Two men in tailored suits followed close behind — attorneys who billed thousands an hour. Behind them trailed a hospital administrator, a woman so unnerved by Alistair’s presence she barely dared breathe.

“Who are you? Why are you barging in here?” Reginald spun around, his face reddening. “This is a private room.”

The room went silent as Alistair took another step. Reginald’s hands dropped, and the black pen slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor. The color drained from Barbara’s face until her skin looked gray, and the cruel little smile melted into shock.

“Alistair… Alistair Sanders,” Barbara stammered.

Alistair wasn’t merely rich. He was the man corporate boards feared most — a billionaire known for buying failing companies, taking them apart, and extending no patience to people who’d cut corners.

My parents had spent years angling for a single meeting with him, begging for a sliver of his time.