Chapter 2 - The Predator in the PenthouseI didn't leave the apartment immediately. I walked out of the study and down the short corridor toward the staff quarters. The double doors to the service kitchen were half-open.
Maya was sitting at the small laminate table now, her head bowed in her hands. The empty baby bottle sat beside a crumpled tissue.
I cleared my throat softly.
She jumped, scrambling up so fast her chair screeched against the linoleum. Her eyes were red-rimmed, wide with terror, expecting reprimand, dismissal, or worse—judgment from the billionaire whose home she served.
"Mr. Foster," she stammered, smoothing her uniform with trembling fingers. "I—I'm sorry. I was just... I was cleaning up. I didn't mean to take a break so late—"
"Maya," I interrupted, my voice devoid of its usual corporate chill, though still firm. "Sit down."
She froze. "Sir?"
"Sit down," I repeated, stepping into the kitchen.
She sank slowly back into the chair, gripping the edge of the table as if anchoring herself against a storm.
"You told your mother on the phone that they wouldn't release Lily's medicine," I said quietly.
Maya’s breath caught. The color drained entirely from her face, leaving her skin a stark, ghostly pale. "Mr. Foster... please. I can explain. I'll work extra hours, I can take it out of my next three paychecks—"
"How much do you owe the pharmacy, Maya?"
"I... what?"
"The specialty pharmacy," I pressed, stepping closer. "The one handling the pediatric biologics for Lily's condition. How much are they charging you per dose?"
Tears spilled over her lower lashes, hot and fast. "Two thousand eight hundred dollars every two weeks," she whispered, her voice breaking completely. "The insurance covers the base hospital visits, but the specific biologic serum—the one that keeps her lungs from collapsing—they classified it as 'experimental import tier.' They said it's not on the standard formulary. I sold my car last month. I took out loans from three different micro-lenders. And tonight... tonight they told me the account was locked because of a supply chain shortage. They said even if I had the money, there's no stock left in the city."
I looked at her, really looked at her, and felt a cold fury settle deep in my gut. Sam Miller’s supply chain manipulation wasn't just a white-collar crime on a spreadsheet. It was actively starving a six-year-old child of air.
"Your account isn't locked because of a shortage, Maya," I said, my voice dropping to a low, dangerous register. "It's locked because someone is artificially restricting the supply to drive up the price."
Maya stared at me, uncomprehending. "Sir?"
I pulled out my phone, unlocked the secure interface, and dialed a direct extension. "Ryan? Cancel my morning meetings at the board. All of them. And pull up the direct-deposit routing numbers for every employee under Aegis Medical Logistics."
May you like
"You're going after Miller directly?" Ryan asked from the other end.
"I'm going to skin him alive," I said. "And then I'm coming home to check on my housekeeper's daughter."
