Chapter 4 - The Suite at the Mayfair
The presidential suite on the forty-second floor of the Mayfair Hotel was larger than any home Clara Vance had ever stepped foot inside. Deep velvet sofas, floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the glittering Chicago skyline, and plush cream carpets made the room feel like a palace floating above the rain.
In the master bedroom, a female physician, Dr. Aris, was gently applying a cooling, pharmaceutical-grade antibiotic ointment to Lily’s hands before wrapping them in soft, sterile gauze.
Lily sat on the massive king-sized bed, wearing a pair of tiny, plush pink pajamas provided by the hotel staff. She was happily eating a plate of fresh strawberries and warm chocolate croissants from a silver room-service tray.
Clara stood in the living room, wearing a simple, elegant dark green wool dress that Nathan’s tailor had delivered an hour earlier. She looked at her reflection in the gilded mirror over the fireplace, barely recognizing the woman looking back at her.
The grand double doors of the suite opened softly.
Nathan stepped inside. He had changed out of his wet suit into a dark charcoal turtleneck and slacks. He looked tired, but the intensity in his eyes hadn't diminished a bit.
Clara turned around, her fingers nervously clutching the fabric of her dress.
"How is she?" Nathan asked softly, walking toward her.
"Dr. Aris said there won't be any permanent scarring," Clara said, her voice catching slightly. "She said... she said if Lily had been exposed to those chemicals for another two weeks, she would have developed chronic respiratory damage."
Nathan’s jaw tightened, but he kept his voice steady. "And you? How are you, Clara?"
Clara looked away, looking out at the rain washing over the city lights below.
"I feel like I'm dreaming, Nathan," she whispered. "Or like I'm about to wake up in my freezing apartment and realize that Caldwell is calling my phone to tell me I'm late for work."
Nathan walked up beside her, standing close enough that she could feel the warm heat radiating off him.
"You're not dreaming, Clara," Nathan said gently. "The apartment in Cicero is paid off as of one hour ago. The medical debt with the hospital has been settled in full. You and Lily are safe."
Clara looked at him, her dark gray eyes filling with fresh tears. "Why are you doing this, Nathan? We haven't seen each other in nineteen years! You don't owe me anything!"
"I owe you everything, Clara," Nathan declared, his voice deep and absolute.
Clara blinked in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Nineteen years ago," Nathan said, looking down at his hands. "My mother lost her job at the laundry. We had no electricity for two weeks in the middle of January. I was fourteen years old, hungry, freezing, and ready to walk down to the corner of 5th Street to join a local gang just so I could get five hundred dollars to buy us a space heater."
Clara gasped softly. She remembered that winter.
"I walked into Mrs. Holloway’s library that afternoon to steal a laptop," Nathan continued, his eyes locked onto hers. "I was going to pawn it. But you were sitting at the table. You looked at me, saw how cold I was, and you pulled a warm thermos of chicken soup out of your bag and gave it to me. Then you sat with me for three hours and helped me finish my algebra application for the magnet school."
Nathan reached out, taking Clara’s trembling hands into his.
"If you hadn't shared your food and your kindness with me that afternoon, Clara, I would have gone to prison or died on a street corner before I turned eighteen. The empire I built wasn't built by me alone. It was built on the three hours of hope you gave me when I was a desperate child."
Clara stared at him, her chest heaving as tears spilled over her lashes. "Nathan..."
Before she could say another word, the heavy wooden doors of the suite burst open.
May you like
Marcus stepped inside, holding an encrypted tablet in his hand. His face was grim.
"Mr. Reed," Marcus said sharply. "We have a problem."
