about the contract, only in outline, not in detail.

Liam had flagged it as something they needed to go over properly, and they hadn’t gotten there yet.

He knew, in that moment, that whatever he said next would either hold the room or lose it.

"I haven’t signed off on it," Milo said, "because I’m not satisfied with the proposal as it stands."

He cursed himself more. What did he say?

A small pause. Caruso tilted his head slightly. "Oh?"

Milo tried to be brave, as nobody would help him this time. Everyone in the room seemed to be happy he was being humiliated.

So, ride or die.

Milo pulled the briefing document he’d skimmed days ago and was now desperately reconstructing from memory.

He tried to explain from what he understood. And he remembered Salvatore telling him that the shareholders would only care about the profit at the end of the day. So just make sure they are satisfied and trust the company.

It wasn’t brilliant from what he said. He wasn’t even entirely sure it was right. But it was quite specific and logical.

The finance director—a quiet woman named Petra who had never once looked at Milo with anything other than mild skepticism—glanced down at her notes and then back up again, and didn’t say anything.

Which felt, somehow, like a small victory.

Caruso kept asking difficult questions.

Liam noticed Milo getting stressed.

He stopped Caruso. "I’m sorry, we will finish the meeting right now, as we do the reports for the finance. If you might want to have another meeting, we will do it with proper documents."

Caruso wanted to say something, and someone else interrupted to end the meeting.

Everyone finally went out one by one. Milo stayed in the room and looked down.

Liam rubbed his shoulder. "You did very well, Milo."

"No. I’m stupid."

"You can’t know everything in a month. Step by step. You are doing very well."

Milo sighed.

That evening, he came home with a sad face. When he passed Salvatore’s office, he smelled the cigar before he saw anything.

Milo stepped closer and slowed. The smell was really coming from the direction of Salvatore’s office. He seemed to remember the smell. But it wasn’t Salvatore’s.

As he knew and got used to the smell of the man.

He heard two voices, low and even. He recognized Salvatore’s immediately.

Then... Alben.

Milo stood in the corridor outside the half-open office door just long enough to place it, then kept walking. He didn’t need to insert himself into whatever that was.

Not with Alben.

He made it about four steps past the door.

"Milo."

Milo stopped. He was nervous. He turned around slowly.

Alben was leaning in the doorframe of Salvatore’s office, cigar between two fingers, a glass of whiskey in his other hand, looking at Milo with open and cheerful appreciation.

"I thought that was you," Alben said. "Come in. Why are you running away from me? I haven’t seen you in days."

Milo glanced past him into the office. Salvatore was seated behind his desk, one arm resting on the surface, watching the exchange with an expression that gave nothing away. He didn’t tell Milo to come in. He didn’t tell him to go. He just waited.

Milo came in.

He took the chair closest to Salvatore’s desk, which put the desk itself between him and Alben, which was not entirely accidental.

Alben settled back into the sofa across the room, crossing one ankle over his knee, completely at home.

"You look tired," he said to Milo. "You want to play with me?"

"No, I’m fine," Milo gulped.