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CHAPTER 1

CORA

T he St. Louis Public Library is my sanctuary. The high ceilings and quiet hum of the HVAC system make it easy to focus. My table is a fortress of legal tomes and notebooks, my hair shoved into a messy bun with a couple of pencils sticking out like antenna. Yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt—perfection. No one here cares if I look like I just rolled out of bed, so long as I don’t spill coffee on the books.

I’m elbow-deep in a case from 1983 about corporate liability when a shadow falls across the table. I glance up, expecting a librarian or maybe someone asking if the seat’s taken. Instead, it’s a man—short, balding, with a smile that’s either genuine or practiced so well it doesn’t matter.

"Hello, Ms. Daniels." His voice is higher than I’d expect, almost chipper. "My name is Robbie Dalton, and I’m here to make you a job offer."

I blink. He hands me a business card: Orion Enterprises . The logo is familiar—a sleek silver constellation against a deep purple background. I’ve seen their building downtown, all glass and steel, towering over the skyline.

"I don’t remember applying to Orion Enterprises." My tone is flat, but my brain is already running through the possibilities. Scam? Pyramid scheme? Some kind of corporate espionage thing?

"Oh, you didn’t." Robbie’s smile doesn’t waver. "Mr. Weller, my boss, keeps a close eye on recent graduates. Your performance at university—perfect grades, high honors—caught his attention."

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. "So, what, you just… track people down in libraries now? Seems a bit desperate."

Robbie chuckles, hands raised in mock surrender. "Desperate? No. Efficient? Absolutely. We’re not in the business of waiting for talent to come to us. We find it."

"And you think I’m talent?" I raise an eyebrow. "With just a bachelor’s degree? No master’s, no internship at a top firm, no?—"

"A 4.0 GPA from a top-tier university," he interrupts, tapping the table for emphasis. "And a knack for outthinking the competition. That’s what we’re interested in."

I let the silence hang for a moment, studying him. He doesn’t flinch. Either he’s a fantastic liar, or he’s telling the truth. Either way, my stomach growls, reminding me I haven’t eaten since breakfast.

"Is this legit?" I ask, half-expecting him to pull out a brochure about multi-level marketing.

"Totally legit." He spreads his hands like a magician showing there’s nothing up his sleeves. "How about I buy you lunch, and we can discuss the details? My treat."

I glance at the stack of books in front of me, then back at him. Lunch sounds good. Free lunch sounds even better. And if this turns out to be a scam, well, I’ve wasted worse afternoons.

"Alright," I say, shoving the books aside. "But if this is some pyramid scheme, I’m ordering the most expensive thing on the menu."

Robbie laughs, a high, tinkling sound. "Deal."

Robbie leads me to a steakhouse just a few blocks from the library. The place smells like seared meat and butter, and the dim lighting gives it a cozy yet upscale vibe. We’re seated in a corner booth, and Robbie immediately orders enough food to feed a small army—appetizers, sides, and two steaks. For a guy his size, he’s either got a hollow leg or a death wish for his cholesterol levels.

I’m not about to let this opportunity go to waste. I order the ribeye with endless shrimp, because why not? When the waiter asks if I’d like a drink, Robbie cuts in. "Iced tea for both of us. Work calls for a clear head."

The waiter nods and leaves, and Robbie leans forward, elbows on the table. "So, Cora, let me lay it out for you. Orion Enterprises is offering you a paid internship. Not the kind where you fetch coffee and file paperwork, either. This is hands-on, high-level work. You’ll be working directly with Mr. Weller himself. Think of it as a crash course in becoming the best version of yourself."

I take a sip of iced tea, the condensation cold against my fingers. "Directly with Weller? As in, the billionaire who owns half of downtown?"

"The very same." Robbie’s smile is smug, like he’s just handed me the keys to a Lamborghini. "It’s a rare opportunity. Most people would kill for this kind of access."

I set my glass down, leaning in. "Let’s cut to the chase. How much does it pay?"

Robbie laughs, a high-pitched sound that makes the couple at the next table glance over. "I like you, Cora. No beating around the bush. The exact compensation package will be discussed when you meet with Mr. Weller, but let’s just say… it’s in the six-figure range."

I nearly choke on my tea. "Six figures? For an internship?"

"Don’t act so surprised. Orion Enterprises doesn’t do things halfway." He spreads his hands, like he’s presenting me with the world on a platter. "You’re not just any graduate, Cora. You’re the kind of talent we invest in."

The shrimp arrives first, and I start picking at them while my brain processes what he just said. Six figures. For an internship. Either this is the best day of my life, or Robbie’s about to hand me a timeshare pitch.

"Okay," I say, dipping a shrimp in cocktail sauce. "I’ll meet with Weller."

Robbie’s grin widens. "Perfect. Be at the Orion Building tomorrow at seven sharp. Don’t be late—Mr. Weller doesn’t tolerate tardiness."

The rest of the meal passes in a blur of steak and small talk. Robbie pays the bill, tipping the waiter enough to make his eyes widen. As we step out into the late afternoon sun, I can’t shake the feeling that this is too good to be true. But hey, if it’s a scam, at least I got a free steak out of it.

The front door sticks when I push it open, the weight of my library books making me fumble the key. I stagger inside, arms full, only to freeze mid-step.

"Jesus Christ, Dad!" The stack of books almost slips from my grasp. My father, Joe, is standing in the middle of the living room, one hand on his hip, the other flexing a bicep like he’s auditioning for a Bowflex commercial. And he’s naked. Completely naked. Except for a sock.

"Hey, Cora," he says, unfazed. "The lighting is better in here for your mom’s painting."

"Can’t you do that in the bedroom?" I wave a hand in his general direction, careful to keep my eyes locked on the ceiling. The last thing I need today is a mental image of my dad’s "artistic expression."

"My man cave doesn’t have the right angles," he says, shifting his pose with a casualness that makes me want to bleach my brain. "And anyway, it’s just a body, Cora. I have a sock over my?—"

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" I bolt for the stairs, books bouncing against my chest. I can hear my dad chuckling behind me, but I don’t stop until I’m safely in my room, door slammed shut. I drop the books on the floor and collapse onto the bed, letting out a groan that’s half exhaustion, half existential despair.

A knock at the door interrupts my wallowing. "Cora?"

"Come in," I say, without thinking.

The door opens, and I regret it instantly. My mom, Maggie, steps inside. She’s wearing nothing but a paint-splattered apron and a smile.

"Mom, why are you naked too?" I bury my face in my hands.

"Oh, it makes your father more comfortable," she says, like this is the most normal thing in the world. "I just wanted to tell you that a Mr. Robbie Dalton called for you a while ago. I told him you were at the library."

"Thanks," I mutter, not looking up. She lingers for a moment, then shrugs and closes the door behind her.

I flop back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. "I’ve got to get my own place," I mutter to myself, "before they drive me insane."

I stare at my phone, my mother’s words sinking in. Robbie called the house and hunted me down at the library? That’s not just persistence—that’s borderline stalker behavior. My stomach knots as I open my phone and type out a quick message to my group chat, a collection of sarcastic, over-caffeinated friends who’ve been my lifeline since college.

Me: So, some guy named Robbie Dalton tracked me down at the library today to offer me a job. Called the house first. Thoughts?

The responses come fast and merciless.

Jenna: Is he hot? If not, red flag.

Marcus: Sounds like a cult recruitment. Did he mention free protein powder?

Sam: If he didn’t mention a pyramid scheme, it’s probably a trap.

Me: He works for Orion Enterprises. Like the billionaire Orion Weller.

Jenna: Oh, that guy. Wear a hidden camera in case they try to induct you into the Illuminati.

Marcus: Or the Justice League. Either way, get footage.

Sam: Go. Worst-case scenario, you walk out with a story. Best-case, you’re rich.

I smirk at my phone, but the unease doesn’t fade. They’re right, though. Walking away without even hearing the offer feels…stupid. I set my phone down and stare at the ceiling, the same one I’ve stared at for as long as I can remember. The cracks in the plaster form a map of possibilities, each one leading to a different version of my life. One of those paths could lead to Orion Weller, to a six-figure internship, to a future that doesn’t involve my parents’ eccentricities or the soul-crushing monotony of entry-level jobs.

I close my eyes and let myself imagine it—walking into that skyscraper downtown, stepping off the elevator into a glass-walled office with a view of the city. Mr. Weller nodding as I lay out a brilliant idea, him saying, "You’re exactly what this company needs." The fantasy grows sharper, more vivid, until I can almost taste the success.

But then my dad’s voice drifts up the stairs, muffled but unmistakable. "Maggie, do you think the sock is too much?"

I groan and yank a pillow over my face. Reality crashes back in. Naked parents, no job, and a meeting with a billionaire who might be a scam artist or a genius. Or both.

I sit up, tossing the pillow aside. "Screw it," I mutter to the empty room. "I’m going. If nothing else, it’ll make a hell of a story."

I grab my laptop and start researching Orion Weller, determined to walk into that meeting with more than just blind optimism. If this is my shot, I’m not wasting it.