CHAPTER 34
MALCOLM
The penthouse is no longer silent.
It is a Tuesday morning in August. The worst of the summer heat has broken, replaced by a clean breeze coming off Lake Michigan. The massive floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room are open a fraction of an inch, letting the sound of the city filter into the space.
I am sitting on the charcoal gray sofa.
There are currently three throw pillows wedged against my side. One is a deep, obnoxious shade of mustard yellow. The other two have a geometric pattern that Audrey claims adds "textural warmth" to the room. I find them structurally pointless, but they are here, cluttering my previously immaculate furniture, and I have absolutely no intention of moving them.
I look up from the tablet resting on my knee.
Audrey is standing by the kitchen island. She is wearing a pair of faded jeans and a white button-down shirt that I definitely purchased for myself three years ago. Her hair is pulled back with a wooden pencil. She is aggressively gesturing at a blueprint spread across the marble counter while talking to Vivian on speakerphone.
"I don't care if the client wants a floating staircase," Audrey says, her voice carrying clearly across the room. She circles a section of the paper with a red marker. "If we put a floating staircase in that specific load-bearing zone, the entire second floor will collapse the first time they throw a dinner party. Tell them they are getting a reinforced steel spine, or they can find another architect."
"I will relay the message with exactly that level of terrifying enthusiasm," Vivian replies through the phone. "By the way, Grant just sent over the background checks on the new contractors for the West Loop project. Two of them have a history of cutting corners on materials."
"Fire them," Audrey says instantly. "And tell Grant to find replacements by Thursday."
"Done. You are a tyrant, Audrey. It’s beautiful."
"I learned from the best." Audrey glances across the living room, her eyes meeting mine. A slow, knowing smile touches her mouth. "I have to go, Viv. I have a site visit at one."
She ends the call and drops the phone onto the counter.
Apex Architecture has been operational for exactly four months. In that time, Audrey has secured six major commercial contracts, hired a staff of three junior designers, and completely monopolized the guest wing of the penthouse.
Grant manages her logistics. He coordinates her site visits, vets her contractors, and ensures that she never walks into a building without a clear understanding of the structural and human risks involved. He took to the job with a terrifying level of efficiency. I suspect he prefers working for her; she doesn't require him to bury bodies in alleys.
I set the tablet down on the glass coffee table—which is now covered in architectural magazines and fabric swatches—and stand up.
I walk into the kitchen, stopping right behind her.
"You are going to terrify that client," I murmur, wrapping my arms around her waist.
"The client is an idiot," she replies, leaning back against my chest. She doesn't stop looking at the blueprint. "They want the aesthetic of danger without the actual risk. It doesn't work that way."
"No," I agree, pressing a soft kiss to the side of her neck. "It doesn't."
She turns her head slightly, her cheek resting against my shoulder. The faint scent of vanilla and coffee rises from her skin.
"Did you read the morning brief?" she asks quietly.
"I did."
We don't need to specify which brief. Grant still forwards me the high-level legal summaries regarding the Vance holding company. It is a habit neither of us has bothered to break.
"Simon took the plea deal," I say, my voice completely flat. "He agreed to testify against Preston in exchange for a reduced sentence. He will serve three years in a minimum-security federal camp."
Audrey’s finger pauses over the red marker. "Three years."
"It is a light sentence," I admit. "But he will spend the rest of his life as a convicted felon. He has no trust fund. He has no company. He has no family."
"And Preston?"
"Preston’s trial begins next month. Without Simon’s cooperation, he might have found a loophole. With it, the federal prosecutor is pushing for twenty years. He will die in prison."
