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Ethan stood beside his mother, clutching his honorable-mention certificate, his eyes darting nervously between his father and the boy who had beaten him.
“Claire,” Vincent spoke, the single syllable sounding like dry gravel ground beneath an iron wheel.
Noah felt the tension in my forearm, his posture instantly straightening as he took a subtle half-step forward to shield my shoulder.
“Can we help you, sir?” Noah asked with crisp, collegiate formality, his dark eyes narrowing at the imposing stranger.
Vincent flinched as if struck across the mouth, staring into the face of a boy whose features were an unblemished mirror of his own youth.
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“I… I am Vincent Moretti,” the billionaire stammered, his legendary corporate composure completely shattered on the polished floor.
“Mr. Moretti, of the Moretti Capital Group,” Noah recognized the name, his voice cool and devoid of any emotional reverence.
“I read your white paper on sovereign debt restructuring in the Chicago Economic Review last winter,” Noah added with academic detachment.
