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Emma shifts beside me when the SUV turns onto Fifth Avenue. “His publicist issued another denial this morning.”

I look at her. “Another?”

“He says Spencer had nothing to do with the allegations, which apparently inspired several reporters to start tracing who first contacted them.”

Theo gestures toward Emma. “This is why she’s useful.”

Emma gives him a look. I turn toward the window, where barricades are already visible outside the venue.

Reporters line the barricades outside the venue, although the sight hits differently than it did three days ago.

They aren’t waiting outside Wolf Shield to ask whether I exploited shelters or manipulated donors. They’re here because we’re launching the program those same articles tried to make suspicious.

The initiative began at my conference table after Nora showed me how much of Wolf Shield’s history traces back through Celeste.

I expected several months of legal work, staffing plans, and budget approvals before we announced anything. Then Spencer forced the story into public view.

Finance moved faster. Legal stopped sleeping. Theo bullied several departments into meetings they didn’t know they needed.

Somehow, we’re here.

The SUV pulls beneath the covered entrance, and security closes around the doors before the driver finishes parking. I get out first, then turn back as Emma starts maneuvering herself toward the edge of the seat.

She notices my hand waiting and gives me a look. “I can get out.”

“I know.”

She takes my hand anyway.

Her stomach has grown enough over the last few weeks that getting out of a vehicle now involves more planning than she appreciates, and I keep my hand beneath her arm until she’s standing beside me.

Emma catches me checking her face. “I’m fine.”

“I haven’t said anything.”

We head inside with reporters calling my name from behind the barriers.

My hand moves to Emma’s back.

Years ago, I walked into events exactly like this three paces behind Spencer, watching every entrance. Cameras tracked him through the building.

Today, the cameras turn toward me. I still don’t like it.

Emma slips her hand into mine before we reach the interior doors. “You okay?”

The question almost makes me laugh because I’m usually asking it first.

“Yeah.”

“Good. Claire told me she plans to physically put you onstage if you disappear.”

“Claire barely reaches my shoulder.”

“She’s angry enough to compensate.”

We make it through the private corridor before I can argue.

The event has outgrown every plan Claire showed me earlier this week.