Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO ARRIVED TOO LATE
The ambulance came twelve minutes later.
By then, Eleanor had stopped shivering.
She was sitting beside me beneath a hotel blanket, sipping hot water.
Not coffee.
Not tea.
Hot water.
“Doctors tell me caffeine is terrible for my heart,” she said.
“You seem like someone who doesn't enjoy being told what to do.”
Her eyes twinkled.
“I'm beginning to like you.”
The paramedics examined her ankle.
“Possible fracture,” one said.
Eleanor sighed.
“Fine.”
I stood.
“I should go.”
Her hand caught mine.
“Wait.”
I looked down.
“You lost your job because of me.”
I smiled weakly.
“Not exactly.”
“Because of me enough.”
“You don't owe me anything.”
She stared at me.
“You say that now.”
Before I could respond, the hotel doors opened.
Three men entered.
They weren't police.
They weren't paramedics.
They wore dark suits.
Their eyes immediately found Eleanor.
One of them spoke into an earpiece.
“Found her.”
Another moved toward us.
“Mrs. Sullivan.”
Eleanor's expression changed.
She looked tired.
Not frightened.
Just resigned.
“Please don't make a scene.”
The men stepped aside.
A fourth man entered.
He was taller than the others.
Dark coat.
Gray shirt.
No tie.
His hair was black with a few silver strands near the temples.
He looked to be in his early forties.
He stopped when he saw Eleanor.
For the first time, the hard expression disappeared from his face.
“Mom.”
Eleanor smiled.
“Hello, Nathan.”
Nathan Sullivan.
I had heard that name before.
Everyone in Boston had.
He owned Sullivan Hospitality, one of the largest private hotel groups in New England.
Luxury resorts.
Restaurants.
Historic properties.
Real estate.
A fortune estimated in the billions.
And according to rumors, he was ruthless.
I looked at him.
He looked at me.
His eyes moved from my hand to Eleanor's face.
Then to her injured ankle.
“Who are you?”
“Megan.”
“What happened?”
“She fell.”
His jaw tightened.
“You were with her?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“About half an hour.”
One of his men stepped forward.
“She found Mrs. Sullivan alone in the rain.”
Nathan's eyes returned to me.
“You stopped?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
The question irritated me.
“Because she was hurt.”
He stared.
I stared back.
“I didn't do it for money.”
His expression shifted.
“I didn't say you did.”
“You were thinking it.”
One of his men looked away.
Eleanor laughed.
Nathan actually blinked.
“She's interesting.”
“Mom.”
“What?”
“You're injured.”
“I noticed.”
The paramedics prepared to take her.
Eleanor reached for me again.
“Megan.”
I stepped closer.
“Yes?”
“Come see me tomorrow.”
I hesitated.
Nathan looked at his mother.
Then at me.
“You don't have to.”
“I know.”
Eleanor smiled.
“That's why I want her to.”
I left before anyone could say more.
Outside, the rain had become heavier.
I stood beneath the awning and finally allowed myself to breathe.
I had lost my job.
My rent was overdue.
My daughter needed shoes.
And somehow, I had just spent an hour arguing with one of Boston's richest men.
I laughed softly.
“What a disaster.”
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Nathan Sullivan.
I stared at it.
Then another message appeared.
My mother says you refused money. Thank you.
I typed:
You're welcome.
Then another message.
She also says you need work.
I frowned.
I didn't tell her that.
His reply came almost immediately.
My mother notices everything.
May you like
I looked up at the rain.
For some reason, I smiled.
