Chapter 3 - THE INVOICE ARRIVES AT MIDNIGHT
The penthouse on the forty-fourth floor of the Mercer Tower overlooked Lake Michigan, its floor-to-ceiling glass windows framing a skyline glittering with thousands of distant lights. Below, the city traffic moved in silent, orderly ribbons of red and white.
Inside the sprawling, minimalist living room, the only sound was the soft clinking of ice against crystal as Sadie poured a glass of sparkling water.
She wore a loose silk robe over her clothes, her hair falling loosely over her shoulders. She walked over to the window, watching the distant lights twinkle across the dark water. The bruise on her calf was already turning a faint shade of purple, but the physical ache was nothing compared to the strange, lingering echo of the afternoon.
A pair of arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
Roman rested his chin gently on her shoulder, his breath warm against her neck.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
“I’m just thinking,” Sadie said, leaning back into his warmth. “Three years ago, I thought my life was ending in that diner. I remember staring at a three-dollar bill on the table and wondering how I was going to pay for gas to get to my morning shift. If someone had told me then that one day Trevor Hale would be kneeling on a marble floor while my husband owned the building…”
She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “It sounds like a bad romance novel.”
“Life has a peculiar sense of timing,” Roman said, turning her gently so she was facing him. His dark eyes searched her face with quiet intensity. “Does it bother you? Seeing him like that?”
“Not the way you think,” Sadie replied, reaching up to touch the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. “I used to hate him. For a long time, every time I turned on the television or walked past a law firm’s billboard, my stomach would twist into knots. I hated how small he made me feel. But today… today I just felt tired for him.”
Roman’s expression softened, a rare, genuine smile touching the corners of his mouth. “He’s currently trying to call every managing partner at Whitmore, Hale, and Pierce from the back of an Uber, according to Arthur.”
Sadie raised an eyebrow. “Already?”
“Arthur intercepted his phone calls about ten minutes after we left the gallery,” Roman said smoothly, pouring himself a finger of scotch. “Apparently, Trevor spent twenty minutes trying to convince senior partner Harrison Whitmore that he was being targeted by an international conspiracy, before Whitmore hung up on him.”
“What about Chloe?”
“Her father, Edward Vance, pulled his portfolio from Whitmore’s management group at seven o'clock this evening,” Roman said, taking a slow sip of his drink. “It seems Mr. Vance doesn't like associates who create public scandals in buildings owned by Mercer Capital. By tomorrow morning, Trevor won’t just be out of a partnership; he’ll be looking for a new zip code.”
Sadie looked out the window again. She thought of the girl she used to be—the girl who apologized when Trevor raised his voice, the girl who wore thrift-store sweaters because she gave every spare dollar to pay for his bar exam prep courses.
She had spent years believing she was the broken one. But looking back, she realized she had simply been carrying someone else’s weight until her knees gave out.
“You didn’t have to lock the doors, you know,” Sadie said softly.
“I didn’t lock them,” Roman replied instantly. “Arthur locked them.”
“Same difference.”
“Arthur has excellent initiative,” Roman said with a straight face, though a twinkle of amusement flickered in his eyes. He set his glass down on the marble coffee table and stepped closer, pulling her flush against his chest. “Besides, nobody kicks my wife in a building I own and walks out without a conversation.”
Sadie laughed, resting her forehead against his chest. “You’re terrifying, Mr. Mercer.”
“Only to people who deserve it.”
The clock on the wall chimed softly, marking midnight. Far below, the city continued its endless hum, indifferent to the small tragedies and quiet victories playing out in its towers. But for Sadie Bennett—or rather, Sadie Mercer—the ghosts of Clark Street were finally, completely gone.
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Little did they know, however, that Trevor Hale was not a man who went down quietly. And in the shadowy legal underworld of Chicago, a desperate man with nothing left to lose is often willing to deal with devils far worse than the ones he already knew.
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