Chapter 1 - Just Ethan
“What do you do?”
Maya’s question sat between us like an unopened envelope.
Across the table, Lily was building a tower out of french fries. Around us, Bellweather Grill kept getting louder as midnight crept closer. Silver balloons bumped against the ceiling. Someone near the bar had started a countdown far too early. Outside, snow drifted past the window in slow white sheets.
My phone buzzed again.
I knew without looking that it would be someone from the board.
For three hours, Victor Hale had been trying to reach me about a manufacturing problem in Ohio. Before that, my chief of staff had sent me nine messages about a reporter asking questions about a government contract. Before that, my mother’s assistant had reminded me that I was expected at a charity gala after midnight.
Everywhere I went, somebody needed Ethan Mercer to become the version of himself they had already purchased.
CEO.
Founder.
Billionaire.
Problem solver.
Headline.
But Maya Collins was looking at me like I was just a man in an old coat who had been denied a table.
So I said the first thing that felt true.
“I build things.”
She leaned back.
“What kind of things?”
“Systems. Machines. Teams. Mostly trouble.”
That made her smile.
“Trouble pays well?”
“Sometimes.”
Lily looked up from the french-fry tower.
“My mom catches bad guys.”
Maya sighed.
“I work security.”
“That is not catching bad guys.”
“You caught that man stealing printer paper.”
“He was taking it to another floor.”
“He looked guilty.”
“He worked there.”
Lily shrugged.
“Still suspicious.”
I laughed so hard the man at the next table glanced over.
Maya’s smile changed.
Not bigger.
Softer.
Like she was surprised I knew how to laugh.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
“That was definitely something.”
“You looked different.”
“From what?”
“From when you were standing by the fake plant.”
I looked toward the front of the restaurant.
The dusty ficus was still there, silently judging me.
“I was having a difficult relationship with the ficus.”
“I could tell.”
Lily pushed one fry into the center of her tower and announced, “It’s a skyscraper.”
“That’s structurally unsound,” I said.
She narrowed her eyes.
“You said you build things.”
“I do.”
“Then fix it.”
Maya covered her mouth.
I picked up two fries and reinforced the base.
Lily studied my work.
“You’re hired.”
“Do I get dental?”
“What’s dental?”
“Terrible benefits package.”
For the next twenty minutes, I forgot my own name.
Not literally.
But close.
Maya told me she had grown up in Wisconsin, moved to Chicago at twenty-two, and had spent the last three years working overnight security at a downtown office complex. She hated coffee but drank it anyway because night shifts made people desperate.
Lily told me her favorite subject was science, her least favorite was “silent reading because books should be allowed to make noise,” and she planned to become either an astronaut or a veterinarian depending on whether she continued liking dogs.
I told them almost nothing useful about myself.
That bothered me.
Not because I felt guilty.
Because I liked it.
At 11:38, the manager appeared beside our table.
He was sweating.
Not restaurant-busy sweating.
Recognized-a-billionaire sweating.
His eyes locked on me.
Then went wide.
“Oh.”
Maya looked up.
“Everything okay?”
The manager swallowed.
“Mr. Mercer.”
There it was.
The room seemed to change temperature.
I closed my eyes for half a second.
Maya looked at me.
“Mr. Mercer?”
The manager began talking too quickly.
“Sir, I had no idea you were here. I’m so sorry about the confusion at the front. Your reservation was absolutely in the system. We can move you to the private dining room immediately. Champagne, dessert, anything you’d like. Of course there will be no charge.”
Lily stared at me.
Maya did not.
That was worse.
She just sat there very still.
I looked at the manager.
“I’m fine.”
“But, sir—”
“I said I’m fine.”
He nodded so hard I thought his head might come off.
“Of course.”
Then he turned to Maya.
“And your guests are welcome to—”
“They’re not my guests.”
Maya’s eyes finally moved to mine.
The manager froze.
I could see the exact moment he realized he had stepped into something he did not understand.
“Thank you,” I said. “We’re good.”
He left.
For five full seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Lily whispered, “Are you famous?”
Maya’s voice was quiet.
“Lily.”
“What? He might be.”
I looked at Maya.
“My last name is Mercer.”
“I heard.”
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I was going to.”
“When?”
I had no answer.
She pulled out her phone.
My face appeared before she finished typing my name.
There were pictures from conferences, magazine covers, business profiles, photographs of me standing beside senators and athletes and men who smiled only when cameras were present.
Lily leaned over.
“Whoa.”
Maya scrolled.
Then stopped.
Her eyes lifted.
“Six billion dollars?”
I winced.
“That number changes depending on the market.”
“That is the sentence you’re going with?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Lily whispered, “Do you own a rocket?”
“No.”
“A dinosaur?”
“No.”
“A castle?”
“No.”
She looked deeply disappointed.
“What’s the point of being rich?”
Maya’s lips twitched despite herself.
Then her expression hardened again.
“You lied.”
“I left out my last name.”
“You said ‘Just Ethan.’”
“That part felt more honest than anything else I could have said.”
“It wasn’t honest.”
I leaned forward.
“You invited me to sit down before you knew who I was.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
“That makes no sense.”
“It does to me.”
Her jaw tightened.
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
I knew that.
And I hated that I knew it.
I spent my life in rooms where everyone edited themselves around my money. Men twice my age laughed too loudly at bad jokes. People who hated me called me brilliant. People who wanted something called me their friend.
Maya had offered me a chair because I looked lonely.
I had been terrified that once she knew my name, the chair would disappear.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
She watched me carefully.
Not impressed.
Not intimidated.
Just deciding.
That was new.
“You could have said you ran a company.”
“I could have.”
“You could have said you were in technology.”
“Yes.”
“You could have said literally anything that wasn’t designed to hide who you are.”
“Yes.”
Lily looked back and forth between us.
“Are you fighting?”
“No,” Maya said.
“Yes,” I said.
Maya looked at me.
I shrugged.
“We disagree.”
Lily thought about that.
“Mom says people can disagree without being mean.”
“She’s right.”
“I’m always right,” Maya said.
“Now that,” I said, “is definitely not true.”
She almost smiled.
Almost.
At 11:57, the restaurant lights dimmed.
Everyone cheered.
The televisions switched to the countdown from New York, replayed for Chicago. People put on cheap paper hats. Servers passed out plastic glasses of sparkling cider to the children.
Lily shoved one into my hand.
“You have to stay.”
Maya looked at her daughter.
“Lily—”
“He’s already here.”
“I can leave,” I said.
Lily looked horrified.
“Before midnight?”
I looked at Maya.
She let out a breath.
“One countdown.”
I nodded.
“One countdown.”
Ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Lily stood on her chair.
Seven.
Six.
The room became a blur of shouting and noise.
Five.
Four.
Maya looked at me.
Three.
For one strange second, the billionaire disappeared.
So did the security guard.
So did the restaurant.
Two.
One.
“Happy New Year!”
Confetti exploded from somewhere near the bar.
Lily screamed.
People kissed.
Glasses clinked.
A plastic horn blasted directly behind my ear.
And Maya Collins laughed.
I thought that was the most beautiful thing I had seen all year.
Then the front window flashed white.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I turned.
A man stood outside in the snow with a camera.
My stomach dropped.
Maya noticed.
“What is it?”
Another flash.
The photographer adjusted his lens.
I stood immediately.
“We need to go.”
Her face changed.
“What?”
“There’s a photographer outside.”
“So?”
“So by morning, someone will know you had dinner with me.”
She stared at me.
“You say that like it’s a threat.”
“It can be.”
Lily’s smile disappeared.
Maya stood.
“Why would anybody care?”
“Because they care about everything.”
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
The camera flashed again.
The restaurant manager hurried toward the door.
I grabbed my phone.
Twenty-three missed calls.
Twelve texts from Victor.
Five from my chief of staff, Naomi.
The newest message was only six words.
CALL ME. DO NOT LEAVE FRONT ENTRANCE.
Too late.
The photographer had already seen us.
Maya reached for Lily’s coat.
“This is exactly why you should have told me.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
She laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“Ethan, I invited you to dinner, not into my life.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
I looked through the glass.
A second photographer had arrived.
Then a third.
Somebody inside the restaurant noticed.
Whispers started.
Phones came out.
The quiet ordinary dinner was gone.
My world had found me.
And now it had found them.
“I have a car around back,” I said.
“I drove.”
“You shouldn’t leave through the front.”
“Stop telling me what I should do.”
“Maya.”
“No.”
She zipped Lily’s coat.
“I spent this entire dinner talking to a stranger because I thought he was alone.”
“I was.”
“You had three people calling you before dessert.”
“I can have a thousand people calling me and still be alone.”
She froze.
The truth of it hung there.
For a moment, her expression softened.
Then Lily tugged on her sleeve.
“Mom?”
Maya looked down.
“Yeah, baby.”
“I’m tired.”
That ended the argument.
Children have a way of cutting through adult pride.
We slipped through the kitchen.
A dishwasher recognized me and nearly dropped a tray.
The manager led us to the service alley, where snow had covered the asphalt.
Maya’s old blue Honda sat half a block away.
When she turned the key, nothing happened.
She tried again.
Click.
Nothing.
I looked at her.
“Don’t.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were about to.”
“I was about to say I know a lot about machines.”
“You build systems.”
“I also know batteries.”
She handed me the keys.
Ten minutes later, my hands were black with grease and snow was melting down the back of my collar.
The battery terminal was loose.
I tightened it with a small wrench from her trunk.
The engine started.
Lily cheered from the back seat.
Maya stood beside me.
“You really do build things.”
“Sometimes I fix Hondas.”
She studied me in the yellow alley light.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Then she pointed at me.
“This doesn’t make us friends.”
“Understood.”
“And if my picture ends up somewhere—”
“I’ll handle it.”
Her expression sharpened.
“That is exactly the kind of sentence I hate.”
“What sentence?”
“The one where rich people decide they can handle other people’s lives.”
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
She was right again.
“I’ll help if you ask,” I said.
That surprised her.
“Better.”
She got into the car.
Lily rolled down the back window.
“Bye, Ethan!”
“Happy New Year, Lily.”
“Buy a dinosaur!”
“I’ll consider it.”
Maya shook her head and drove away.
I stood in the alley until her taillights disappeared.
Then my phone rang.
Victor.
I answered.
“What?”
His voice was cold.
“Tell me you did not spend New Year’s Eve with Maya Collins.”
I stopped breathing.
Snow landed on my shoulders.
“What did you say?”
“Ethan.”
“How do you know her name?”
Silence.
Then Victor said something that changed the night completely.
“Because she works in your building.”
May you like
I looked toward the street where Maya had vanished.
And for the first time since she offered me that empty chair, I understood that our meeting might not have been as random as either of us believed.
