“You’re just a secretary,” my aunt mocked—until her SEAL son froze, leaned closer, and whispered, “Oracle 9?”

For the first time, I felt the tide beginning to turn. The lonely path of the dim star was no longer a solo mission. A new constellation was forming. We were drawing up a battle plan to dismantle Elellanar Witman’s empire. Not with anger, but with cold, hard facts.

It was a campaign fueled by military precision, intelligence, expertise, and the unshakable loyalty of soldiers. The fight for my father’s legacy and my own had begun. 2 days after our strategy session in Maya’s war room, my mother called. Her voice over the phone was unnaturally warm, a tone I hadn’t heard directed at me since I was a child.

She wated to have dinner, just the two of us. A chance to reconnect before the wedding madness. My internal alarms blared. This was a tactical move, but Maya’s words echoed in my mind. Gather intelligence. This was my first opportunity. “I’d like that,” I said, my own voice carefully neutral. Before leaving my temporary apartment, I took out the small, sleek voice recorder Maya had given me.

With a quiet click, I activated it and slipped it into my clutch. I was no longer just a daughter going to dinner. I was an operative heading into hostile territory. Eleanor had chosen the Inn at Little Washington. It was a legendary three Michelin star restaurant nestled in the Virginia countryside, a place of extreme luxury and hushed tones.

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