CHAPTER 2 — THE CALL THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING
The apartment was silent after he left.
Not peaceful.
Hollow.
The kind of silence that settles over a place after something irreversible has happened.
My phone trembled against my ear.
"Dad..."
"I'm here," he answered immediately. "Keep talking to me."
His voice reached through seven years of stubbornness as if no time had passed at all.
"I thought..." My throat tightened. "I thought I could fix him."
"No," he said quietly. "You tried to save someone who never wanted to be saved."
Those words hurt more than I expected because they were true.
Minutes later, the penthouse door burst open.
Two paramedics rushed inside, followed by Henderson—my father's longtime head of security.
His face remained professionally calm until he saw me.
Then every ounce of color disappeared.
"Ms. Sterling," he whispered.
No one had called me that in years.
As they lifted me onto the stretcher, my eyes drifted toward the antique cane lying abandoned on the sofa.
Evidence.
Not just of what Matthew had done tonight.
Of everything he had become.
Matthew was halfway to Lauren's condominium when his phone started vibrating.
One missed call.
Then another.
Then twelve more.
His chief financial officer finally reached him.
"Matthew... we've got a problem."
"What now?"
"Our primary investors are pulling out."
"What?"
"They've frozen tomorrow's funding round."
Matthew laughed.
"That's impossible."
"It already happened."
By the time he arrived at Lauren's building, three board members had resigned.
The stock had begun falling in after-hours trading.
And every major lender wanted an emergency meeting before sunrise.
For the first time in years...
Matthew looked afraid.
From my hospital room, I watched dawn creep over Manhattan.
Dad walked in carrying two coffees.
He looked older.
Not weaker.
Just older.
Without saying a word, he sat beside my bed.
Then he reached into his coat pocket and placed something on the blanket.
The original incorporation papers for NexusCore.
My signature was on page one.
Matthew's wasn't.
"I kept copies," Dad said.
"I thought you didn't approve."
"I didn't approve of him."
He met my eyes.
"I never stopped believing in you."
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For the first time in seven years...
I believed him.
