Page 116 of Ten Day Affair
"Fuck."
"I'm thinking we get ahead of this. Proactive interview with Forbes or the Journal. Someone business-friendly. We craft the narrative before this Palm Beach reporter does."
My jaw clenches. "That reeks of desperation."
"It reeks of smart business. You want to let some podunk, local journalist define you? Tell the story of a crooked New York businessman screwing over a small-town hospital?"
The image makes my stomach twist. Not because I care what some reporter thinks, but because Sam would see it. She'd read every word, and she'd know the truth about what I really am.
"There's another option." Dorian's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"Okay, what?"
"You take a lower profile role. Step back from the public-facing side while this blows over. I can handle the Meridian negotiations, work the charm offensive."
"Absolutely not."
"Cole—"
"I said no. I'm not hiding from this journalist throwing noodles on a wall hoping for a Pulitzer."
But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. The deal collapse would cost me more than money. It would cost credibility. Trust. Everything I've built.
Not to mention, it is the only thing left to come from Palm Beach. I can't lose on both fronts.
Dorian studies my face. "What's your plan, then?"
That's a great question.
I chosePrima Café on East 54th. It's neutral territory, public enough to feel safe but quiet enough to hear if someone's bluffing.
She offered to fly to Manhattan to speak, so I took her up on it. In person is always better than on the phone.
She's already at the corner table when I arrive, reading something on her tablet. She's mid-thirties, blonde hair pulled back in that professional knot that says she means business. Sharp suit, no jewelry except small earrings.
She looks up when I approach.
"Ms. Harrelson?"
"Mr. Houston." She stands, extends her hand, and shakes mine with a firm grip. "Thank you for agreeing to meet."
I signal the waitress for coffee and settle into the chair across from her. "You said you had questions about Good Samaritan Hospital."
"Among other things."
She opens a leather portfolio and removes a stack of papers. Places them on the table between us like she's dealing cards.
The first document stops my breath. Board meeting minutes. July fifteenth. My name is highlighted in yellow next to the restructuring vote.
"Interesting reading. Especially when you cross-reference with these."
The second page shows King's Holdings LLC incorporation papers. My signature is at the bottom.
How the hell did she get these?
"I'm not sure what you think you've found, Ms. Harrelson."
"I think I've found a board member who voted to gut a nonprofit hospital while secretly owning the company buying its debt." She leans back, studying my face.
