Chapter 18
Andrew's POV
Mr. Garcia's message made my heart drop—especially knowing how crude the man could be.
I dropped my phone on the coffee table, grabbed my laptop bag and a few documents, and headed to the bathroom.
A quick shower, a crisp white shirt tucked into navy blue trousers, jacket slung over my shoulder, tie loosely looped around my neck—I'd fix it properly in the car.
Traffic made me nearly an hour late. By the time I stepped out, adjusted my tie in the side mirror, and walked into the building, my chest was tight.
Mr. Garcia's Office
The media floor hummed with its usual chatter—keyboards clacking, phones ringing—but today it all felt distant, muffled.
Everyone seemed tense.
A junior producer passed me in the hallway. "Mr. Garcia's been asking for you since seven."
I nodded, gripping my bag tighter, and walked toward the executive wing. Knocked twice. Pushed open the glass door.
"Come in," the deep voice said.
Mr. Garcia stood by the window, coffee in hand, suit sharp as ever, staring out over the skyline. He didn't turn, but tension rolled off him like heat.
"Close the door," he said.
Heart climbing into my throat, I obeyed.
Finally, he turned, unreadable. "You saw the news?"
"St. Grace's… I just—saw it this morning."
He motioned to a chair. "Your father's still connected to that hospital, right?"
"Yeah… he has shares. Why?" Suspicion pricked at me.
Garcia smirked. "I have my ways, boy."
"We've kept that connection low. Nobody's—"
"That won't matter if things get messy," he cut in.
"Which is why I want you to get ahead of this."
"You want me to speak to my father."
"Yes. Sooner than later. We already sent a proposal to his board about the Blackwood collaboration. An exclusive with Kaius Blackwood could bury this hospital fire story within hours."
I swallowed.
"So… trade a family crisis for corporate leverage."
"I'm asking you to control the narrative. Before someone else does."
Outside, the sun climbed fully into the sky, painting the city gold. But for me, the day felt anything but normal.
I nodded. "I'll call him." Stoic, but my chest was tight.
"Good. And Andrew…" He stopped at the door.
"Don't let personal feelings slow you down. We're playing on a bigger board now."
In the Conference Room
Leaning against the table, I tapped my phone and dialed Dad.
"Andrew," he said. Firm. Businesslike. No warmth.
"Good morning, Dad."
"Though you haven't called in a while… you're late."
"I had to meet with Garcia first. Sorry, sir."
A pause.
"I assume this is about St. Grace's."
"Yes. And the Blackwood proposal. Garcia said it went out?"
"It did. I've reviewed it. But this—hospital mess—complicates things."
"Which is why Garcia wants it expedited. He thinks it could drown the hospital story."
Another pause.
"You still want me to move forward?"
"Yes. Under one condition. Stay out of any investigation. No distractions. If anyone asks, you know nothing."
Jaw tight, I swallowed. "Understood."
He sighed. "Remember where your blood runs. Bring Penelope home for dinner next time."
It wasn't like him to insist.
And somehow, that unsettled me more than the hospital fire.
"Of course," I said, sliding the phone back into my pocket. Silence pressed down.