The Meeting

The guard has rung the ninth floor. He whispers quietly through a privacy shield to someone on the other end. I examine a bowlful of green apples pretending I’m more interested in them than in what the guard is whispering. He eyes me suspiciously and nods, and then whispers again. A final affirmative dip of his chin and he signs off, turning his full attention back to me, suddenly all smiles.

“You may go up, sir.” He points to a hallway behind him. “North lift.”

I set the apple in my hand back in the bowl. The guard scrutinizes me as I step in the direction he pointed. I carefully control my movements and expressions. It feels like every single twitch is being watched, and not just by the guard. I saw the discreet surveillance eyes hovering near the crown molding the minute I entered the lobby, but I pretended not to notice. I need to look like a kid on his way to meet schoolmates and that’s all.

The moment of truth has arrived at last.

The elevator door is already open as I approach, making me uneasy, like I’m not just being watched. I’m being anticipated. I step inside but there are no buttons to push. The door closes and the elevator begins to rise. The surveillance eyes hover in the corners of the elevator as well. No wonder Raine never exits this way in the middle of the night. I want to wipe my palms on my pants but resist the urge. I don’t want to show nerves even though I have plenty right now. Everything has changed now that there’s actually someone up there on that top floor whom I care about—and someone Miesha cares about too. Bravado has taken a back seat to precision.

The elevator stops but the door doesn’t open. I wait, and then look around wondering if there’s a bell I’m supposed to ring, like I’m standing on a stoop. I run my hands along the back wall and suddenly I hear the whoosh of the door. I spin around and am greeted by Dorian, the household manager.

“Welcome, Locke. Is that right—Locke?”

“Yes,” I say. “Locke Jenkins.”

She leads me through a marble foyer into a large living room, very old-world style, with mahogany paneling, tapestries, and lots of lavish brocade furniture. Not at all what I expected.

“You’re the first to arrive. Please make yourself comfortable. May I get you a refreshment?”

“Just water would be great, thank you.”

“Yes, sir. Of course.”

I walk around the room when Dorian leaves, examining the decor. The first thing I notice is books. Lots of books. The old-fashioned leather-bound kind. Gatsbro kept his collection behind glass. The Secretary obviously flaunts his. Does he read them, or are they only for show? Something like Raine, the model daughter who jumps through all his hoops?

“Welcome, Locke.”

I spin around. It’s the Secretary. But I’m not supposed to know that, since we’ve never been introduced. I step forward and reach out to shake his hand. “Hello, sir. Are you Raine’s father? Mr. Branson?”

“Yes, Secretary Branson. Nice to have you join the group.”

“I understand you recommended me. Thank you.”

“Shane LeGru can make poor choices but he’s a young man with potential. He comes from good lines. Possibly a good match for Raine—when the time comes. There are so few. And I was pleased to see your generous display with him. You might be a good influence on him and the others.” His brows rise. “Tell me, Locke. Will you be a good influence?”

It’s more of a threat than a question. I swallow. I hate this guy already. I hate everything about him. His patronizing attitude. His disingenuous smile. His weak handshake. His condescending voice. His ego. He owns the world, or thinks he does. But mostly I hate that he stole away Raine and told her she was trash.

I smile. I learned from the best, Dr. Gatsbro and Kara. I smile and I make it genuine, because I’m going to crush this guy. Crush him with everything I’ve got.

“I hope I might be able to share a few things with the others, sir, but I’m sure I’ll learn far more from them.”

“Good attitude, boy. Observe and learn. It’s gotten me far.” He glances at the time on an antique clock on the mantel and frowns—exactly seven o’clock—the appointed time of the meeting. I knew from the files that he was a stickler for punctuality and I made sure I wasn’t a minute late. “I apologize for Raine’s tardiness,” he says. “It’s unacceptable. She should be here to greet her guests. Hap tells me she’s having a clothing issue, which is still no excuse. I assure you it won’t happen again.”

As we’re speaking, more guests arrive, Vina, Ian, Shane LeGru along with his father, whom I expected to come, and finally Cece. Introductions are made, and we make small talk as Dorian serves refreshments. The Secretary is clearly becoming more impatient with Raine’s absence. Just as he’s whispering something to Dorian, Raine rushes into the room, stopping conversation.

“Sorry for being late.” She briefly glances at the Secretary but then avoids his gaze—for good reason. He’s not taking this well. I watch his hand tighten around the glass he’s holding, wondering if he’ll break it.

Her hair is loose and pleasantly unkempt like she’s been out in a breeze. She wears a thin lavender-flowered shift that barely covers the top of her thighs. One sleeve dips off her shoulder. Her lavender sandals are light-years from the sturdy black loafers she usually wears in public.

She’s radiant. And now that I know who she really is, it’s as if I’m seeing her for the first time all over again. Rebecca, I want to say. Your real name is Rebecca. I stare at her lips, so much like Miesha’s. That means the rest is Karden. Every time the Secretary looks at her he must see Karden too. I wonder how that makes him feel? If Karden is alive, does he throw that up in his face? That he’s raising Karden’s daughter? What kind of torture has he put Karden through? Something much worse than my centuries of silence?