Mag-log inPOV: Avalon Pierce
The woman in the photograph was standing outside the Herbst Theatre with a phone pressed to her ear and a folder under her arm, confident she hadn’t been seen.
Avalon knew her, not very well.
Her name was Sandra Cole.
She’d worked at Pierce Holdings twelve years ago, she was a junior counsel in the legal department. Competent and quiet, she was the kind of person who absorbed information without appearing to and who left the company after eighteen months without explanation or reference request.
He’d forgotten she existed until right now.
“How does she connect to the blackmail,” he said.
“Cross traced the anonymous contact back to her through the payment method,” Patricia said. “She used a cryptocurrency wallet she thought was untraceable. It wasn’t.” She paused. “Cross says she’s been building a file on the foundation for eight months. She also has connections to three of the original investors who are worried about civil liability.”
“She’s working for them,” Avalon said.
“Probably,” Patricia said. “Or independently, selling information to whoever will pay. Cross isn’t certain yet.” She looked at him. “But the blackmail is real. Two hundred thousand dollars or she releases what she has on Selene.”
“What does she have?” he asked.
Patricia was quiet for a moment.
“Cross says it’s about the first pregnancy,” Patricia said. “About the hospital and how the classification was made.” She looked at him carefully. “She has medical records she shouldn’t have access to and someone must have given them to her.”
“Elena,” Avalon said. The first Elena. Her name in his mouth feels different now. She has been weaponised by someone who had never met her and didn’t care about her.
“Yes,” Patricia said.
He looked at the photograph.
“I need to make a call,” he said.
He called Selene from Patricia’s car.
She answered immediately.
“Tell me,” she said.
He told her everything.
Selene was quiet for a long time after he finished.
“She has Elena’s records,” Selene said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Someone gave them to her,” Selene said.
“Yes,” he said.
“Who has access to those records?” she asked.
“That’s the question,” he said. “The hospital, Dr Adeyemi, Dr Okafor and maybe others.”
“None of them,” Selene said immediately.
“No,” he agreed.
“Then someone accessed them illegally,” she said. “Or—” She stopped.
“Or what?” he asked.
“Or someone who knew about Elena told her,” Selene said. “Someone we told.”
The car was very quiet.
“We haven’t told many people,” he said carefully.
“No,” she said. “We haven’t.”
“Selene—”
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t start with my name like that. Say what you’re thinking.”
“Diana knew,” he said.
A long silence.
“Diana knew,” Selene said.
“She was cooperating with the federal prosecutor,” he said. “Everything she knew was disclosed, including things we told her in confidence before we understood what she was.”
“She wouldn’t,” Selene said.
“She gave Henderson our financial records,” he said.
“Under duress,” Selene said.
“Yes,” he said. “But she gave them.”
Another silence.
“Call Margaret,” Selene said. “Find out if Diana’s cooperation disclosure included anything about Elena. Find out exactly what she told them and whether any of it could have reached Sandra Cole through the federal file.”
“Federal files are sealed,” he said.
“Most things are sealed until they aren’t,” she said. “Call Margaret, tonight.”
“I’ll call her now,” he said.
“And Avalon,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Come home first,” she said. I need you here.”
He started the car.
“Twenty minutes,” he said.
“Drive carefully,” she said.
“Always,” he said.
“You ran a red light the night Elena was born,” she said.
“That was an emergency,” he said.
“This feels like an emergency,” she said.
“This is manageable,” he said. “I promise you this is manageable.”
“Come home and tell me that in person,” she said.
“Twenty minutes,” he said again.
Selene was at the kitchen counter when he walked in.
Maya was there too, Elena in her arms, and the two sisters were in the middle of a conversation that stopped when he came through the door because they both read his face simultaneously the way sisters apparently did.
“How bad?” Maya asked.
“Manageable,” he said.
“That’s not an answer,” Maya said.
“It’s the honest one,” he said.
He crossed to Selene.
Everything they needed to say to each other in that look and none of it requiring words because they’d been learning each other’s language for two years and this was fluency, this was what fluency looked like, two people who could say everything in a glance and save the words for when words were the only option.
“Okay,” she said.
“Maya looked between them.
“You two are unsettling,” she said. “You know that right?”
“Thank you,” Selene said.
“It wasn’t a compliment,” Maya said.
“I know,” Selene said. “It still felt like one.”
Margaret called at eight.
He put her on speaker so Selene could hear.
Maya had taken Elena to the nursery, giving them the kitchen, and he sat across from Selene at the table with the phone between them.
“Diana’s cooperation disclosure,” Margaret said. “I’ve been through it. It was extensive. It was everything she knew about the Hale operation, the board and the company’s vulnerabilities.” She paused. “And yes, there's a section about personal disclosures and things she knew about Selene specifically.”
“Elena,” Selene said.
“Yes,” Margaret said quietly. “She disclosed what she knew about the first pregnancy. The circumstances. The hospital.” Another pause. “The federal file was sealed but sealed files move through systems and systems have people in them and people talk.”
“Sandra Cole has a contact inside the federal prosecutor’s office,” Avalon said.
“That’s what I think,” Margaret said. “I can’t prove it yet tho.”
“Can you find out?” he asked.
“Give me twenty four hours,” she said.
“You have twelve,” he said.
Margaret said nothing for a moment.
“Twelve,” she said. “I’ll try.”
She hung up.
POV: Avalon PierceSelene called her father one final time that autumn, not out of obligation, but because something in her had settled enough to want closure rather than distance.He answered on the second ring, his voice older, steadier than she remembered.“I got married again,” she said. “Properly this time.”“I’m glad,” he said, and she could hear that he meant it.“I’m not calling to reconcile,” she said. “I want to be clear about that.”“I understand,” he said.“I wanted you to know I’m happy,” she said. “Genuinely happy and that whatever happened between us, I’ve made peace with it. Not because you deserve peace but because I do.”There was a long pause on the line.“Thank you for telling me,” he said finally. “I hope you stay happy, Selene. I mean that.”“Goodbye,” she said, and meant it as final in the gentlest way she could manage.She hung up feeling nothing but lightness.That evening, the foundation’s fifth anniversary approaching, Avalon sat with Elena in the study, the
POV: Selene CastellanoAvalon asked her again on a Tuesday, the way he’d promised he would years before, except this time there was no crisis waiting in the wings, no Henderson Capital, no federal sentencing hanging over their heads.Just an ordinary evening, Elena and Robert asleep at Maya’s for the night, the two of them standing in the courtyard of the building they’d built together.“I want to marry you again,” he said. “Properly this time. Not because a will required it. Not because I finally got around to asking after everything settled. But, simply because I choose this, every single day, and I want to say it in front of everyone who helped us get here.”Selene looked at him.“You already asked me this,” she said. “The night Henderson’s resolution passed.”“I know,” he said. “I want to ask you where everyone can see it. Where Elena can watch her parents choose each other on purpose.”She felt her throat tighten.“Yes,” she said. “A thousand times, yes.”They married in the cour
POV: Avalon PierceFive years passed the way real years did, not in dramatic leaps but in the accumulation of ordinary days that eventually amounted to something enormous.Elena was eight now, sharp and certain and increasingly aware of the world she’d been born into. Robert was seven, quieter than his cousin but equally stubborn, the two of them inseparable in the way cousins raised in each other’s pockets often became.The foundation had expanded to three cities. The Riverside clinic had helped over four thousand families. Rosa Gutierrez had passed peacefully two years earlier, her building still standing, still in her family’s name.On a Sunday afternoon in October, Selene found Elena sitting on the floor of the foundation building, looking at the stone carving above the door from the inside, tracing the letters with her finger.“What does it mean,” Elena asked. “The question.”Selene sat down beside her.“It means we never stop asking what we’re actually trying to do,” she said. “
POV: Selene CastellanoThe building was finished in November, exactly on Kofi’s timeline, standing on Valencia Street with its wide windows and its courtyard already growing the peace lilies Maya had insisted on planting.Elena, now three and a half, stood at the entrance holding Avalon’s hand and staring up at the building.“Ours,” she said.“Ours,” Selene confirmed.Above the doorway, carved into simple stone, the same words that had opened everything two years before:What are we actually building toward?Beneath it, smaller: Lorraine Pierce, 1943-2024. She kept building.The opening ceremony drew three hundred people. Rosa Gutierrez, now with silver fully through her hair, cut the ribbon alongside Esperanza Reyes, who was eighty one now and needed a cane but refused any other assistance walking through the doors of the building her family’s story had helped create.Kevin Walsh’s program had grown to sixty young people. Evelyn stood at the front with tears she made no effort to hid
POV: Avalon PierceThe groundbreaking happened on a Saturday morning in March, exactly a year after Elena’s first birthday, and Avalon stood at the edge of the empty lot watching Selene explain the plans to a small crowd that had gathered without any formal invitation.Word had simply spread. Rosa Gutierrez told her neighbors. Kevin Walsh told the young people in his program. Esperanza Reyes, now eighty and moving more slowly but still sharp as ever, told everyone at her church.By the time the ceremonial shovels were handed out, nearly a hundred people stood on Valencia Street watching.“This isn't groundbreaking for us,” Selene said into the small microphone Amara had arranged. “It's groundbreaking for what this neighborhood already knew it deserved. We’re just finally building it.”The crowd applauded.Elena, nearly two years old now and increasingly opinionated about everything, stood between Avalon and Selene holding her own small plastic shovel that Maya had insisted on buying f
POV: Selene CastellanoThe foundation’s third year opened with a decision that had been building for months.Selene stood at the whiteboard on a Monday morning with Amara, James, and Nadia gathered around her, and she looked at the mark in the corner that was Nene’s handwriting and said what she’d been thinking since Elena’s birthday.“I want to build something permanent,” she said. “Not just programs. A building. A physical home for the foundation that isn’t a corner office we outgrew a year ago.”Amara looked at her carefully.“Where,” she said.“The Mission,” Selene said. “On Valencia Street. Near Rosa’s building. Near the clinic. Somewhere the community can walk to instead of us always being the ones who have to reach out.”James was already thinking through the practicalities. “That requires capital we haven’t budgeted for. And it requires an architect who understands what this place needs to be.”Selene smiled slightly.“I already have someone in mind,” she said.Kofi looked at
The orchestra played something slow and haunting—perhaps Debussy or Satie.Avalon’s hand rested at her lower back while his other held hers firmly. Selene had no choice but to step closer, able to smell sandalwood mixed with something darker—definitely not the cheap college aftershave. This scent wa
The stylist had completely reinvented her, crafting a new identity.Selene stared at the reflection, hardly able to see herself. The dress was a dark, flowing silk, shimmering with every motion, tailored to reveal her neckline and the curve of her shoulders. Her hair tumbled in deep, glossy waves—t
POV: Avalon PierceAvalon usually steered clear of dive bars like this one. The floors were sticky enough to make you think twice about where you stepped, and the walls were decked out with those bright, buzzing neon beer signs that seemed to glow in every colour imaginable. In the corner, a jukebo
Selene Castellano’s Point of ViewHer calculator had given up an hour ago, leaving Selene stuck, eyes glued to the same numbers that now just blended into a messy blur. It was all red ink—like some wild abstract painting gone wrong—a chaotic splash of financial disaster that she couldn’t escape.Ho







