Chapter 3

Six-thirty that evening, at a private restaurant on the west side of town, Michael Reed, investment director at Horizon Capital, sat across from me. He was in his early forties, with a buzz cut, and he spoke straight.

"Sunspire Media has been around for two and a half years. We have 5.6 million followers in the relationship short-drama niche. Last year's revenue was 6 million dollars, with a little over 1 million in net profit." Michael set the file down and looked at me. "Ms. Bennett, those numbers are strong, but they don't get me excited. So tell me, what's your moat?"

"Our content DNA."

"Be specific."

"Other companies doing relationship short dramas rely on formulas and traffic. Billionaire boss falls for regular girl, rich family feuds, car crash amnesia. Plug the template in and mass-produce it. The numbers rise fast, and they die just as fast."

Michael nodded. "Sunspire doesn't do that," I said. "We do real emotion. Our stories come from interviews, research, and user submissions. Every script is polished for two to three months, and all our writers have backgrounds in media or social science. Our audience is clear too: women between twenty-five and forty who want stories they can actually see themselves in."

"So that's why your completion rate and rewatch rate are high."

"Exactly. Our completion rate is 78 percent. The industry average is 41. Our rewatch rate is 22 percent. The industry average is 6."

Michael flipped two more pages in the deck. "I watched your recent 'Moms Back to Work' series."

"And?"

"My wife watched it three times, cried three times, then told me she wanted to go get certified for something."

I smiled. "That's Sunspire's moat. Our content changes real people."

Michael closed the deck and leaned back in his chair. "What's your valuation?"

"About 33 million dollars. I'm offering 15 percent."

One of his brows lifted. "Ms. Bennett, you've got guts."

"It's not about guts. I know exactly what my work is worth."

Michael watched me for five seconds, then smiled. "All right. I'll take it back to my team. You'll have an answer next week."

When I walked out of the restaurant, Maya was waiting at the door.

"How'd it go?"

"There's an eighty percent chance it'll happen."

"Seriously?" Maya nearly bounced off the ground as she grabbed my arm. "Claire, you got divorced and pitched investors on the same day. What kind of insane day is that?"

I opened the car door and got in. "What's insane about it? One thing has nothing to do with the other."

My phone rang as I got into the car. An unknown number. I answered and heard a thin, sharp woman's voice I knew all too well—Helen Grant, Andrew's mother. "Mom—" I said by reflex, then corrected myself. "Mrs. Grant. Do you need something?"

She went silent for a second. "You moved out?"

"I did."

"You took everything?"

"Everything that belonged to me, yes."

"Then the condo..."

"I said I don't want it. The agreement couldn't be clearer."

Another second of silence. "What exactly are you playing at?" Helen's tone sharpened. "Do you think what you got wasn't enough? Are you trying to make trouble? Let me tell you, Andrew has already been more than generous..."

"Mrs. Grant." I cut her off. "I'm not playing at anything. I said no, so I mean no. There's no hidden message and no scheme. You don't need to guess."

"You..."

"If it's about Lily, Andrew can contact my work phone directly. As for anything else, there's no need. Goodbye." I hung up.

Maya looked at me in the rearview mirror. "The old lady?"

"Yeah."

"Still the same as ever?"

"People don't change that easily." I switched my phone to silent. "Drive."