First Million-Dollar Room

Marcus smiled fully now. "That is adorable." "It is also clean," Ethan said. "No committee. No politics. No LP memo. I write what I believe publicly, and people are starting to listen. You don't need my money. You might need the narrative." Leena's eyes held his. For a second, the room disappeared into the line between them: her suspicion, his hunger, the dangerous intimacy of two ambitious people recognizing appetite in another language. "Twelve thousand," she said. "Advisor allocation. No promises beyond access. You write nothing I don't approve." "No," Ethan said. The room froze. He heard his own heartbeat. He had just refused the door that men like him were never shown. Leena's voice cooled. "No?"