Page 124 of The Truth of Us

That narrative. As if Sophie Montgomery’s death was a branding problem. As if a tragic event and how a family, a father tried to survive it.

A younger PR consultant near the end of the table glanced down at his notes and said, “Frankly, if Miss Montgomery wanted to maintain privacy, attending events with the public-facing CEO of Northwell was a risk she should have been smart enough to avoid.”

The room froze. Slowly, I looked at him. “Say that again.” And this time I didn’t hide the growl.

He went pale. “I only meant…”

“No,” I stood. “Say it again.”

He did not. Smart man. Another person tried. “Elliot, no one is blaming her.”

“You just did.”

“We’re saying we have options. We can clarify that the relationship was informal. That she pursued access to Northwell through you. That you were unaware of her identity and ended contact when...”

“Meeting’s over.” I interrupted.

The board member frowned. “You don’t have the authority to end…”

“I founded this company.”

“So did we,” Rowan added.

I turned toward him, and he held my gaze, then nodded once.

I looked back at the room and repeated, “Meeting’s over.”

No one moved at first, but then Julian stood, and Caleb followed. Rowan stayed seated, but that was Rowan. He could make stillness more threatening than movement.

The communications director closed her laptop carefully before saying, “We need a statement.”

“You’ll get one.”

“Approved through legal?” She retorted. Because apparently she didn't realize that this wasn’t her company.

“No.”

Her eyes widened. “Mr. Vale…”

“I said you’ll get one.”

Then I walked out. For once, no one stopped me.

The lobby was chaotic. Assistants moved too quickly, and security was on high alert. Everyone knew something was happening, but nobody knew what to do with a version of me that had stopped pretending this was only business. I pulled out my phone and saw another alert.

Harper Montgomery arrives at Foundation Offices amid a growing media storm.

A photo loaded beneath it. Harper, stepping out of an SUV. She had sunglasses shielding her beautiful eyes, and a coat wrapped tightly around her. She was being surrounded by security, but behind her were too many fucking cameras.

My stomach dropped. I was moving before I decided. It took too long for us to get there, and I felt my anxiety climbing as every minute ticked by. By the time the car pulled up outside the Montgomery Foundation offices, the crowd had doubled. Reporters filled the sidewalk behind security barricades. Cameras lifted. Voices shouted over one another. The entire scene had a manic, hungry quality that made the back of my neck prickle.

Then I saw her.

Harper stood near the entrance, one hand on her father’s arm, security surrounding them. She was composed, but I knew her. Or at least, I knew enough to see what I had missed before. The tightness around her mouth. The way her fingers pressed into Alexander’s sleeve. The way her eyes stayed fixed ahead, like if she looked too far left or right, the entire world might tilt.

Someone shouted, “Harper! Did Elliot Vale know who you were?”

Another yelled, “Was the relationship real?”