Chapter 3

Clara's first act as operations lead was to gut my office.

Administrative staff carried out my books, framed photos, my daughter's little watercolor cards, and several client gifts packed in black leather boxes. They piled everything along the hallway like evidence after a raid.

Clara stood at the door and directed them with a clipboard. "Get rid of the old stuff. That plant by the window, too. It makes the office look too personal. If we are hosting people like Mr. Landon, the space needs to look sharper. More executive."

Then she had my nameplate removed and replaced with hers.

Clara West, Operations Lead.

She stared at the new brass plate as if it were a crown pried off a dead queen.

I passed with a cardboard box in my arms. She called after me, loud enough for the hallway to hear.

"Alia, I am going to the Raven Club tonight to introduce myself to Mr. Landon. Anything I should know?"

"Yes."

She arched an eyebrow. "Go ahead."

"Do not wear white."

"Why not?"

"The main room is low-lit. White looks cheap there."

Someone in the hallway coughed to hide a laugh.

Color flooded Clara's face. "You can drop the act. No matter how fancy it is, it is still a place where people eat and drink. If you could go, so can I."

"Of course," I said. "As long as the door agrees with you."

She muttered something under her breath and disappeared into my office.

At six that evening, I sat in a cafe on the corner and watched the access notifications on my phone. Clara and Julian had arrived at the Raven Club.

The club occupied an unsigned brownstone squeezed between two luxury stores on Fifth Avenue. People who didn’t know better walked past and assumed it was a closed gallery. People who did know better understood that behind the black brass door sat investment-bank partners, family offices, retired senators, widows with terrifying trusts, and several old families who had cleaned their money so thoroughly nobody polite mentioned the dirt anymore.

The Morettis were one of those families.

I opened the real-time access log.

[First swipe: denied.]

[Second swipe: denied.]

[Third swipe: security alert.]

I took a slow sip of coffee.

Julian called almost immediately. I let it ring. He called again. I watched the screen. After the third attempt, Clara sent me a voice message. Behind her sharp breathing, I heard the doorman's controlled, icy voice.

"Ma'am, this card does not belong to you, and it does not belong to Kane Consulting. Please step away from the entrance."

Clara's voice came next, thin with panic. "Alia, what did you do? Why is the card not working? Mr. Landon is about to arrive."

I typed three words.

[Ask the door.]

Ten minutes later, a shaky phone video landed in a company side chat. Clara, in the white blazer I had warned her about, was blocked outside the Raven Club by two security men. She clutched the black card so tightly her knuckles looked bloodless. Julian stood beside her, trying to explain that he was the CEO of Kane Consulting.

The doorman said only one sentence.

"The Raven Club does not recognize stolen credentials."

It hit like a slap, even through a screen.

Unfortunately for them, Victor Landon arrived just in time to hear it.

His black Bentley stopped at the curb, and his driver opened the door. Landon stepped out, took in Julian, Clara, the card, and the two guards, and his brows drew together with quiet disgust.

"Julian," he said, "why is a stranger blocking my dinner?"

Julian went white. "Victor, this is just an access issue. We recently made an internal transition. Clara will be handling the account going forward."

"I do not know her. Has Alessia arrived?"

Clara froze. Julian froze with her.

At Kane Consulting, no one called me Alessia. To them, I was Alia Moore, the competent, private, inconvenient partner who somehow made problems go away. Alessia Moretti was the name my father had kept for me in family papers.

A black Cadillac pulled up to the curb. I stepped out as my driver opened an umbrella over my head. Rain struck the fabric in a steady silver hiss.

Landon's face softened when he saw me. "Alessia."

I walked to him and inclined my head. "I am sorry you had to see this."

He glanced at Julian. "I was under the impression that tonight's dinner was yours."

"It was," I said. "Then Mr. Kane decided I was too absent, too expensive, and too inappropriate to represent his company."

For a few seconds, even the rain seemed to hold its breath.

Clara looked at me as if she were seeing a ghost in an expensive coat. "You are a Moretti? You learned that a little late."

The club manager stepped outside and bowed his head. "Miss Moretti, your private room is ready. As for these two, shall we add them to the refusal list?"

I didn’t look at Julian. "Follow protocol."

The manager nodded.

Julian finally panicked. "Alessia, do not do this. We still have the Landon project. Tonight cannot fall apart because of a misunderstanding."

"You no longer have it," Landon said, "I do not entrust money to a team that cannot identify the actual relationship holder."

I took the black card from her hand and wiped rain off the surface with my thumb. "Thank you for keeping it warm."

Then I turned and walked into the club.

Behind me, the black brass door closed on Julian and Clara, leaving them in the rain.

New York has many doors. Beginning that night, one after another, they would close in their faces.