Gossip.
His job.
Eli.
He had no idea where any piece belonged.
Two days later, Rebecca’s attorney called.
The meeting occurred at a neutral law office on Madison Avenue.
Rebecca arrived with outside counsel.
Malcolm came alone.
He wore his best navy shirt.
The pregnancy was confirmed.
Eight weeks.
Rebecca placed both hands on the table.
“I want to be clear.”
Malcolm waited.
“I’m not asking you to marry me.”
“Good.”
That startled a small smile out of her.
“I’m asking for legal certainty.”
“Paternity?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Protection.”
Malcolm looked toward the lawyer.
“For who?”
Rebecca answered.
“Both of us.”
The documents provided financial support if paternity was confirmed.
Confidentiality protections.
Independent counsel reimbursement.
Job-security provisions.
A clause explicitly recognizing Malcolm’s parental rights.
That surprised him.
He read every page.
Then found language discussing media coordination.
“What is this?”
Rebecca looked tired.
“My board already knows.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your family?”
“Yes.”
“And they have opinions.”
She did not answer.
Malcolm understood.
“What happens if I don’t sign?”
Rebecca took longer this time.
“I cannot guarantee what happens around you.”
“That sounds like a threat.”
“It isn’t.”
“It sounds exactly like one.”
She looked at him.
“It is me admitting I do not control as much as I thought.”
That answer felt honest.
Malcolm signed only after receiving independent legal advice paid through the agreement.
He refused additional personal money.
Rebecca did not push.
The next morning Stephen Alden called his niece.
He was polite.
That made it worse.
“A Black janitor?”
Rebecca stood at her office window.
“What exactly is your question?”
“You know the question.”
“No.”
“I want you to say it.”
Stephen exhaled.
“This company has an identity.”
“So does he.”
“He has no assets.”
“He has a son.”
“He cleans our offices.”
“He has a job.”
“He is not from our world.”
Rebecca’s voice became cold.
“Our world?”
Stephen paused.
That was as close as he would come to saying what both of them heard underneath everything else.
“Think about the child.”
“I am.”
“Think about optics.”
Rebecca almost laughed.
“I’m pregnant, Stephen.”
“Not launching a product.”
“You are CEO of Aldercrest.”
“And apparently you believe that means my uterus reports to the board.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“No.”
Rebecca stared at the city.
“It isn’t.”
Stephen changed tactics.
“We can solve it.”
“How?”
“Privately.”
She heard the meaning.
“No.”
“Rebecca.”
“No.”