His grip was so absolute, so sudden, that the crack of Victoria’s gold bracelet against his cufflinks sounded like a gunshot. Victoria gasped in genuine pain, her knees buckling.
“Nathaniel!” she cried out, her eyes widening in disbelief. “You’re hurting me! Look at what she’s doing—she’s trying to extort us! She’s trying to set up a lawsuit against the venue!”
“Chief Davis,” Nathaniel said without looking away from Victoria’s face.
The head of Callaway International Security, an ex-Secret Service operative with graying temples and a jaw made of granite, materialized at his shoulder.
“Sir,” Davis responded.
“Lock down the building. No one leaves the eighty-second floor. Collect every phone, every camera, and every memory card from every guest, every server, and every musician.” Nathaniel’s fingers tightened another fraction around his bride’s wrist. “Then contact the District Attorney’s office. Tell Jack I want him here personally in twenty minutes. Not an assistant. Not a detective. Jack.”
Victoria’s breath caught in her throat. “Nathaniel… please. Think about the press. Think about the merger between Callaway and Sterling Enterprises! My father will destroy the stock value if you do this!”
“Your father,” Nathaniel whispered, leaning down so close his lips brushed the diamond pendant dangling from her ear, “will be lucky if I leave him enough money to pay for your commissary snacks at Rikers Island.”
He threw her hand back with an expression of utter disgust, as if he had just touched something pulled from a sewer drain.
Victoria stumbled, catching herself against a decorative marble pillar. Two armed security personnel immediately flanked her, their hands resting deliberately on the holsters beneath their blazers.
Paramedics burst through the double doors, rolling a mechanized stretcher across the terrace. Nathaniel stepped back, his entire posture softening only when he looked down at the elderly woman on the floor.
“I’ve got you, Mother,” he said, kneeling again, his voice dropping into a register of tenderness that none of his employees had ever heard. “You’re safe now. I’m right here.”
“The girl, Nathaniel,” Eleanor whispered, her breathing ragged as the medics applied an oxygen mask to her face. She pointed a trembling, bloodstained finger toward Rose. “The girl… don’t let her… leave.”
“She won’t leave,” Nathaniel promised.
He rose again, turning to face Rose, who was currently wrapping a cloth napkin around her torn left palm. Blood had already soaked through the thick linen.
“What’s your name?” Nathaniel asked.
“Rose,” she answered simply. “Rose Vance.”
Nathaniel observa les poignets effilochés de sa chemise d’uniforme, l’étiquette nominative en plastique bon marché épinglée sur sa poitrine et le feu indéniable dans ses yeux qui ne s’était pas éteint même lorsque Victoria l’avait menacée.
« Vous avez sauvé la vie de ma mère, Rose Vance », a-t-il dit.
« J’ai fait ce que n’importe qui aurait fait », répondit-elle en grimaçant tout en resserrant le nœud de son bandage improvisé.
« Non », murmura Nathaniel, son regard balayant la mer de milliardaires et de mondains figés sur place, qui n’avaient rien fait d’autre que de sortir leurs smartphones pour immortaliser la chute. « Personne d’autre n’a bougé. À part toi. »
Il se tourna vers Davis.
« Amenez-la avec nous dans le convoi. Maman ne se calmera pas sans elle à ses côtés. Et Davis ? »
« Oui, monsieur Callaway ? »
Nathaniel jeta un dernier regard glaçant à Victoria, qui pleurait maintenant hystériquement contre le pilier de marbre tandis que les invités levaient leurs téléphones pour filmer sa honte.
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