Chương 3
His expression hardened. “You enjoy this too much.”
Rachel let go of his arm.
The accusation was small compared with the things they had said to each other over the years, but it landed with unusual precision. She had spent six months building the Montrose partnership, three months negotiating Northstar’s conditions, and most of that morning keeping Marcus’s calendar intact while he behaved as though her concern were a personal attack.
“I enjoy what?” she asked.
“Being right when I’m embarrassed.”
Devin’s phone continued buzzing.
Rachel took one step back. “Go get air.”
She turned toward the hospital.
Devin followed her until Marcus called his name.
“Where’s the campaign footage?”
“On the team drive.”
“Send me the good takes.”
Devin nodded, but he had stopped looking at Marcus. His attention had dropped to the phone in his hand.
One of the employees on the private review list had screen-recorded the clip.
It had been posted publicly by a part-time trainer named Jalen with the caption: OUR FEARLESS LEADER.
In four minutes, it had been viewed six hundred times.
By the time Devin removed Jalen’s access and called him, it had been copied twice.
By the time Jalen answered and said he thought the review list meant approved content, someone had added dramatic music.
By the time Devin told Marcus, the clip had sixteen thousand views and a new caption:
MR. TITAN DEFEATED BY THREE INCHES OF PLASTIC.
Marcus stood beside the SUV and watched himself hide behind Rachel.
His face changed very little. The skin around his eyes tightened. His thumb moved once across the screen, replaying the moment Gloria lifted the syringe and he leaned away.
Rachel watched from inside the glass doors.
She knew the exact instant he stopped feeling embarrassed and began feeling threatened.
Marcus handed the phone back.
“Take it down.”
“I’m trying.”
“Don’t try.”
“There are copies.”
“Then remove the copies.”
“I can report them, but—”
“Do it.”
Devin swallowed. “Okay.”
Marcus opened the SUV door.
Rachel came outside again. “The meeting starts in twenty-five minutes.”
“Cancel it.”
“We cannot cancel on Northstar because somebody posted a joke.”
“We can reschedule.”
“They flew in this morning.”
“Then they can enjoy the city.”
“This is a hospital partnership. The first question they will ask is whether you completed the appointment.”
Marcus looked at her.
Neither of them spoke.
The driver lowered the radio volume.
Rachel said, “Did you?”
“You know I didn’t.”
“Then go back inside.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I said no.”
The old tone had entered his voice, the one that closed staff meetings and ended arguments with suppliers. It worked on people who confused size with authority. It had worked on Rachel when she was twenty-four and grateful to have a job in the business her brother had built.
It did not work anymore.
She reached into her bag, removed a slim folder, and placed it on the roof of the SUV.
“The Northstar agreement requires the campaign lead to participate in the same baseline health program we’re promoting. Not because they care about one injection. Because they don’t want to fund a public message you refuse to follow.”
“I’ll do it another day.”
“You have said that since March.”
“I’ll do it privately.”
“You were in a private room.”
“Without you.”
“You asked me to come.”
“I asked you to drive.”
“You have a driver.”
Marcus’s nostrils flared. He glanced at Devin and the driver, then at the hospital doors. “We’re not discussing family business on the curb.”
Rachel picked up the folder.
“You turned family business into a company twelve years ago.”
She walked back inside.
The Northstar representatives were waiting in a conference room on the hospital’s fourth floor when Rachel arrived without Marcus. The room overlooked the parking structure and a narrow strip of river beyond it. A carafe of coffee sat untouched beside miniature pastries that appeared designed to make hunger feel impolite.
Aaron Pike, Northstar’s vice president for community partnerships, stood when she entered. He was a lean man in his late forties who wore white sneakers with expensive suits and had the unnerving habit of listening without blinking.
Beside him sat Dana Bell, Northstar’s legal counsel, and Priya Shah, Montrose’s director of community programs. Priya’s face tightened when she saw Rachel alone.
“Where’s Marcus?” she asked.
“Taking a few minutes.”
Aaron glanced at his phone. “Because of the video?”
Rachel set her bag on the back of a chair.
The clip had reached him before she reached the elevator.
“He had a difficult moment,” she said.
Dana turned her laptop so Rachel could see the screen. The video had eighty-two thousand views. Someone had slowed down Marcus’s backward lean and added the sound of a truck reversing.
Priya looked ill.
“Patients are visible in the background,” she said. “Not clearly, but our privacy team is already reviewing it.”
“It came from our employee,” Rachel said. “We’re issuing removal requests now.”
“Removal does not mean disappearance,” Dana said.
Rachel sat. “I know.”
Aaron studied her. “Did he complete the appointment?”
“No.”
Priya folded her hands. “He can still do it.”
“He can.”
“Will he?”
Rachel reached for the coffee, then decided against it. Her stomach had been tight since breakfast.
“I’m going to speak with him.”
Aaron closed his phone. “We have a larger concern.”
“Of course.”
“The entire campaign is built around Mr. Titan telling men that avoiding medical care isn’t strength. Today he avoided medical care while physically hiding behind a woman.”
“My sister,” Marcus said from the doorway.
Everyone turned.
He had returned without Devin. His gold chain lay flat against his black shirt. His expression was composed, his shoulders relaxed. Only Rachel noticed that he was holding his right thumb inside his left fist.
Aaron stood. “Marcus.”
“I needed a minute.”
“Understandable.”
May you like
“No, it wasn’t.”
Rachel watched him enter. She had seen this version of Marcus hundreds of times—the one who walked into a room after making a mistake and tried to control the meaning before anyone else could name it.
