Chapter 3 - THE DESK AND THE DEBT
The study was soundproof, lined with dark mahogany shelves and smelling of aged bourbon and old paper. The heavy door clicked shut behind them, cutting off the faint music from the ballroom.
Rafferty walked behind his massive desk. He didn't sit. He laid the crayon drawing gently on the leather blotter.
“Who drew this?” he asked.
Fay stood near the door, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. “My daughter, sir. Her name is Josie.”
“You are shaking, Miss…”
“Delacroix. Fay Delacroix.” She swallowed hard. “I’m not shaking from fear, Mr. Cain. I’m shaking because if I lose this job, I lose the only chance my daughter has at hearing my voice.”
Rafferty’s eyes narrowed. He opened a drawer, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and tossed it onto the desk. It was more money than Fay made in two years.
“Take it,” Rafferty said. “Leave the estate. The Vanderpools are a vindictive family. Celeste will not let this go. If you stay in this city, she will make sure you never work again. Take the money, take your child, and go.”
Fay stared at the money. It was the surgery. It was rent. It was safety.
But it was also a bribe to disappear. To run like a criminal because a rich woman had spilled her own wine.
Fay stepped forward, but not toward the money. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small, worn ledger where she kept her hourly tips. She set it on the edge of his desk.
“I worked six hours tonight,” Fay said, her voice steadying. “At twelve dollars an hour. You owe me seventy-two dollars. I will take exactly what I earned, Mr. Cain. Keep your charity.”
Rafferty stared at her. Men twice her size had begged for his money. Powerful politicians took his bribes with greedy smiles. Yet this fragile woman, wearing shoes with worn-out heels, was refusing a fortune out of sheer principle.
“Pride is an expensive luxury for a mother, Miss Delacroix,” he warned.
“Dignity isn't pride,” Fay countered. She reached to untie her apron, intending to leave it behind as proof she was quitting Mrs. Odette’s service to protect the older woman’s business.
As she pulled the apron string, a small object was dislodged from her deeper pocket.
It hit the mahogany desk with a soft tap.
A little blue paper boat.
Rafferty froze. All the color drained from his face.
He stared at the blue boat as if it were a loaded gun. Slowly, as though moving underwater, he reached into his own breast pocket. From the lining closest to his heart, he pulled out a small, flattened object.
He set it on the desk next to the blue one.
It was an identical paper boat, folded with the exact same unique creasing on the corners, only this one was yellowed, brittle, and decades old.
Fay gasped. “How… how do you have that?”
Rafferty’s voice was a ragged whisper. “St. Jude’s Orphanage. Twenty years ago. A girl used to sit outside the infirmary window while I was dying of fever. She slid this under the glass.”
Fay’s breath hitched. “My mother… she was the cook there. I wasn't allowed to play with the orphans. But there was a boy. He was always so alone. So angry. I folded that for him to tell him… he wasn't sailing by himself.”
Rafferty closed his eyes. The ghost of the girl’s voice that had haunted him for twenty years suddenly matched the quiet, defiant woman standing in front of him.
The heavy doors to the study violently swung open.
“I knew it!” Celeste shrieked, marching into the room, her eyes darting between the money, the boats, and Fay. “Paying off a waitress behind closed doors? You humiliate me for her?”
Rafferty’s eyes opened. The vulnerability was gone, replaced by absolute ice.
“Silvano!” Rafferty roared.
His lieutenant appeared instantly in the doorway.
May you like
“Escort Miss Vanderpool to her car,” Rafferty ordered. “The engagement is canceled. The alliance is dead.”
Celeste’s face contorted with malicious glee. “You think you can dump me for this gutter trash? My father owns the medical board, Rafferty! I already made a phone call. I know exactly who she is, and I know about the little deaf bastard she’s trying to fix. By tomorrow morning, her daughter’s surgery file will be ashes.”
