Chapter 45
The day of the final debate arrived far too early.
I got in before anyone else, the main chamber still dim and quiet, chairs not yet filled with the sharp angles of power. I set up at the central table with Richard’s talking points in hand-a clean folder of annotated printouts, highlighters tucked into the pocket like they’d do something to settle my nerves.
I was seated at the table beside key pack representatives, right in the line of fire. Directly across from David’s
lead advisor. The seat hadn’t been random.
The first half of the debate was an exercise in restraint. Every question from David’s camp had teeth, thinly veiled behind policy jargon and polite smiles. They prodded at Richard’s leadership-“emotional instability”
this, “internal favoritism” that. The word “transparency” was wielded like a knife, thrown again and again
with just enough plausible deniability to avoid outright accusation.
A representative from the Western Border Pack leaned forward, fingers steepled. “There’s been talk of
accelerated promotions,” he said. “Unusual access. Assignments that don’t reflect traditional protocol. Can the
King explain how those decisions were made?”
Richard kept his voice measured. “During a staffing shortage, we relied on individuals willing to go above and
beyond. Any appointments made reflected urgency and capability.”
The representative turned to me next, clearly not finished. “And do you feel your current position was earned
by merit alone, Miss-”
“Yes,” I said before he could finish. I straightened. “We were short-staffed. I volunteered. I’ve worked double
shifts, handled high-clearance logistics, and coordinated emergency response while others backed away.
That’s leadership, not favoritism.”
He blinked, taken aback by the clarity. “And your proximity to the Alpha King? You believe that had no impact?”
I could smell the sexism.
“I don’t have any access that a man in my position would not also be granted,” I replied flatly. “Ask the people I
work beside. Every step I’ve taken, I’ve earned.”
There was a pause. Murmurs. Then one councilwoman nodded. “That aligns with what we’ve observed.”
Richard didn’t turn, but I saw the side of his mouth twitch, the tension in his shoulders ease.
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David sat still across the table, smiling with too many teeth, like he was already planning his next move.
A representative from one of the border packs raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. “We’ve heard reports of certain… irregularities in the selection process for key summit roles,” he said. “Some have suggested personal relationships are factoring into assignments. Care to respond?”
I saw Richard’s jaw tighten, but before he could speak, I leaned toward the mic.
“We were short-staffed,” I said calmly. “I volunteered. That’s leadership, not favoritism.”
“I believe I earned my place by stepping up when others didn’t,” I replied. “Ask anyone who’s worked beside
me.”
The room stilled. A few council members exchanged looks. One even nodded faintly. But the questions kept
coming, their wording different but their aim the same.
It was like these people couldn’t comprehend a pretty young woman in a position of power without assuming
she was sleeping with her boss. And, okay-technically, I was sleeping near him. But that wasn’t the same
thing, and either way, it was none of their damn business.
Again and again, they returned to the idea of favoritism, of personal bias, of Richard’s so-called instability. It felt endless-each inquiry bleeding into the next like a deliberate attempt to wear us down. What had started as a debate turned into an interrogation, the same handful of accusations dressed up in different vocabulary.
It went on for what felt like hours.
By the time the moderator finally called for a recess, my neck ached from holding myself so straight, and my fingers had cramped from gripping my notes. But I didn’t let any of that show. I didn’t give them the
satisfaction.
At the break, I slipped out the side doors, needing air. The garden walk was quiet, filtered sunlight flickering
through the iron trellis and summit moss. I found Richard there, standing with his hands braced on the stone
railing.
“You didn’t need to defend me,” he said without turning.
“Maybe not,” I replied. “But I wanted to.”
The silence stretched just long enough to become something else before Emma’s call buzzed through.
There was a discrepancy in the summit’s financial logs—an archive glitch tied to older documentation. I left the
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Chapter 45
+25 BONUS
garden and headed to the subfloor records room, where the problem unraveled faster than expected. The error
traced back to a file batch Jason had originally uploaded-months ago.
Nothing definitive yet. But my stomach turned.
That evening, the tension hung low over everything. I reviewed Richard’s closing remarks while he pushed food
around his plate. He didn’t finish it.
Later, when I checked on him, he looked worse. Warm skin, shallow breathing. The symptoms were subtle, but I
knew what they meant.
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