Chapter 7 - The Shift in Power
Harper didn't answer him.
She carefully slipped her hand out of Finn’s grip, stood up, and walked past Victor out into the hallway, her shoes making no sound on the runner rug.
Victor followed her down to the study.
When she walked inside, she didn't sit down. She stood near the fireplace, folding her arms over her chest, watching him with that terrifying, neutral expression.
"Finn is stable," Harper said briskly. "His fever is ninety-nine. He needs fluids and rest tomorrow. I will stay tonight so he doesn't relapse, but tomorrow morning, you need to have a permanent pediatric specialist here."
"Harper, wait," Victor said, stepping toward his desk. "We need to talk about your contract."
"I don't have a contract," Harper said. "I resigned."
"I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars a year," Victor said, his voice laced with a desperate, familiar instinct to solve problems with power and capital. "I will give you a private car. I will give you full health coverage, four weeks of paid leave, whatever you want."
Harper let out a low, dry laugh that made Victor’s chest tighten.
"You really don't understand, do you?" Harper said softly.
"Understand what?"
"You think this is about money," she said, stepping closer to the desk. "You think you can say terrible, cruel things to a person, crush their dignity into the floor, and then hand them a check to fix it."
Victor swallowed hard, his throat dry. "I was angry, Harper. I had a bad night—"
"I don't care that you were angry!" Harper shot back, her voice rising for the first time, sharp as a switchblade. "I spent fourteen months in this house, Victor! I cared for your son when you were too afraid to look at him because he reminded you of your dead wife! I organized your life! I protected your household! And the second you felt cornered, you looked at me and used the one thing you thought would hurt me most!"
Victor stood frozen. Every word she spoke was a bullet passing straight through his armor.
"You told me no one would ever want me," Harper continued, her brown eyes shining with unshed tears, but her head held high. "You said I was an oversized pillow. You evaluated my body, my age, my worth as a woman, and you decided I was trash."
"I was wrong," Victor rasped, taking a step toward her, his hands extending slightly in an unconscious gesture of surrender. "Harper... I was wrong. I was blind."
"No," Harper said, taking a step back to maintain the distance between them. "You weren't blind. You were comfortable. You thought because I was quiet, because I was heavy, because I didn't dress in designer clothes like the women you bring to your charity galas, that I had no self-respect. You thought I would take whatever cruelty you threw at me because I had nowhere else to go."
She picked up her grey coat from the chair where she’d dropped it earlier.
"I have somewhere to go, Mr. Rossi," she said quietly. "I have my own life. And I would rather live in a one-bedroom apartment in Dorchester eating ramen noodles for the rest of my life than spend another day in a palace where I am tolerated only because I am useful."
"Harper..." Victor’s voice broke. It was a sound Frank Novak had never heard in twenty years of service. A sound Victor Rossi didn't even know his vocal cords could make.
"I will stay until 8:00 AM tomorrow," Harper said, turning toward the door. "For Finn. After that, do not call me again."
She walked out of the study, closing the heavy oak door behind her.
Victor stood alone in the dark room.
He looked at his massive mahogany desk. He looked at his leather chairs. He looked at the safe in the wall containing three million dollars in untraceable cash.
May you like
None of it mattered.
He dropped into his leather chair, buried his face in his scarred hands, and for the first time since his wife died five years ago, Victor Rossi wept.
