Chapter 3 - THE SERVICE STAIRS
They tore through the swinging doors of the kitchen just as a second wave of gunfire chewed through the drywall behind them.
Nora’s chest burned. She was sprinting in sensible black waitress shoes, her apron discarded somewhere in the dining room. Adrian never let go of her hand, pulling her through the labyrinth of stainless steel prep stations.
The kitchen was empty. The staff had been cleared out before the dinner began.
“This way,” Nora gasped, using her knowledge of the floor. “The freight elevator is locked, but there’s a maintenance stairwell behind the walk-in freezer. It bypasses the main security grid.”
Adrian nodded, following her lead.
For a man who had just watched his fiancée try to assassinate a waitress, he was remarkably focused.
They reached the heavy steel door. Nora punched in the six-digit code the cleaning staff used.
Green light.
They slipped inside, plunging into the cold, concrete stairwell. The heavy door clicked shut, cutting off the sounds of shouting from the kitchen.
Nora collapsed against the cinderblock wall, sliding down until she hit the cold steps. She pulled her knees to her chest, shaking uncontrollably.
“Breathe,” Adrian commanded gently, crouching in front of her. He unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket and wrapped it over her shivering shoulders. It smelled like expensive cologne and adrenaline.
“You knew,” Nora whispered, looking up at him. Her fear was slowly turning into a desperate, confused anger. “You knew she was going to do this.”
Adrian didn’t deny it. He sat on the step next to her, running a hand through his dark hair.
“I knew Vivienne was planning a hostile takeover of my firm,” he said, his voice echoing softly in the stairwell. “The Laurent family is bankrupt, Nora. They have been for a decade. They survive on old credit and older names. Marrying me was their final play to access my capital.”
“Then cancel the wedding!” Nora cried. “Why let her lock down a building?”
“Because I needed her to expose her network,” Adrian said, his eyes meeting hers. They were striking, a deep, intelligent gray. “I brought her here tonight to spring my own trap. I had federal agents waiting two blocks away. But I miscalculated one thing.”
“What?”
“You.”
Adrian looked at the photograph still clutched in Nora’s hand.
“I didn't know you were going to be working tonight. And I didn't know Vivienne was tracking you. Until you handed me that lighter, I thought this was just about money.”
Nora looked at the picture. “I don't understand. Why me? My father left us with nothing. I can barely pay my rent.”
“What was your mother’s maiden name?” Adrian asked quietly.
“Caldwell. Eleanor Caldwell.”
Adrian closed his eyes for a brief second. When he opened them, the expression on his face made Nora’s blood run cold.
“Nora, the Caldwells built the Vesper Crown. Your grandfather owned half of Manhattan before the Laurent family partnered with him in the eighties. After he died, your mother vanished. The Laurents claimed the Caldwells sold their shares. They built their entire empire on that money.”
Nora stared at him, unable to comprehend the words.
“My mother was a kindergarten teacher. We shopped with coupons.”
“Your mother was in hiding,” Adrian corrected. “Because she didn't sell the shares. She ran to keep you alive. And Vivienne just found out that the true heir to the Laurent fortune was pouring her champagne.”
Before Nora could process the revelation, a heavy thud echoed from the bottom of the stairwell.
Someone was dragging themselves up the steps.
Adrian stood, moving protectively in front of Nora.
From the shadows, Thomas Reed, the floor manager, crawled into the dim emergency lighting. His white shirt was soaked in blood.
“Thomas!” Nora screamed, rushing past Adrian to fall to her knees beside her boss.
Thomas coughed, his hands trembling violently. He looked up at Nora, his eyes wide with sorrow.
“I’m sorry, Nora,” Thomas wheezed. “They… they paid me. To make sure you worked Table Seven tonight.”
Nora froze. The man who had trained her, who asked about her brother’s grades, had set her up to die.
Thomas reached into his blood-soaked pocket with a shaking hand. He pulled out a heavy, tarnished silver pocket watch and pressed it into Nora’s palm.
“He’s here,” Thomas whispered, blood bubbling on his lips. “Your father… is here.”
Thomas’s eyes went blank.
Nora stared at the watch in her hand. It wasn't just any watch.
It had the initials R.H. engraved on the front.
May you like
Richard Hayes.
Her father hadn't just abandoned her. He had sold her to Vivienne.
