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CHARLES FOX. Seth was already waiting for me in my office his usual stern expression in place. “You are late for the meeting,” he said, his voice a little more urgent than usual. “The investors have been waiting for a while.” I nodded, feeling my chest tighten. “Right, let’s get to it.” We headed to the conference room, where the investors sat, expressions of polite impatience etched on their faces. I offered a brief apology, and the meeting began. They talked numbers, projections, and strategies, but my mind was elsewhere. Ruby’s mother—her wild eyes, the venom in her voice—kept creeping into my thoughts. Why was she dressed like that? Was she bluffing, or was there some truth to her madness? “…and the forecast looks promising for the next quarter.” One of the investors was speaking,