The boardroom of Vale-Cross Global was designed for consensus. The white oak table was round, the chairs were equal in height, and the acoustics were engineered to encourage dialogue.Today, however, it felt like a boxing ring.Aurora sat at the edge of the room, ostensibly taking notes but really playing referee. Liam was at the head of the table, his face a mask of careful neutrality. Marcus leaned against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he wanted to intervene but knew better.And in the center, facing each other across the expanse of wood, were her children.Ethan was seventeen. He wore a hoodie and sneakers, his laptop open in front of him, displaying a dense wall of code and financial projections. He looked like the future—fast, impatient, and terrifyingly smart.Hope was fourteen. She wore her 'creative lead' uniform—black turtleneck, architectural jewelry. She had a sketchbook and a stack of fabric swatches spread out like a defensive perimeter. She looked like the soul of
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