Chương 9
A third described the safe room as a “panic bunker” and estimated its value based on nothing.
Someone posted an old photograph of Elena at seven months pregnant beside the caption FAMILY WAR EXPLODES.
Her mother called eleven times.
Elena answered on the twelfth.
“Are you alive?”
“Yes.”
“Why did a woman on television tell me you were rushed to Mount Sinai?”
“I wasn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
Elena closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
“I know you’re sure. That was stupid. I’m upset.”
“I know.”
“Are you safe?”
Elena looked through the open bedroom door.
Adrian stood thirty feet away in the main living room with three attorneys.
“Yes.”
Her mother heard the hesitation.
“Elena.”
“I’m physically safe.”
“That is an answer people give when the real answer is no.”
“I don’t know the real answer yet.”
Her mother was silent.
Then, predictably, she said, “Come home.”
Home meant a two-bedroom house outside Pittsburgh with a basement that smelled faintly of laundry detergent and a neighbor who mowed his lawn at seven on Saturdays.
Elena nearly cried at the thought of it.
Not because she wanted to live there.
Because nothing in that house required retinal scanners.
“I might.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
“Your father is already looking at flights.”
“Tell him not to.”
“He has looked at flights for every crisis since 1998. It calms him.”
Despite herself, Elena smiled.
“Okay.”
After the call, she found Adrian waiting.
His lawyers had gone.
He held a mug of coffee.
“You can go to Pittsburgh.”
Elena leaned against the hallway wall.
“You were listening?”
“You were six feet away.”
“Fair.”
“If you want to go, I’ll have Daniel—”
“No.”
Adrian stopped.
“I don’t want your security deciding where I go.”
He absorbed that.
“All right.”
“I’ll decide.”
“All right.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I’m trying a new thing.”
“What?”
“Not arguing with you every time I’m scared.”
That disarmed her.
She looked at the coffee.
“You’ve had how many?”
“Four.”
“It’s noon.”
“Exactly.”
She almost told him to eat something.
Then remembered she was angry.
Marriage was annoying that way.
The body kept reaching for familiar concern while the mind was still arranging its grievances.
Adrian looked toward the skyline.
“Connecticut State Police called.”
Elena straightened.
“They’re reopening the review of Sophia’s death.”
“Reopening the case?”
“They used the word review.”
She nodded.
“What about Peter?”
“They want to speak with him.”
“Did you give them his number?”
Adrian looked at her.
“No.”
She felt relief.
Then guilt for feeling relief.
“They’ll find him.”
“Yes.”
“Your mother probably has his address.”
“Almost certainly.”
“Could she pressure him?”
“She could try.”
“Will she?”
Adrian rubbed his beard.
“Yesterday I would’ve said no.”
“And today?”
“Today I’m not giving anybody in my family predictions.”
The afternoon brought another complication.
The old family company’s board chair called Adrian.
Elena did not hear the conversation, only his half from the study.
“Yes.”
“No.”
“I understand.”
“No, Martin, I’m not asking you to take my word for it.”
Silence.
“No. I am not issuing a family statement saying the matter is private.”
Longer silence.
“You can hold an emergency meeting if you want.”
His voice became colder.
“Then hold it.”
He came out twenty minutes later and found Elena eating toast at the kitchen island.
“What happened?”
“Board meeting tomorrow.”
“They’re removing you?”
“They can’t that easily.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Adrian gave her a look.
“You’ve been spending too much time with Detective Ortiz.”
“Answer.”
“They may ask me to take temporary leave.”
“Will you?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena put down the toast.
“Why would they?”
“Because Damian sits on two subsidiary boards, Mother chairs the foundation, and now there’s public reporting involving an incident in my residence, plus a historical matter that may involve members of the controlling family.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
Adrian stared at her.
She stared back.
Then he laughed.
“Wow.”
“What?”
“I married the only person in Manhattan willing to tell me my board has a point the day after my brother gets arrested.”
“You know other people like that.”
“I fire them.”
“I know.”
His smile vanished.
That was part of the problem too.
That evening, Victoria left the penthouse.
She did not say goodbye to Elena.
Before entering the elevator, she turned to Adrian.
“You are letting one terrible night destroy everything.”
Adrian stood with his hands in his pockets.
“No.”
Victoria waited.
He said, “I think we spent seven years pretending one terrible night didn’t.”
The elevator doors closed.
Elena watched him afterward.
He did not look triumphant.
He looked like a man who had just cut a rope without knowing what it was holding.
Damian was released the following afternoon pending further proceedings in Manhattan.
His attorney issued a statement denying that Elena had been unlawfully confined and describing the confrontation as “a volatile private family dispute involving disputed historical materials.”
The statement also confirmed Adrian struck Damian.
That part spread quickly.
Video did not exist of the slap.
It did not need to.
Adrian had admitted it.
Some people praised him online.
Others called him violent.
One cable host described the event as “billionaire medievalism.”
Adrian watched six seconds of that clip before turning off the television.
Elena sat beside him.
“You shouldn’t have hit him.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
He sounded irritated, not defensive.
“You really know?”
“Yes.”
“Because?”
“Because I wanted to hit him again.”
She waited.
“And if I make the line ‘I only hit people who deserve it,’ eventually I become the only person deciding who deserves it.”
Elena studied him.
“Did someone tell you that?”
“My attorney.”
She smiled despite herself.
“I knew it.”
“He charges twelve hundred dollars an hour to explain basic civilization.”
“Worth every penny.”
Adrian leaned back.
For a moment they sat in ordinary silence.
Television off.
Traffic far below.
A bowl of almonds between them that neither touched.
Then Adrian said, “I’m going to take leave.”
“From the company?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“Because the board asked?”
“Because they didn’t.”
