“Your team?”Harold echoes with a derisive chuckle, looking at the paper in his hand as if it’s a distasteful piece of garbage.“At the café?”Holding my gaze, he rips the second sheet in half.
He might as well have reached across the desk and torn out a piece of my heart.
Before he can reach for a third sheet, a loud sigh of boredom cuts through the air.
My head snaps to Matthew.
“Honestly, Harold,” Matthew says, his tone laced with a cool impatience.“I came here to discuss the zoning variance on the waterfront property, not to watch your theatrics.”He makes a vague, dismissive gesture that includes both me and Harold.
His words cut through Harold’s haze of rage, stilling his hand.“You brought her here.”His furious gaze whips to Matthew.
“She ambushed me in the parking lot,” Matthew lies.The words are so smooth they send a sliver of ice through my heart.
My mouth falls open.
Without sparing me a glance, Matthew leans forward in his chair, his hands steepled on his knees, the very picture of a composed lawyer discussing a minor corporate annoyance.But then I see it.The tiny muscle ticks furiously in his jaw.The hard, dangerous light deep in his eyes betrays the calculated indifference in his voice.
“One look at that tall pile of papers she was carrying,” Matthew continues, gesturing dismissively toward my petitions, “and I knew this was about to become a PR nightmare for you.For us.So I brought her up here so we can resolve it.Frankly, Harold, my time and my patience for this pesky matter are running thin.”
I sit back down, my heart pounding.
Harold leans back.His gaze shifts from me to Matthew, his derisive anger taken over by an intensely analytical expression.He brings his fingertips together, forming a steepled cage in front of him.
He is no longer a bully going after an easy target.
He is a predator reassessing a threat.
“You know very well that my PR team is the best in the state.This is nothing,” he finally says, his voice a dangerous purr.He speaks only to Matthew, as if I am no longer in the room.
“I’m not so sure they can do much with this one,” Matthew replies evenly.“I don’t see how they can stop hundreds of people from picketing this building every day.Annoying you.Annoying your high-profile tenants.And don’t even get me started on the narrative this will create.”He leans back.“The headline practically writes itself:Billionaire Harold Bancroft Evicts Beloved Community Café for Friend’s Luxury Lounge.The Madison Press will be all over this human-interest story about a local legacy being pushed out to make way for a luxe lounge for the one percent.”
While listening to Matthew speak, my eyes drift from Harold’s tight features to a framed photo on one of the glass shelves behind him.
“It’s not a good look, Harold,” Matthew continues.“An unnecessary complication that is bad for business.All to appease a friend and pocket a few more thousands a month.And that is assuming you win this.”
Harold scoffs.“I always win, and you know it, Matthew.”But his words don’t land with the same conviction this time.
Matthew starts to counter, “Of course, but how much is—”
“Are those your daughters?”My voice cuts through.
Harold’s frown deepens, his annoyance at my interruption plain.
He doesn’t answer.
“It’s just,” I continue regardless, “while you two were debating PR, my attention was drawn to that photo.”I nod toward the shelf behind him.“And it made me think about the world that men like you are shaping for young women like them.Like me.”I pause, holding his gaze.“My father was absent.I can tell you aren’t.”
I let that sink in, then lean forward.“So I know this for a fact, Mr.Bancroft: when those bright girls look at you, they don’t see your portfolio.They see their father.And one day, they will either be proud of the man you were… or they will be disappointed.”
I let out a sigh of finality.I stand and pick up my stack of petitions, cradling it against my chest.“So here’s a question worth debating…” I continue to hold his hard gaze.“Is another luxury lounge worth more than their admiration?Or better yet, can any amount of money buy back their respect for you once it’s lost?”
I don’t wait for an answer.“Thank you for your time.”
And without another word, I turn and walk out, leaving Harold Bancroft and a stunned Matthew in my wake.
The heavy mahogany door clicks shut behind me.For a moment, I just stand there, my back to the wood, the petitions clutched tightly to my chest.
Every instinct screams at me to run.
