Ethan raised a hand.
“Wait.”
For the first time in weeks, someone in that room didn’t sound afraid.
He looked at her carefully. “What kind of mistake?”
She stepped forward, hesitant but determined, and pointed to a specific line.
“That clause transfers all the debt from the Harborline acquisition,” she explained. “But only part of it should be counted right now. The rest isn’t due yet.”
Silence fell hard.
Ethan leaned in, scanning the section again.
Clause 17C.
He had reviewed it over and over. So had every lawyer in that room.
But now, something felt different.
“Stop,” Ethan said quietly. “Check it again. Now.”
The attorneys exchanged looks—annoyed, doubtful—but complied.
Minutes ticked by.
Then one of them exhaled sharply.
“…She’s right.”
The room shifted instantly.
“That portion shouldn’t be included yet,” the attorney admitted. “The liability has been overstated.”
Ethan felt his chest loosen for the first time in days.
“Find her,” he said quickly. “Bring her back.”
Her name was Maya Bennett.
Maya had been living on the streets since she was thirteen, after losing her mother and their apartment in the same brutal month. She moved between shelters, subway benches, and anywhere she could stay dry.