The boardroom smelled like polished oak and restrained egos.

Harry Castillo sat at the head of the table, jacket immaculate, expression neutral in the way that made grown executives straighten their spines. A vice president was mid-sentence—something about quarterly projections—when a soft vibration brushed against Harry’s thigh.

Once. Then again.

His phone was on silent. It always was during meetings. That alone made his jaw tighten.

Without shifting his posture, Harry slid his hand beneath the table, thumb flicking the screen awake just enough to glance down. The glow caught briefly against his cufflinks.

His agent.

That was unusual. His agent knew better than to interrupt a board meeting unless the building was on fire or his name was trending for the wrong reasons.

He opened the notification.

"Someone left a child in the lobby. I’ll explain what it has to do with you as soon as you get here."

Harry didn’t react—not outwardly. Years of discipline held his face steady while his mind recalibrated in half a second.

A child? In his lobby? And somehow… him?

The vice president was still talking. Charts flicked across the screen. Numbers rose and fell, suddenly irrelevant.

Harry locked his phone and slid it back into his pocket. Then he leaned forward slightly, fingers steepled on the table.

“Pause the projections,” he said calmly.

The room went silent.

“Let's take a break,” Harry continued, already standing, straightening the invisible crinkles on the fabric of his suit. “We’ll resume in thirty minutes.”

No one argued. No one ever did.

As he strode out of the boardroom, his polished shoes echoing down the marble hallway, a single thought cut through the noise of corporate routine:

Children don’t get abandoned in my building by accident.

And whatever was waiting in the lobby—it already knew his name.