Noah arrived first. The maître d' led him to the corner table—Helen's usual.
Wall at her back, clear view of the room.
She walked in eighteen minutes past one.
Navy Chanel. Pearls. Her perfume reached him before she did—Chanel No. 5,
the one she'd worn his entire childhood.
"Darling." She kissed his cheek.
"Mom."
The waiter appeared as she sat.
"Sancerre. The Dauvissat." She glanced at Noah. "Are you drinking?"
"Water's fine."
Her gaze held his face a moment—cataloguing. She said nothing.
"How's the company?"
"System crash Sunday. We fixed it on Monday."
"And Atlas?"
Noah's water glass was empty. "Good. Busy."
"Busy." She tasted her wine, nodded to the waiter.
Silence settled. Helen hadn't asked him here for small talk.
"Your father called Tuesday."
Noah went still.
"He wanted to remind me I'm still his wife." Her tone didn't change.
"That certain... arrangements depend on my cooperation."
"Mom—"
"Regarding you." She adjusted her wine glass. "He's threatened
divorce before. This time he meant it."
The waiter took their order. Helen didn't ask what Noah wanted.
"Margaret. Whitney board." Helen cut into her appetizer.
"Her son David is one of your potential investors."
Noah waited.
"I had tea with her Sunday." Helen took a bite. "Thomas has been
calling David. Multiple times."
Noah's fork stopped halfway to his mouth.
"Margaret found it concerning. David might keep his distance from your
father. Until things settle."
Noah stared at his mother.
"Elean Vanbilt had similar concerns about Thomas's judgment."
Helen's expression hadn't changed. "These things get discussed.
Over tea. At galas."
"You're—"
"Expressing concern about my husband's recent behavior." She sipped her wine.
"That's what wives do."
Noah set down his fork.
"He knows." Helen's gaze was steady. "That's why he threatened divorce."
"Will he do it?"
"No." Her certainty was absolute.
"How do you—"
"Divorce means discovery." She let that sit. "Everything comes out.
Every account. Every transaction. Every person he's done business with."
Noah's hands trembled. He put them in his lap.
"He's bluffing?"
"He has to." Helen's fingers covered his briefly. Cool skin.
The platinum band pressed his knuckles. "I've made sure of it."
She released his hand.
"What does that mean?"
"It means I've been documenting. For years." Her tone was matter-of-fact.
"Including conversations he shouldn't have had on the house line."
Noah couldn't breathe.
"I'm not using any of this yet. I'm simply letting certain people know
it exists." She cut her fish. "That forcing a divorce would be...
complicated. For everyone."
The waiter cleared their plates.
"I've also made calls about your company." Helen's smile was thin.
"Just letting people know I'm watching. That I approve."
Their entrées arrived.
"Thomas won't stop," Noah said quietly.
"No." Helen resumed eating. "Which is why you need to focus on your company.
Build something he can't touch."
"And you'll—"
"I'll handle your father." She met his eyes. "You build. I'll protect."
When the check came, she signed it to her family account.
Outside, her car waited—her driver.
She withdrew a business card. Plain white stock. "Corporate security specialist. Former federal prosecutor. If your father tries anything concrete, call him."
"I can't afford—"
"He's on retainer. My retainer." She kissed his cheek. "You build your company. I'll handle your father."
She got in the car. Her driver closed the door.
Noah stood there, card in hand.
Atlas: How was lunch with your mom?
Noah: Good. She's handling some things with my dad.
Atlas: That's good. See you tonight?
Noah: Yeah.
He pocketed his phone. Started walking.
Three blocks later, he stopped.
Pulled out the card again.
His mother was still inside that marriage. Still using the legal status. Still trapped there because leaving meant losing her leverage.
He thought about calling her. Asking if she was okay.
He put the card in his wallet.
Kept walking.
---
The receptionist didn't ask Atlas to sign in. Just nodded toward the glass doors.
Alice's office was in the back corner. Door open.
She was on the phone. Gestured to the chair.
"—no, the Nassau account. Not the Bermuda one." Pause. "Check the dissolution filing from October." She hung up.
"Coffee?"
"I'm good."
She poured herself one anyway. Sat back down.
A single leather portfolio sat on her desk. She opened it.
"Your father and Thomas have been talking." She slid a page across. "Seven calls in two weeks. Burner phones. Short duration. Always off-hours."
Atlas scanned the log.
"Where?"
"Thomas from his office mostly. Richard from the yacht club. Once from your building when you were in Boston."
Atlas set down the page.
"The Port Authority project," Alice said. She turned her laptop toward him. "Joint venture. Eighty million in city funding total. They're requesting another forty for phase two in two weeks."
She pulled up a spreadsheet.
"Reported costs to the oversight committee." Her finger traced the first column. "Foundation, steel, electrical."
She scrolled.
"Actual invoices from contractors. Same work. Same dates."
The numbers didn't match.
Foundation: reported 2.3M, actual 3.5M. Steel: reported 4.1M, actual 6.8M.
"They're underreporting to the city," Atlas said. "Paying contractors full price, reporting lower. Keeping the difference."
"Fifteen million to Thomas over six months. Thirty to Richard. Cayman accounts." Alice paused.
She slid another document across. Bank statement. Partially redacted.
"We also have three recorded calls. Richard and Thomas discussing 'adjusting the quarterly numbers.' Direct quotes."
Atlas sat back.
"This gives me leverage."
"Yes."
"If they move against me—remove me from the board, cut me off, go after Noah—I can threaten to release this."
"You could." Alice closed the laptop. "But you won't."
"Why not?"
"Because Richard will call that bluff immediately. Empty threats don't work. He'll know you won't actually destroy the family name, the business, your own position."
"Then what do I do with this?"
Alice leaned back.
"You use it the way it's meant to be used. Private meeting. Just you and Richard. You show him what you have. You don't threaten to expose it. You make it clear that as long as he leaves you alone—leaves Noah alone—it stays private."
"And if he doesn't believe me?"
"You show him you have copies. In multiple locations. With instructions to multiple people." Alice's gaze was steady. "You make it clear that if anything happens to you—or to Noah—the evidence goes to the SEC automatically."
"Dead man's switch."
"Yes." Alice picked up her coffee. "Richard understands that. Thomas understands that. Neither of them wants this public any more than you do."
Atlas stood. Walked to the windows.
"So I'm blackmailing my father."
"You're establishing boundaries." Alice's voice was matter-of-fact. "He wants to control you, cut you off, destroy your relationship with Noah. You're making it clear that path is closed. That he can either leave you alone, or everything he's built comes down."
"And Thomas?"
"Same principle. He wants to target Noah's company, use his influence to destroy Noah's reputation. You make it clear to Richard that Thomas is part of the deal. Richard controls Thomas, or the evidence about both of them gets released."
Atlas turned.
"You think Richard will agree to this?"
"I think Richard is a pragmatist. He'll do the math. Losing control of you versus losing everything." Alice set down her coffee. "He'll choose keeping everything."
Silence.
"When's their board meeting?"
"April 8th. Two weeks."
"So I have two weeks to approach Richard before he makes his move."
"Yes." Alice stood. "But there's something you need to understand. Once you do this—once you use this leverage—your relationship with Richard changes permanently. No going back. No reconciliation. You'll have power over him, but you'll never have his approval again."
"I don't want his approval."
"Are you sure about that?"
Atlas looked at her.
Alice's expression was unreadable.
"I'm sure," he said finally.
She nodded. Collected the documents. Put them in the portfolio.
"There's one more thing." She handed him the portfolio. "Noah."
Atlas went still.
"What about him?"
"Does he know you're doing this?"
"No."
"Are you going to tell him?"
"Why would I?"
"His father is collateral in your strategy."
Atlas's hand paused on the portfolio. "Noah doesn't need to know."
"Atlas—"
"If Noah knows, he becomes a variable. He might try to protect Thomas. Or worse, Thomas might realize Noah knows and use that against him." Atlas's voice was firm. "Noah is safer if he doesn't know."
Alice's hand paused on the edge of her desk. "You're making decisions about his father's future without telling him."
"I'm making decisions about my father. Thomas is secondary."
"That's a rationalization."
"That's strategy." Atlas took the portfolio. "Noah can't know. Not until after it's done. Once Richard and Thomas are both neutralized, once the leverage is established and they've backed off—then I'll tell him."
"And you think he'll understand? That you had evidence his father was committing crimes and you used it as a weapon without telling him?"
"I think he'll understand I was protecting us both."
The words felt hollow even as he said them.
Alice walked to her office door. Opened it.
"You sound very certain."
"I am."
"Your father was certain too. When he made decisions about your life without consulting you. When he decided what you could handle, what you needed to know." She paused. "How did that feel?"
Atlas didn't answer.
"The phone taps continue," Alice said. "If either of them makes a move before you're ready, you'll know. I'll send updates to your personal email."
"Thank you."
"I'm not doing this because I think you're right." Her voice was quiet. "I'm doing this because Richard and Thomas both deserve to be held accountable. How you use that accountability is your choice. But don't confuse leverage with protection."
Atlas left.
The portfolio sat on the passenger seat.
Inside: not a weapon to destroy.
A leash to control.
His phone buzzed.
Noah: Meeting ran long. Still at office. You?
Atlas: Finishing up some things. Home by 7?
Noah: Yeah. Want to just order in?
Atlas: Sure. Thai?
Noah: Perfect.
Atlas started the car.
Drove home.
Put the portfolio in his safe.
Not to use publicly.
To use privately.
To show Richard: I have this. Back off. Or everyone loses.
To show Richard he controls Thomas: Handle your partner. Or both of you lose.
---
Noah was transferring takeout containers to plates when Atlas walked in.
Their eyes met across the kitchen.
"Hey."
"Hey."
They moved toward each other. Atlas's arms came around him immediately.
"Missed you." His voice rough against Noah's hair.
He kissed him. Soft at first. Then deeper.
Noah pulled back. "You've been drinking."
"A little." Atlas's mouth curved. His thumb traced Noah's jaw.
Sunny grabbed Noah's shirt hem. Pulled. Whined.
Noah kissed Atlas's cheek. "Food's here."
Neither of them looked at the dog.
"Let me change. Be right back."
Atlas headed upstairs. Sunny followed.
Noah stood there. Hands on the counter.
Whiskey and cigarettes.
How bad was it?
---
When Atlas came back down, Noah had everything plated. Set out at the kitchen island.
They sat. Side by side. Not across.
Atlas's hand found Noah's thigh under the counter. Settled there.
Noah picked up his fork. Watched Atlas more than his food.
Atlas ate methodically. Controlled. But his jaw was tight.
Noah's foot hooked behind Atlas's ankle.
Atlas's hand squeezed his leg. His thumb moved in slow circles.
The silence stretched. Not comfortable. Weighted.
"How was lunch with your mom?"
Noah turned his head. They were close enough that he could see the shadows under Atlas's eyes.
"She's—" Noah set down his fork. "She's been protecting me from my dad. For years."
Atlas went still.
"She's documenting everything he does. Recording calls. She gave me a security specialist's card. In case he tries something." Noah couldn't look at Atlas when he said the next part. "She's trapped in that marriage because leaving means she can't protect me anymore. She's staying because of me."
Atlas's hand moved from his thigh to his face. Cupped his jaw. "You don't need to be scared anymore."
For a moment, he didn't say anything. Then he pulled Noah in—slow, deliberate.
One arm came around Noah's shoulders, the other settling at the back of his neck.
He held him there, against his chest, like anchoring him in place.
No words. Just warmth. Just the weight of Atlas choosing to hold him instead of filling the silence with promises he couldn't make.
Noah let out a shaky breath. Leaned into him. Let himself be held.
Atlas's thumb brushed the back of his head. "I've got you," he murmured, barely audible.
Noah looked at him. Waited.
Tell me. Please tell me what you're doing.
But Atlas just held his gaze for a moment. Then went back to eating.
Noah picked up his fork.
His chest felt too small suddenly.
---
After they finished, they moved to the living room.
Sat on the couch. Noah pulled Atlas's arm around him. Tucked himself against his side.
Atlas's other hand found Noah's. Laced their fingers together.
They sat like that. Just breathing.
Noah lost track of how long they stayed there. The light outside shifted. Dimmed. Neither of them moved to turn on a lamp.
Finally, Noah's voice came out small. "Have you talked to Richard and Thomas again?"
Atlas's lips pressed to Noah's forehead. Stayed there. "I'm meeting with Richard soon."
"What are you planning to do?"
Atlas was quiet for a long moment. Then: "Can we not talk about this?"
Noah pulled back. Looked up at him.
Atlas's eyes were dark. Tired. Pleading.
"Yeah. Okay." Noah couldn't swallow around the tightness in his throat. "Whatever you want."
He settled back against Atlas's chest. Felt his heartbeat. Steady but fast.
They both pulled out their phones. Scrolled without seeing anything.
Noah's thumb hovered over an article. Didn't click it.
Why won't you talk to me?
After a while, Atlas shifted. "Bed?"
"Yeah."
---
They headed upstairs.
Atlas's phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Looked at the screen.
"I need to take this. Be right there."
He walked toward the balcony. Already lifting the phone to his ear.
Noah stood in the hallway. Watched Atlas's back disappear through the glass door.
Who is it?
Why can't I hear this?
He went into the bedroom. Changed. Got into bed.
Lay there. Staring at the ceiling.
He smelled like whiskey. Cigarettes. He only smokes when he's stressed.
What happened today that he won't tell me about?
The door opened. Atlas came in. Set his phone on the nightstand.
Pulled off his shirt. Got into bed.
Immediately reached for Noah. Pulled him close.
Noah turned on his side. Faced him. Put his hands on Atlas's jaw.
"When you want to talk, I'm here."
Atlas leaned in. Kissed him instead of answering.
Soft. Sweet.
Then he pulled back. His forehead rested against Noah's. "Some things are better not knowing."
Something in Noah's chest cracked.
He didn't answer.
Couldn't.
Atlas kissed him again. Harder this time. Desperate.
Noah responded without thinking. His hands slid into Atlas's hair. Down his back. Everywhere.
Atlas's hands found bare skin. Pulled Noah closer. Closer.
Their breathing quickened. Hearts racing against each other.
When they broke apart, both gasping, Atlas's hand cupped the back of Noah's head.
They stayed like that. Foreheads together. Sharing breath.
Slowly, Atlas's breathing evened out. Deepened.
His hand relaxed in Noah's hair.
Noah pulled back slightly. Looked at him.
Asleep.
You're exhausted.
Fighting things you won't tell me about.
And I can't do anything to help you.
Noah watched him. The way his face looked younger in sleep. Vulnerable.
I love you.
But you're shutting me out.
And I don't know how to fix that.
He stayed awake. Just watching.
Memorizing the line of Atlas's jaw. The shadows under his eyes. The way his chest rose and fell.
Please trust me enough to tell me.
Please.
But Atlas slept on. Unaware.
And Noah lay there.
Helpless.
Eventually, exhaustion pulled him under.
His hand still resting on Atlas's chest.
Feeling his heartbeat.
Wondering what secrets it was keeping.