“Then they don’t come in.”
The assistant hesitated.
“He says it’s important… his name is Ethan Brooks.”
The room fell quiet.
But not heavy.
Not tense.
Just… empty.
Claire felt nothing.
No anger.
No sadness.
Not even curiosity.
“Tell him to send an email,” she said calmly.
But before the assistant could respond, a voice came from the hallway.
“Claire… please.”
It was softer now.
Uncertain.
Human.
Claire turned her head slowly.
Ethan stood in the doorway.
Not the man from the airport.
Not the man who walked into first class with certainty.
His suit was worn.
His posture less certain.
His eyes… no longer cold.
He looked like someone who had spent too long trying to rebuild something that could not be rebuilt.
Claire looked at him.
One second.
Two.
Three.
“Five minutes,” she said.
He stepped in.
Remained standing.
As if unsure he was allowed to sit.
Claire didn’t offer.
Not out of cruelty.
But because the thought didn’t even occur to her.
“Speak.”
He swallowed.
“I lost everything,” he said.
No reaction.
“I tried to start over… but no one trusts me. My name… it’s marked.”
Claire rested her fingers lightly on the desk.
“That tends to happen.”
He looked down.
“I came to ask for your help.”
Silence.
Heavy.
But not for her.
For him.