“The court of public opinion doesn’t care about the fine print of a medical bill, Celeste. They only care about the optics. And right now, the optics suggest you’re a gold-digging opportunist who traded her vocal cords for a seat at a billionaire’s table.”

Amara stood in the center of the Astoria apartment, her thumbs moving at a lightning-fast pace across her phone screen. The blue light reflected off her glasses, highlighting the dark circles under her eyes. Outside, the morning sun was filtered through a thick layer of New York smog, but inside, the atmosphere was suffocating.

Celeste didn’t look up from the suitcase on her bed. She was...