Page 13 of Unlocking Melodies

The sommelier approached with the first wine, a Burgundy I'd selected mainly because it was expensive enough to impress without being showy about it. Everything in my life was calculated these days.

“An excellent choice, Mr. Cole.” He swirled the wine with practiced elegance. “This particular vintage carries notes of nostalgia and lost chances. A reminder of paths not taken, opportunities missed...”

The stem of my glass shifted in my grip. Just slightly. A drop of red wine landed on the pristine tablecloth. Most people wouldn't have noticed.

But Mia noticed everything. Her hand was already moving, a subtle signal to the staff. The stained section of cloth was whisked away before Helena could finish her story about running into my father at the symphony gala.

“Speaking of opportunities,” Emma leaned closer, her perfume expensive and wrong. “I heard you're expanding into music technology?”

My chest tightened. “Just patents,” I said shortly. “Nothing concrete.”

“But surely with your background-“ Helena started.

“Market projections,” I cut in smoothly. “Let's discuss the actual numbers behind the quantum computing initiative. I believe you had some concerns about the timeline?”

Business. Safe territory. Numbers and projections and ROI calculations. Nothing about music or background or paths not taken.

“Your father mentioned you used to play,” Emma tried again. “Piano, wasn't it?”

The wine suddenly tasted like ashes. “A long time ago.”

“Oh, you should hear him,” Helena gushed. “Charles says he was quite talented. Such a shame he gave it up for business, though of course, the company needed a strong successor...”

Under the table, my hand curled into a fist. Years of practice kept my face pleasant, engaged. The perfect mask never slipped.

“If you'll excuse me.” I stood, straightening my jacket. “Mia will walk you through the preliminary paperwork. I'm afraid an urgent matter requires my attention.”

Helena's face fell. Emma's carefully constructed smile wavered. Mia's eyes narrowed - she knew there was nothing urgent on my schedule.

But I was already walking away, my steps measured, unhurried. The perfect exit to match the perfect performance. Only the slight tremor in my hand betrayed the truth that all the power lunches and billion-dollar deals in the world couldn't quite bury:

Some kinds of control were just carefully constructed illusions. And some memories refused to stay locked in Practice Room C where they belonged.

The baby grand stood in the corner of my office like a beautiful accusation. Steinway. Hand-selected. Perfectly tuned monthly, though I never played it. Forbes had called it an “intriguing insight into the mind of tech's most enigmatic young CEO.” Architectural Digest had featured it in their spread on “New ’York’s New Aesthetic.” All part of the carefully curated image: the eccentric genius, the wunderkind who'd turned his family's old-money tech company into a bleeding-edge powerhouse.

The afternoon light painted shadows across its polished surface, and my fingers itched to play. But I never really gave in to the urge.

My computer chimed. New error reports from the integration team. Thank god.

I threw myself into the code, letting the familiar patterns of logic and structure wash away dangerous thoughts. Code was predictable. Safe. Each problem had a solution, each bug could be fixed. Not like-

“Sir.” Mia's voice crackled through the intercom. “Your father's here.”

My hands froze over the keyboard. “I'm busy.”

“He used his override code on the elevator.”

Of course he had. Harrison Cole had never let little things like boundaries stop him.

The door opened before I could respond. My father filled the doorway like he always had, his presence making even my carefully designed office feel smaller. His suit was Anderson & Sheppard, his watch was Patek Philippe, and his smile was exactly as warm as it needed to be for whatever game he was playing.

“Son.” He crossed to my desk, his movements softer than usual, almost hesitant. “You're looking tired. Have you been sleeping?”

I didn't stand. Small rebellions were all I had left these days. “I'm in the middle of something.”

“The integration. Yes, I've been hearing things.” He settled into one of my visitor chairs, concern flickering across his features. “The board is worried, Ethan. Not about your competence - never that - but about you.”

“The board needs to trust my team.”

---