Chương 4
“Which discussions?”
“The Black Harbor bid.”
Malcolm said nothing.
Black Harbor was not the name of a company. It was an internal project name used for a possible acquisition that had never progressed beyond six people and one outside adviser.
Leah watched his face.
“Grant said the name during an argument.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“And you stayed in the apartment with him.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I needed to know who was feeding him.”
Malcolm stood again.
This time the movement was fast enough that Leah flinched.
He saw it.
That stopped him.
The shame on his face was small and immediate.
He sat back down.
“I’m not him,” he said.
“I know.”
“But you flinched.”
“I have a concussion.”
He looked at her.
She looked away.
Neither pretended that was the whole answer.
At four in the morning, Owen appeared with coffee and a paper bag containing food no one wanted.
He also brought news.
Grant had filed a police report from another hospital.
Malcolm looked up slowly.
“For what?”
“Assault.”
Leah closed her eyes.
Owen put a coffee on the counter.
“He says you attacked him without warning in the corridor after forcing entry into his hotel suite.”
Malcolm stared at him.
“He says Leah was intoxicated and disoriented.”
Leah opened her eyes.
“Of course he does.”
Owen continued.
“He says you’ve been trying to interfere in the marriage for years.”
Malcolm laughed once.
There was no amusement in it.
“Did he mention striking my daughter?”
“Not in the version I heard.”
“The cameras.”
“Hotel counsel is preserving them.”
“Get them.”
“I can’t just get them.”
“I own twelve hotels.”
“Not that one.”
“Then buy it.”
Leah covered her face with one hand.
Owen waited.
Malcolm looked at her.
“What?”
She lowered her hand.
“That.”
“What?”
“That is the problem.”
“I’m not literally buying the hotel.”
“You considered it for at least half a second.”
Malcolm took the coffee and drank it black.
It was terrible.
He drank more.
Owen handed Leah a cup with a lid.
“What is it?”
“Tea.”
“What kind?”
“Ginger.”
“I hate ginger.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you buy it?”
“Hospital cafeteria had ginger or mint.”
“I also hate mint.”
“I know.”
She looked at him.
“Did you buy me the two beverages I hate most on purpose?”
Owen sat in the chair by the door.
“It seemed like a long night.”
For the first time since the hotel, Leah smiled without pain winning completely.
Malcolm looked between them.
“You two have been talking more than I knew.”
Leah blew across the tea.
“That would describe most people you know.”
By sunrise, the rain had weakened.
The doctor wanted Leah observed longer.
Malcolm’s phone had become a small vibrating machine of disaster.
His chief operating officer called.
Two board members called.
His communications director called three times.
His attorney texted six words.
Do not speak to any reporter.
At 7:12 a.m., a financial news site posted a photograph of Malcolm entering the hotel the previous night.
At 7:28, another outlet reported that “a prominent Manhattan executive” had been accused of assaulting his son-in-law during a domestic dispute.
At 7:41, Grant’s name appeared.
At 7:49, Malcolm’s did.
Leah’s name followed nine minutes later.
Malcolm held the phone in one hand and stared at the screen.
Leah watched him from the bed.
“Don’t.”
He looked up.
“Don’t what?”
“Call Communications and have them destroy him.”
“That’s not what Communications does.”
“Dad.”
He set the phone facedown.
“Fine.”
She blinked.
“Fine?”
“For the next ten minutes.”
“That may be a personal record.”
He ignored that.
Owen came in from the corridor.
“Grant’s attorney is already requesting a protective order.”
“For him?” Malcolm asked.
“For both parties, apparently.”
Malcolm stood.
Owen raised one hand.
“Sit.”
Malcolm looked at him.
Owen did not lower the hand.
“Your daughter is still in a hospital bed. You are not going anywhere useful in the next five minutes.”
Leah looked from one man to the other.
“Do people say no to you all the time when I’m not around?”
“No.”
Owen said, “Yes.”
Malcolm sat.
At nine, a woman from hospital administration asked whether Leah wanted her father present when a social worker spoke with her.
Leah said no.
Malcolm did not argue.
That surprised her enough that she watched him leave.
The door shut.
The room became quieter.
The social worker was about forty, wore comfortable shoes, and did not treat Leah like an idiot. She asked direct questions without trying to supply the answers.
Did she feel safe going home?
No.
Did Grant have access to weapons?
Not that she knew.
Had he hurt her before?
Leah looked at the wall.
“Yes.”
How often?
“I don’t know.”
The woman waited.
Leah hated that kind of patience. It created space where lying sounded louder.
“Three times,” she said.
Then, after a pause, “Four.”
Had he ever restricted her access to money?
“No.”
Her phone?
“Yes.”
Friends?
“Not exactly.”
Family?
Leah looked toward the door.
“Yes.”
She was surprised by how quickly that answer came.
When the social worker left, Leah sat with her hands on top of the blanket.
She thought of the first year of her marriage.
Grant had never said Malcolm is bad for you.
That would have been too obvious.
He had said, You always look tired after dinner with your father.
He had said, He turns everything into a negotiation.
He had said, I like you better when you’re not waiting for his approval.
All of those things had contained enough truth to work.
Leah had supplied the rest herself.
Malcolm came back carrying a garment bag.
“What is that?”
“Clothes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Where did you get them?”
“Someone went to your apartment.”
She stared at him.
“You sent someone into my apartment?”
He stopped.
The old reflex had gotten him again.
“I sent Marta.”
“Marta has a key?”
“She cleans there.”
“I know who Marta is.”
“You need clothes.”
May you like
“You could have asked.”
“You were with the social worker.”
