They were celebrating. They were finalizing the handshake deal before tomorrow's vote.
I froze behind the marble pillar, my heart stopping entirely.
Leo shifted in my arms. He looked over my shoulder and saw the group of men.
“Daddy!” Leo yelled happily, his clear, innocent voice echoing sharply across the vast, quiet lobby.
My hand clamped over Leo’s mouth instantly.
I pulled him tight against my chest, crushing him into the damp fabric of my hoodie as I pressed my back flat against the cold marble of the pillar.
My entire body was trembling violently. The blood roared in my ears like a jet engine.
Out in the lobby, the low murmur of conversation abruptly stopped. The silence that followed was terrifying.
"Did someone just say my name?" Marcus's voice echoed through the vast space. It was smooth, commanding, and laced with a sharp edge of sudden confusion.
I squeezed my eyes shut, holding my breath until my lungs burned. Leo wriggled against me, clearly confused and slightly muffled by my hand, but he understood the sheer terror radiating from my body and stayed still.
"I thought I heard a kid," Richard Vance’s gruff voice replied.
"Probably just a guest in the lounge," Marcus said, though his voice sounded much closer now. He was walking toward the pillar. I could hear the sharp, rhythmic click of his leather dress shoes on the marble floor. Click. Click. Click.
I looked around frantically. There was nowhere to run. The service door was too far. The elevators were totally exposed.
If Marcus found me here, looking like a deranged runaway in a wet sweatsuit, he wouldn't even have to lie. He would just call the police, show them the medical power of attorney, and have me dragged out in handcuffs in front of his new buyer.
I would never see Leo again.
The clicking footsteps stopped. He was right on the other side of the pillar.
"Mr. Sterling?" a new voice called out. It was a woman’s voice, coming from the direction of the front desk. "Sir, your private elevator is prepped. Ms. Sterling asked me to remind you to review the final prospectus before you go to sleep."
Marcus paused. I heard him let out a slow, sharp exhale.
"Thank you, Jillian," Marcus replied, his voice shifting back into his polished executive tone. "Tell my sister I'll be right up."
The footsteps turned away. I listened to the sound of Marcus and the other executives walking across the lobby, their voices fading as the heavy brass doors of the private VIP elevator opened and closed.
I didn't move for a full three minutes.
When I finally pulled my hand away from Leo’s mouth, my palm was slick with sweat.
"Why couldn't I say hi to Daddy?" Leo whispered, his lower lip trembling.
"Daddy is working, baby," I whispered back, kissing his forehead with shaking lips. "We can't interrupt him. We have to be sneaky."
I carefully leaned around the edge of the pillar. The lobby was clear. The executives were gone.
The only person left was the woman working the front desk.
She was young, maybe in her late twenties, with slicked-back blonde hair and a sharp, heavily contoured face. She wore the new, crisp black blazer that Marcus had apparently instituted as the new uniform.
Her nametag caught the light of the chandelier. Jillian.
I took a deep breath, trying to slow the violent hammering of my heart.
I had to do this right now. If Marcus was reviewing the prospectus in his private quarters, he wouldn't be in the Presidential Suite. The Presidential Suite was on the top floor, but it was reserved for the company's reigning CEO. My father had lived in it. I had lived in it before I married Marcus and bought our house in the suburbs.
If Thomas had hidden the files in the old floor safe, the suite had to be empty.
I pulled my hood down. My natural hair was pulled back into a messy, damp bun. I wore no makeup. The dark circles under my eyes made me look hollow and sick. I wore a faded black zip-up hoodie, plain black sweatpants, and scuffed sneakers.
I looked like a vagrant who had wandered in from the storm.
I took Leo’s hand and stepped out from behind the pillar.
We walked slowly across the massive expanse of the lobby. The sound of our damp sneakers squeaking against the pristine marble seemed deafening.
Jillian did not look up from her computer monitor until we were standing directly in front of the sweeping mahogany reception desk.
When she finally raised her eyes, her face instantly hardened into a mask of pure, unadulterated contempt.
She looked at my damp clothes. She looked at my exhaustion. She looked at my skin. She looked at Leo, who was nervously chewing on the sleeve of his jacket.
Her posture stiffened. She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back slightly as if my mere presence in her pristine lobby was an offensive odor.