CHAPTER 16: THE COUSIN ARRIVES
Tuesday arrived with Greg Hirsch.
I was in the lobby at eleven forty-five when he walked through Waystar's main entrance. Impossible to miss—six-foot-four of nervous energy, too-long limbs, eyes darting around like he expected someone to tell him he didn't belong.
He didn't. Not yet. But that was the point.
Tom stood near the elevator bank, checking his phone. Waiting to claim his new trainee. Greg had been assigned to Parks under Tom's supervision—a nothing job for an irrelevant cousin, the kind of position that kept family employed without giving them any real power.
But I knew better.
Greg Hirsch would matter. He already did—he just didn't know it yet.
I intercepted him before Tom could look up.
"Greg."
He turned. Recognition dawned, followed by that eager puppy expression. "Roman! Hey! Hi! I wasn't sure if you'd—I mean, I know you're busy, so—"
"I'm not that busy." I gestured toward Tom. "You're supposed to meet Tom, right?"
"Yeah. Mr. Wambsgans. He's my—I'm in Parks? Under him? I think?"
"He'll keep you waiting another ten minutes. Come on."
I led him away from the elevators. Tom glanced up, caught my eye, frowned. I gave him a small wave. He didn't wave back.
Good. Let him wonder.
"Where are we going?" Greg asked, following me through the lobby.
"Coffee. The actual good stuff, not the bullpen garbage."
"There's good coffee here?"
"If you know where to look."
I took him to the executive floor café. Small, expensive, reserved for people who mattered. The barista recognized me, nodded. Greg looked around like he'd walked into a museum.
"This is... wow. Okay. Is this allowed?"
"You're family. You're allowed."
I ordered two cappuccinos. Paid before Greg could fumble for his wallet. Found a table in the corner, away from other people.
Greg sat across from me, hands wrapped around his cup like it might run away. "So, uh. Thanks. For this. And for the advice about, you know, being here. It's actually really helpful to have someone who—"
"Greg."
He stopped mid-ramble.
"Relax," I said. "You're fine. You got the job. You're here. Now you just have to not fuck it up."
"Right. Yeah. Not fuck it up. That's... that's the plan."
I sipped my coffee. Studied him. The Empathy Engine pulsed gently—surface reading, nothing invasive.
From Greg: Don't say something stupid. Don't spill coffee. Don't embarrass yourself. He's being nice. Why is he being nice? Don't question it. Just... be normal. What's normal? Oh god what if I'm not normal—
Anxiety spiraling into more anxiety. Classic Greg.
But underneath: genuine. No ulterior motives. No calculated plays. Just a guy trying his best.
Useful. Very useful.
"So," I said. "What do you actually want to do here?"
"Oh. Um. Tom said I'd be in Parks? Learning about the division, helping with operations—"
"No. What do you want? Long-term. Career-wise."
Greg blinked. "I... no one's asked me that."
"I'm asking."
He thought about it. Actually thought about it, not just scrambling for an answer he thought I wanted to hear.
"I want to matter," he said finally. "Not just... exist. Not just be the family embarrassment who needed a job. I want to actually do something that means something."
Honest. Surprisingly self-aware.
"Good," I said. "That's achievable. If you're smart about it."
"How do I be smart about it?"
I leaned forward slightly. "Watch. Listen. Learn how things actually work, not just how they're supposed to work. Figure out who has real power versus who just has a title. And most importantly—" I met his eyes. "Know when to keep your mouth shut."
"I'm not great at that."
"Practice."
He smiled. Nervous but genuine. "You're giving me actual advice. That's... thank you. Really."
"We're family." I shrugged. "Sort of. Technically. Might as well help each other out."
"Most of the family doesn't see it that way."
"Most of the family are assholes."
He laughed. Actually laughed. The anxiety eased slightly.
We talked for another twenty minutes. His background—Minnesota, his mom, his grandmother's health issues. What he'd been doing before this—failed business school, various odd jobs, the general directionlessness of being twenty-something and lost.
I filed it all away. Not for manipulation. Just... knowing someone.
Finally, I checked my watch. "You should get back. Tom's probably wondering where you are."
"Right. Yeah. Shit." He stood quickly, nearly knocked over his empty cup. "Sorry. I should—thank you. For the coffee. And the talk. And, you know. Everything."
"Greg."
He paused.
"If you ever need advice," I said carefully. "Or if you see something that doesn't seem right. Come to me. Family should look out for family."
His face lit up. "Really?"
"Really."
"That's... wow. Okay. Thank you. I will. I mean, if something comes up. Not that I think something will come up. But if it does—"
"I know." I stood. "Go. Tom's waiting."
He hurried off toward the elevators, all limbs and nervous energy.
I watched him go. Thought about the documents he'd find in a few weeks. The insurance he'd keep. The leverage that would shape everything.
All I'd done was plant a seed: Come to me if something's wrong.
He would. Eventually. When he found the documents and didn't know what to do with them.
And I'd be ready.
I was halfway back to my office when Tom intercepted me.
"Making friends with the new meat?" His smile was thin. Professional. But I caught the edge underneath.
"He's family. Figured I'd say hi."
"He's in my division. Under my supervision."
"And I took him for coffee. Not a coup."
Tom's smile tightened. "Just want to make sure we're not confusing him. Clear chain of command and all that."
I met his eyes. Let the Empathy Engine catch the surface noise.
From Tom: He's poaching. Undermining. Trying to build his own network. Can't let him. Greg is mine. My trainee. My asset. Need to make that clear—
Territorial. Threatened. Interesting.
"Tom," I said evenly. "Greg's a grown man. He can have coffee with multiple people. It's not mutually exclusive."
"Of course. Just... maintaining clarity."
"Crystal clear." I clapped his shoulder. "He's all yours. I'm just being a welcoming family member."
I walked away before he could respond.
Another relationship to monitor. Tom saw Greg as his asset—a trainee he could mold, someone beneath him who might be useful. He didn't like me paying attention to Greg because it suggested Greg might be worth paying attention to.
Which, of course, he was.
But Tom didn't know why yet.
And by the time he figured it out, it would be too late.
I reached my office. Closed the door. Sat at my desk.
Greg Hirsch. Twenty-five years old. Naive. Earnest. Absolutely crucial to everything that was coming.
In canon, he'd stumbled his way through crisis after crisis, somehow always coming out ahead. The cruise documents. The DOJ investigation. The succession war. Every time the family tried to use him or discard him, he'd found a way to survive.
And now I'd just positioned myself as his mentor. His confidant. The family member who actually gave a shit.
When he found those documents—and he would, soon—he'd come to me.
And I'd tell him exactly what I'd told him today: Keep them. Insurance.
My phone buzzed. Gerri.
Heard you adopted Greg.
I smiled despite myself.
Me: Just being friendly.
Gerri: Tom's annoyed.
Me: Tom's always annoyed.
Gerri: Fair point. Lunch tomorrow?
Me: The usual place?
Gerri: Where else?
I set the phone down. Looked out at Manhattan.
Six weeks and two days since Logan's stroke. Six weeks of positioning, building relationships, gathering leverage.
And now I had Greg.
The game continued. And I was learning all the players.
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