It’s a fucking wreck.
The pristine space Frank showed us just a few days ago has been gutted. Equipment that should be gleaming and ready sits disassembled in pieces on the floor. Copper wiring dangles from open ceiling panels like spilled entrails. The space where the range should be is completely empty, leaving only the gas hookup jutting from the wall.
As I look around, the damage continues. Cabinet doors hang at odd angles. The walk-in cooler door is propped open with a cinder block, the interior completely bare and as warm as the rest of the space. Even the fucking tile is cracked in places, as if someone took a sledgehammer to it.
Behind me, Harold’s sharp intake of breath confirms what I already know: This isn’t ready. This isn’t even close to ready.
This issabotage.
I turn again. This time, I run. I brush right past Harold and Taylor and the lawyers and charge across the atrium to Somssi.
It’s the same in here. This place looksmonthsaway from readiness, if not longer.
I sprint upstairs. The second floor is the same.
The third.
The fourth.
The fifth.
Harold & Co. finally catch up to me at the very top level. I’m standing in my office, looking down at the patch of concrete where Eliana and I finally made love just four nights ago.
It’s covered in sawdust. As if no one was ever here.
Harold comes trundling in, his face purple with exertion and rage. Sweat darkens the collar of his silk shirt as he wheezes from the climb.
I pivot slowly. One hand reaches up to undo my bowtie. It dangles around my neck, loose and useless, sad, defeated.
“This is what you’ve been selling me?” he spits, flailing around wildly at the gutted office. “This disaster? This absolute clusterfuck?”
I open my mouth to respond, but he steamrolls over me.
“This shouldn’t even need to be said, but I’m pulling my funding. Immediately. Every single dollar. And I’ll be demanding full refunds for what’s already been spent.” His finger jabs at my chest as he stalks toward me. “Furthermore, I’ll be contacting every single person in my network to warn them about Bastian Hale and his complete fucking incompetence.”
He moves to the wall and flips the light switch.
Nothing happens. No light. Just darkness.
Harold turns to face me, scathing. “If you can’t even manage a light bulb,” he seethes, “how the hell can I trust you with three billion dollars?”
He spits on the floor. Then he spins on his heel and marches away. Taylor gives me one sad look before shaking his head and following the lawyers out.
I’m left alone, at the top of what was supposed to be my greatest victory, wondering how the hell it all went wrong.
53
ELIANA
crest: /krest/: verb
1: when cream reaches its peak of stiffness during whipping.
2: the highest point before the fall.
I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, mascara wand hovering an inch from my eye, trying to remember how this is supposed to work.
The problem isn’t that I’ve forgotten how to apply makeup. The problem is that I can barely see what I’m doing.
