Chapter 2 - The Sixty-Fourth FloorThe smooth, silent elevator inside Prescott Tower mounted sixty-four floors in less than thirty seconds.
Madison stood near the glass wall, clutching a warm porcelain mug of tea that Ethan’s executive assistant had handed her the moment they stepped into the marble grand lobby. Her rusted delivery bike was currently sitting safely in the building’s secure underground garage, guarded by two men in tactical suits—a sight so absurd she had almost laughed when they loaded it into the support vehicle.
When the elevator doors hissed open, Madison stepped onto floor-to-ceiling plush charcoal carpeting.
The sixty-fourth floor was the nerve center of Prescott Global. Expansive glass walls offered a breathtaking, panoramic view of Central Park, the Hudson River, and the glittering Manhattan skyline. Dozens of sharply dressed executives, analysts, and corporate lawyers were moving between glass conference rooms, but as Ethan walked through the floor with Madison at his side, every single person stopped in their tracks.
Madison was acutely aware of how she looked. She was wearing faded jeans, scuffed boots, and a oversized sweater beneath her worn delivery jacket. She felt like an imposter who had wandered into a palace.
“Sit,” Ethan said, guiding her into a private corner office lined with dark mahogany bookshelves and modern art.
Henry sat on the plush leather sofa, happily eating his second loaf of bread, completely unbothered by the high-stakes corporate environment around him.
Ethan walked behind his massive executive desk, unbuttoned his overcoat, and tossed it onto a leather chair. He picked up a sleek black tablet, tapped the screen a few times, and then looked at Madison.
“My security team has already pulled your public record, Madison,” Ethan said, his tone turning crisp and professional. “I hope you don't mind. I like to know who I am dealing with.”
Madison stiffened. “I have nothing to hide.”
“I know,” Ethan said quietly. “You graduated from Columbia University two years ago with a degree in Health Administration and Financial Planning. Magna cum laude.”
Madison swallowed hard, looking down at her tea. “My mother got sick during my final semester. Stage four pancreatic cancer. The insurance company fought every claim. I took out personal loans, maxed out six credit cards, and worked night shifts at a diner just to keep her in the experimental treatment protocol.”
“And your mother?” Henry asked softly from the sofa, setting his coffee down.
“She passed away seven months ago,” Madison said, her voice dropping to a quiet, steady whisper. “The hospital bills didn't die with her. I owe three hundred and forty thousand dollars to medical collection agencies. My aunt, who controls my mother’s estate trust, is threatening to sell off my mother’s childhood home in upstate New York to cover her own personal debts unless I pay her fifteen thousand dollars by the end of this month.”
Silence fell over the magnificent office. The city stretched out below them, vast, beautiful, and uncaring.
Ethan leaned back in his leather chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin. He studied her face—the dark circles beneath her eyes, the set of her jaw, the quiet resilience that no amount of debt or tragedy had been able to crush.
“Three hundred and forty thousand dollars,” Ethan repeated thoughtfully. “To a delivery driver earning twelve dollars an hour plus tips, that is an insurmountable mountain. To Prescott Global, it is a rounding error on a secondary tax filing.”
Madison lifted her head, her eyes flashing with a sudden, protective heat. “I didn't tell you that so you would pity me, Mr. Prescott. And I’m not asking for a handout. I paid for your father’s bread because he was an old man who needed help. Not because I was looking for a rich benefactor.”
Ethan didn't get angry. Instead, a slow, genuine smile touched the corners of his lips—the first real smile she had seen on his face all morning.
“I know you weren't,” Ethan said softly. “If you were a opportunist, you would have asked my father for his phone number or tried to leverage his identity. You didn't even know who he was.”
He stood up, walked around the desk, and leaned against the edge, looking down at her.
“I am offering you a position, Madison,” Ethan said. “Prescott Global operates a non-profit foundation—The Prescott Community Health Initiative. It manages medical grants, emergency patient funding, and municipal clinic development across the five boroughs. The current director was just let go for gross incompetence and administrative waste.”
Madison blinked, stunned. “You... you want me to run a foundation?”
“You have the academic credentials, you have the financial administration degree, and most importantly, you have something none of my ivy-league directors possess,” Ethan said, his voice deep and sincere. “You know what it actually feels like to stand on the other side of that glass door. You know what it means to choose between rent and medicine.”
“What’s the salary?” Henry chimed in from the couch with a wink.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year,” Ethan said smoothly. “Plus a signing bonus of fifty thousand dollars, paid today, and full comprehensive health and legal coverage.”
Madison felt the room spin slightly. The mug in her hand shook. “Two... two hundred and fifty thousand?”
“On one condition,” Ethan added, stepping closer.
Madison’s eyes narrowed slightly, her defensive instincts immediately returning. “What condition?”
“You allow my legal team to take over your mother’s estate litigation,” Ethan said, his gray eyes locking onto hers with absolute intensity. “Your aunt is fraudulently attempting to liquidate an estate trust that legally belongs to you. My head of litigation, Marcus Sterling, will have her served with a cease-and-desist order by three o'clock today. You will not lose your mother’s home, Madison. Not while I am standing here.”
Madison sat in the leather chair, the tears she had held back for seven long months finally spilling over her lashes, tracing warm paths down her cold cheeks. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking with silent, overwhelmed sobs.
For seven months, she had been drowning. She had fought the city, the debt collectors, the winter wind, and the relentless cruelty of a world that didn't care if she lived or died.
And now, because she had spent her last eighteen dollars on a stranger, the storm was suddenly stopping.
Henry walked over, set his hand gently on her head, and patted her hair like a grandfather.
“Cry it out, child,” Henry whispered softly. “The hard part is over.”
May you like
Ethan stood beside her, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair—a solid, unyielding anchor in the center of the city.
“Welcome to Prescott Global, Madison,” Ethan said gently. “Your new life starts now.”
