The sky was heavy that morning. Clouds pressed low over New York, turning everything gray and quiet. Nobody said much in the house. Even the sound of the kettle felt too loud. Today was the day Uncle Marcus's body would be taken to Washington for the official burial.

Dayo woke before everyone. He made breakfast like he always did — bread, eggs, tea — then quietly set the table. When his mother came out, her eyes were red but calm. His father looked tired, just staring into his cup for a long time before taking a sip.

They drove to Washington with the windows half down, the cold air carrying the sound of their breathing. When they arrived, the place was already filled — rows of white chairs, flags at half-mast, soldiers in perfect lines, families dressed in black. The silence carried weight.

Dayo stood beside his parents as the ceremony began. The folded flags, the slow steps of the guards, the echo of gunfire — every sound cut through the air.

Halfway through, a tall man in a dark suit walked to the podium. Cameras turned slightly. His face was familiar — Senator Reeves, a senior government official representing the President. He spoke with a calm, steady tone.

> "On behalf of the President and the people of this nation," he said, "we honor the brave men and women who stood when duty called. Their courage reminds us of who we are — and what we must never forget."

When the Senator finished, he paused, as if deciding something, then signaled to the sound crew. "Please," he said, "play the song that was requested by the families."

A soft piano began. The crowd fell completely silent. It was Dayo's song — the one he had released days earlier for Marcus.

The moment his voice filled the speakers, the air changed. It was simple — just words and melody — but every note carried weight. Mothers wept quietly. Soldiers bowed their heads. Even the Senator's expression shifted; his hands folded as he listened.

Dayo stood still, barely breathing. He hadn't expected to hear it here, not like this. His mother's hand found his, and he felt it tremble.

When the song ended, the Senator walked down from the stage and approached them directly. Cameras followed. He reached out to shake Dayo's father's hand first.

> "The President sends his condolences," he said softly. "Your family has given this country more than most ever will. Your brother was a good man."

"Thank you Mr Senator"

"Haha not at all Mr Jason I also know that you served very well just like your brother..thank you for your service."

"Hmmm" Dayo's dad hummed trying to keep his composure in other not to cry.

He turned to Dayo. "And you — you wrote this?"

Dayo nodded "Ye sir I did"

> "It's rare," the Senator said, his voice low but clear. "A song that reminds people why they serve. Keep doing what you do, son. The world needs that."

He gave a small, respectful nod, then placed a card on Dayo's hand unexpectedly and walked away. Reporters whispered, taking pictures. The moment felt unreal — both painful and honorable.

A soldier nearby recorded the entire exchange on his phone. Later that evening, the clip hit the internet:

"Senator Reeves consoles fallen soldier's family as nephew's tribute song plays at funeral."

Within hours, it was everywhere — news sites, TikTok, Twitter. The video had millions of views before midnight.

****

Clara watched the video twice before deciding to send it. Her fingers hovered over the phone for a moment, then she forwarded it straight to Michael and waited.

Minutes later, from behind his office door, she heard a dull thud — the sound of something dropped on the desk.

"Get in here," his voice said.

She stepped inside carefully. Michael was staring at the screen, his brows pulled together, the clip paused at the exact moment Senator Reeves shook Dayo's hand.

No words came out for a while. He just sat there, thinking, eyes moving between the Senator's face and Dayo's.

Finally, he leaned back. "You know what this means, right?" he said quietly.

Clara stayed silent.

"It means we can't touch him," he muttered. "Not now."

He pressed play again. The short moment where Reeves handed Dayo his card replayed on the screen. The gesture was simple — polite — but to Michael, it was loud. Powerful.

Micheal was no fool he had been in the industry long enough to were the real world power lays.

Although he had a bit of power but that was within the industry and the person speaking with Dayo was tier above him and he knew few politicians but not to that level that reached this person.

"These kinds of people," he said, half to himself, "you don't want their names anywhere near a scandal. If that man even sneezes the wrong way, it makes headlines."

He rubbed his temples slowly, then stood up and walked toward the window. "It looks like that brat just got himself protection he didn't even ask for."

He turned back to Clara. "Forget what I said earlier. Pull back everything we planned — no calls, no reports, no follow-ups. For now, he's off limits."

Clara nodded quickly. "Yes, sir."

Michael stared out the window again. The city lights reflected in his eyes, sharp and restless.

"Let him have his little moment," he said under his breath. "When the noise dies down, we'll see who's still standing."

He said nothing else. Just stood there, silent — the faint sound of the city below mixing with his thoughts.

But only time will tell if Micheal made a huge mistake letting Dayo see this little peace or not.

*****

The meeting room felt colder than usual. The entire production team sat around the long oval table, but no one spoke. The only sound came from the steady hum of the air conditioner above them.

Howard stood at the head of the table, hands in his pockets, eyes moving slowly across every face in the room.

"I've worked with most of you for years," he began. His tone was calm, but the weight behind it was heavy. "We've built The Global Stage together. We know how this show runs, how the system works, and how important discipline is. This program doesn't survive without trust."

He paused. No one moved.

"I understand that emotions can sometimes get in the way," he continued. "But in this business, emotions don't mix well with professionalism. What happened recently has cost us credibility — and I mean real credibility. The kind that takes years to earn."

His eyes shifted and stopped on Alice. "Especially from someone like you, Alice."

The room stayed silent. Some people glanced at her; others kept their eyes down. Alice didn't flinch. She sat there, calm, her hands resting neatly on the table, her expression unreadable.

Howard exhaled. "You leaked something that was meant to stay within production walls. That single decision could've damaged our entire team. I'm giving you this chance to pack your things and leave quietly. I don't want this to turn into something worse."

He hesitated for a moment, then added, "I'm doing this because we've known each other for a long time. Don't make me regret giving you the easy way out."

Still, Alice didn't move. She simply leaned back in her chair and gave a small, tired laugh.

"You think I care about your 'credibility,' Howard?" she said softly. "You think this was about emotions?"

Howard frowned.

"You people don't get it," she continued, her tone steady. "You can bury talent, you can edit the truth, but one day — the world always sees. You're protecting the wrong people. And you'll all regret it when it comes back around."

A few people shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Howard straightened, clearly done.

"Take your things," he said quietly. "You're finished here."

Alice stood up slowly. Her assistant looked down, unable to meet her eyes — guilt all over his face. Alice noticed but didn't say anything. She just smiled faintly, shaking her head.

As she reached the door, she stopped and turned slightly.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll hear my name again — maybe not soon, but you will."

Then she walked out.

Howard stood there for a while before pulling out his phone. A new message appeared from Michael. It was short.

Michael: "It's settled."

Howard locked his screen, slipped the phone back into his pocket, and sighed.

No one in the room spoke again he sighed he was happy Michael didn't react as it would have pained him cause he had know Alice for a while forget the whole charade they were really close so the least he could do was shield her from Micheal.

He muttered 'hmm be safe Alice.'

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