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My phone rings, startling me. Wren's name flashes on the screen. It's almost 1 AM. Much too late for a routine call.

“Sean?” Her voice is small, tight with fear. “I got another package. On my doorstep. In my home.”

My body tenses, adrenaline washing away the bourbon's relaxing effects. “Don't touch it,” I say with controlled calm. “Where's Eric?”

“Asleep. It must’ve been there after you left. Saw it on my doorstep when I took out the trash.”

I glance at the time and frown.Why is she taking out trash at this hour?Then it hits me. She can't sleep either. The stress is eating at her just as it is me.

“What does it look like?”

I'm already grabbing my keys, tucking my gun into its holster at my lower back.

“A small box, gift-wrapped.” There’s a slight waver in her phone. “There's a card with my name on it.”

“I'm on my way. Don't touch it, don't move it. Stay inside, doors locked.”

“I know basic protocol, Sean.” A hint of her usual strength returns to her voice. “This isn't my first hate mail.”

“But it's escalating.” I'm already out the door, phone to my ear as I stride toward my SUV. “And now they're delivering at night.”

“I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Stay on the line with me.”

“I need to check on Eric.”

“Go ahead, but come right back.” I slide into the driver's seat, starting the engine. “Keep talking to me, Wren.”

I hear her soft footsteps, the gentle creak of a door opening. Her whispered reassurance that Eric is sound asleep. Her measured breathing as she returns to her living room, watching the front door as if it might burst open at any moment.

“Still there?” I ask as I navigate the empty streets.

“Still here.” She pauses. “I feel stupid now, calling you in the middle of the night.”

“Don't.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Never hesitate. That's what I'm here for.”

“To rush to my rescue at 1 AM?”

“If that's what it takes.”

“Thank you,” she says in a whisper so soft that I almost miss it.

“Almost there,” I respond, not trusting myself with anything more personal.

5

WREN

Iadjust my blazer for the fifth time, inhaling as I make my way to the conference room. My emotions are stretched taut since discovering the package at midnight. It worries me that the threats have reached my home. Now, my home isn’t safe and neither is my son. How can I protect a multi-million company when I can't even protect my home?

I feel even more pathetic running to call Sean. Maybe it was fear that made me call him or it was my loneliness and fatigue. Either way, it was weak and pathetic. I clench my fists at my sides.

The package from the previous night contained nothing but my name on it. Bizarre. Sean had insisted on staying until daybreak. I find it even more uncomfortable that it was only when he arrived that I was able to catch some sleep. I don’t want to think too much about what that meant. If it meant anything at all.

I reach the conference room and my pulse races, my thoughts shifting to the reality of my shaky empire. Behind these doors sit five investors. Men and women who control millions of potentialdevelopment dollars that could either accelerate or sink Lemon LLC's next phase.

“You've got this.” I whisper the same words I used to tell myself before stepping onto set.

The room falls silent as I enter. Ten pairs of eyes follow me to the front of the room. Suits, pens, coffee cups untouched. I spot Richard Barnes, our earliest angel investor, his poker face in place. Next to him sits Eliza Chen, venture capitalist extraordinaire, who once called me “the most strategic former actress” she'd ever met. Now, her smile is tight, uncertain.