The black sedan arrived at 8:45 a.m. sharp outside Sadi’s dilapidated apartment building in Queens.

Sadi had barely slept. She had spent the remaining hours of the night staring at her small, water-stained ceiling, weighing the terrifying prospect of entering Roman Moretti’s world against the soul-crushing reality of her current existence.

When she walked out to the curb, a broad-shouldered man in a dark suit opened the rear door for her. It was the same bodyguard who had stood by the jukebox in the diner.

"Morning, Miss Sadi," the man said politely. "I'm Marco."

"Morning, Marco," she replied, stepping inside the leather-scented interior.

Thirty minutes later, the sedan pulled up to the Moretti Tower in the heart of Manhattan’s financial district. It was a seventy-story monument to modern architecture, a gleaming spire of black glass and brushed steel that dominated the skyline.

There were no mobster stereotypes here. No smoky backrooms or dark alleyways. This was high corporate power, sanitized and legally armored.

Marco escorted Sadi through the private executive elevator directly to the top floor. When the doors slid open, she was greeted by a sprawling penthouse office with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park.

Roman sat behind a massive desk carved from dark walnut. He wore a navy three-piece suit today, looking every bit the multi-billionaire CEO. Standing beside him was a man in his late fifties wearing a silver-grey suit, holding a leather briefcase with an expression of deep, aristocratic disdain.

"Sadi," Roman said, standing up as she entered. "Timely. This is Julian Vance, senior partner at Vance & Sterling—my primary legal counsel for the past fifteen years."

Julian Vance turned to look at Sadi. His eyes swept over her modest thrift-store blazer and dark trousers with obvious condescension.

"Roman," Vance said, his voice dripping with refined irritation. "Is this a joke? You called an emergency board meeting and suspended the South Harbor acquisition because of a... diner waitress?"

"She identified a poison pill in Arthur’s contract that you missed, Julian," Roman said smoothly, walking around his desk to stand beside Sadi.

Vance’s jaw tightened. "Arthur’s contract was a preliminary draft! My junior associates were still reviewing the liability clauses—"

"The liability clauses were on page forty-two, Julian," Sadi interrupted calmly, stepping forward before Roman could speak. "Section fourteen, subsection B. It referenced a non-existent addendum to bypass the standard indemnity protections. Anyone with ten minutes of contract law experience would have flagged it immediately. Your junior associates didn't miss it; they ignored it. Or worse, someone paid them to leave it in."

The color drained from Vance’s aristocratic face. "How dare you—"

"That’s enough, Julian," Roman cut in, his voice dropping into that terrifying, quiet register that made even the air in the room feel colder. "Sadi is now a special consultant to my executive office. She will review every document before it reaches my desk."

Vance glared at Sadi with pure, unadulterated hatred. He snapped his briefcase shut. "You're making a grave mistake, Roman. Elevating an unqualified girl over a firm that has protected your family for decades will invite chaos."

"My family's business has evolved, Julian," Roman replied coldly. "Make sure her desk is set up in the adjoining office by noon. Dismissed."

Vance turned on his heel and marched out of the room, his leather shoes clicking angrily against the marble floor.

Sadi turned to Roman, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "You just made an enemy of your chief legal counsel for a woman who doesn't even have a diploma yet."

Roman looked down at her, a subtle, dangerous glint in his dark eyes. "Julian Vance has been getting lazy and expensive for five years, Sadi. You didn't make him my enemy; you just proved how useless he is."

He walked over to the glass wall, looking out over the city.

"Now," Roman said softly, "let's talk about Arthur."