He said, "You're up early," without taking his eyes from his phone.
"So are you." I quickly went to the coffee maker.
I had never seen anything outside of a professional kitchen with as many buttons as this one. I tried to make sense of it while standing in front of it, but I was unable. I hit a button that made a sound but did nothing.
"Second from the right," he said.
I pushed it. The machine came to life. I leaned on the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen from him as I waited and filled my cup. He checked his phone. I finished my coffee. New York was beginning outside the window, the city changing from night to morning as it always did, slowly at first and then all at once, with grey early light falling over the buildings.
My sleep has been poor. The bed was the most comfortable thing I'd ever laid on, but that wasn't the reason. Because the question had followed me both into and out of my sleep. Someone who understands what he did to your dad. In contrast to my father's handwriting: "This goes directly to Alexander Kane if anything happens to me."
Two individuals are pointing in entirely different directions at the same man. He said, "Trust him." One says, "Run."
By three in the morning, I had made up my mind to confront him about the loan. Not accusing. emotionless. He spoke in a steady, straightforward manner, and I was going to study his expression when I asked. No matter what words he used, the truth would be revealed in his expression.
I said, "I have to go to work today." "How does that work from here?"
He set his phone aside. For the first time since I entered, they turned to look directly at me.
In the morning light, green eyes. They were as sharp in person as they were on pictures. He stared at me the way he seemed to look at everything: carefully, thoroughly, as if he were disassembling something to figure out how it operated.
I forced myself to maintain the look.
"The car is available starting at 7:30. You already have the driver's number on your phone.
I looked. Unknown to me, KANE DRIVER was added yesterday. "I usually take the tube," I said.
"The car is available," he said. not making a push. Not demanding. Simply put, he seemed to provide everything as if it were information that was presented once and then left on the table.
I noticed how that different from control. I filed it alongside all the other items I was gathering.
"Do I need to know anything else? daily expectations. things that you find important. Knowing in advance is preferable to making a mistake.
He was silent for a while. His countenance changed in a way I had never noticed before. Not nearly approved. Something more cautious than that.
"On Friday, there is a dinner celebrating the company's anniversary. a black tie. You'll be there. Information will be provided today" .He paused. "This week, the engagement will be made public. If someone asks, we are happy to have mutual relationships and want privacy. in that order.
"Smile when I say it?"
"Never stop smiling". Smiles are more trustworthy than words.
I gave him a look. The words were practical, but behind them was something dry and a little tired, like a man who had learned the mechanics of smiling too many times from people who didn't mean it.
"What about inside the penthouse?" I asked. "Rules I should know."
"I have a busy schedule. Evenings are when I won't always be here, and when I am, I'll usually be working." He put down his coffee. "I am not" he paused. Make more thoughtful choices. "Easy company."
"I'm telling you this now so you won't be expecting anything that this arrangement can't provide."
He stated it clearly. It has no apology. It was just a fact that he seemed to think I should know before we continued.
I thought of the gala photo I found on the internet. He was standing apart from the others, yet he wasn't exactly cold. Like a man who had been out of the circle for so long that he had forgotten how to re-enter it. "I understand," I replied. "A true marriage is not what I'm looking for. I'm here to keep my promise."
He stared at me. gave a single nod. In his face, something settled. "All right.
He grabbed his jacket and phone and made his way to the corridor.
I took a breath.
"One more thing," I said.
He stopped. did not immediately turn. Then he did.
""The debt," I said. "My family's debt." My hands remained motionless, my eyes fixed on his face, and my voice remained calm. "Are you aware of how it was obtained? Before your company, who possessed it?
There was no movement.
Not one thing. His expression did not shift, nor did it search, nor did it exhibit any of the small involuntary movements that an innocent person's face often displays when asked something unexpected. He just went still already, but deeper now. The specific, deliberate stillness of a man who was choosing every single thing he did next.
Five full seconds.
"The debt was handled through my legal team as part of the agreement," he said. "If you have specific questions about the terms, I can arrange access to the attorneys directly."
Clean. Careful. Completely not an answer.
"That won't be necessary," I said with a smile. "Thank you."
He gave me another look. He left when something swiftly and unreadably moved behind his eyes. I was alone in the kitchen with my cold coffee and my racing heartbeat as the lift opened and closed.
He hadn't denied it.
That was the problem. When asked about something he truly didn't know anything about, an innocent man would have responded, "I don't know," shown confusion, or asked, "Why are you asking?" None of those things had been done by him. After giving me a well-practiced deflection and speaking in the perfect tone, he left the room.
It implied that he was aware of something.
This implied that the message was more than someone attempting to frighten me.
This meant that my father's note, which he sent to Alexander Kane alone, was either the most fatal error of his life or a desperate act of faith in the right person.
After rinsing the cup and pouring the remaining coffee down the sink, I went to get ready for work.
I took the tube. Strangers, noise, and the distinct underground odour of the city going about its business were all part of the everyday press I needed. I had to pretend to be Sophia Reed from Queens for forty minutes before I could pretend to be anything else.
Before Diane showed up at my office door with a folder and a raised eyebrow, I sat at my computer at work, opened the gala file, and stared at it for ten minutes without reading it.
"You look like someone who slept badly and is pretending they did not," she said. "I'm fine."
"You're always fine." The packet fell to my desk. The florist confirmed it. Thursday is the day for the venue walkthrough. Before then, return to the planet.
She left. I opened the folder. I looked out the window.
When I asked about the debt, I was shocked by the silence on his face. Five seconds. Enough time to make a decision. Long enough to determine what I learned and what I didn't.
It wasn't whether he was hiding something. I could tell by the look on his face that he was hiding something. What kind of cover-up was it? The kind in which a crime is buried. Or the one where you protect someone from potentially harmful information.
Whatever was behind it, he had not wanted me to see it.
Which meant it was exactly where I needed to look.
The elevator opened into the penthouse. The living room was quiet. His jacket was on the hook he was home. I could hear movement in the kitchen.
I put down my bag. strolled over to my room. I changed out of my work clothes. And I slowed at the east corridor as I made my way back down the hall.
The panel continued to blink blue.
However, I briefly believed that I saw a faint line of light under the door tonight.
There was a person inside.
And I was going to find what they didn't want me to see.