“Bastian.” He doesn’t offer his hand. “Thank you for coming on short notice. You know Taylor, of course. And these are my lawyers.”
Lawyers? What the hell?
“Care to explain what’s got you all fired up, Harold?” I ask coolly.
He blinks in a slow, placid way that does not reassure me in the least. “Concerns, Mr. Hale. Lots and lots of concerns.” He glances at Taylor, who shuffles his feet and looks away. The two nameless lawyers are glaring at me without any hint of a smile.
“Which ‘little birdies’ have been talking this time?” I ask him through gritted teeth.
“It’s not a matter of who’s been talking, Bastian. It’s about what they’ve been saying.”
“Well? Are you going to drag this shit out or are you going to actually tell me what the fuck is happening?”
Again, that blink. I hate it more and more with each successive sighting. “I have it on good authority that this building—which represents billions ofmydollars, and nearly as much from my friend Mr. Brewer here, as well as all of the other limited partners’ investments—is absolutely riddled with operational issues. They say that everything from cooling apparatuses to ventilation systems has failed to pass inspection on numerous occasions. They say that you couldn’t even fry an egg in here, much less cook a Michelin-star meal. And they say thatyou,sir, are responsible for covering it all up. “
A rage I haven’t felt in months starts to boil in me. Hot and lethal, from my fingertips to somewhere deep in my core, it rises and rises. I’d like nothing more than to find the nearest sharp object and take a pinky finger from each man here, for even daring to look me in the eyes and accuse me of this shit.
“That’s a fucking lie,” I start to snarl, ready to tear them all limb from limb. “That’s?—”
But then I look up at the highest window and memories of four nights ago come flooding in to quench the flames. Eliana was sosmall and submissive in the darkness. The world was spread at our feet and all she wanted to look at wasme. It was the same the other way around. Everything I ever wanted took the shape of a five-foot-three girl with forest green eyes and the softest lips.
The rage doesn’t disappear. Not entirely. But it settles. Shifts from boiling to simmering. From Aleksei’s way to mine.
I straighten my bow tie and look Harold dead in the eye. “Why don’t you show me?” I say evenly. “Show me these supposed violations. Show me the inspection reports you’re referencing. Show me a single piece of evidence that backs up what you’re claiming.”
The lawyers exchange glances. “We have sources—” Harold begins.
“That’s not the same as proof,” I interrupt. “I’ve done this shit the right way, Harold. And tonight, when the world finally gets to see what I’ve built, you’re going to fall at my feet and fucking thank me for making you the easiest money of your lifetime.” I pull out the building keys from my pocket. “Let’s settle this right now. I’m going to show you what we’ve done. And then you’re going to take me to the little birdies and I’m going to rip their fucking wings off.”
Silence. A blink. Another. Another.
Eventually, Harold shrugs. “Show me then,” he says, nodding toward the bronze doors that lead into Project Olympus. “I’d love nothing more than to be wrong.”
I unlock the bronze door, pull it open, and step inside. Harold and his entourage file in behind me. But I only get two steps in before I pause.
It’s the smell.
The smell isn’t right.
It’s not the clean scent of new construction, sawdust and paint, concrete and chrome. It’s something else. An acrid, chemical stench that makes my nostrils flare.
I put out a hand to stop Harold from moving deeper into the space. “Wait.”
“What is it?” Harold asks, wrinkling his nose with suspicion.
I don’t answer. I’m too busy trying to figure out what the hell is unsettling me. Is it gas? No. Not gas. Cleaning solvent? Maybe. But no, that’s not it.
I take another step forward. The sound of my dragging footstep echoes in the vast atrium, bouncing off walls that should be filling with laughter and clinking glasses in just a few hours.
“Well? Bastian?” Harold presses.
“Give me a second,” I mutter.
With a growl, I charge across the atrium. Harold and his lawyers scramble to keep up, barking endless questions I ignore and do not answer.
The kitchen doors to State & Madison, one of the ground floor restaurants, are straight ahead. I shove through them hard enough that one bangs against the wall.
The sight stops me cold.
