Ten minutes earlier.
Donovan Tate stood perfectly still behind his boss in the dim corridor of the Elysium club. He watched Adela Richmond's retreating back as she marched toward the exit.
He had seen exactly what happened. Harmon hadn't been stretching his legs. He had deliberately shifted his foot directly into Adela's path the second she rounded the corner.
Harmon had sat on that leather sofa for two hours, nursing a single glass of scotch, waiting for this exact moment.
Harmon stood up. He shot his cuffs, adjusting the silver links with slow, precise movements. The dangerous smirk was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating focus.
"Donovan," Harmon's voice was low, devoid of any warmth.
"Yes, sir," Donovan replied instantly.
"Pull the credit card receipts for Juston Bond's tab in the Peacock Room. Run a full background check on every man sitting at that table. I want leverage on all of them by morning."
"Understood."
"And call the media contacts," Harmon continued, walking slowly down the hall. "Full blackout. If a single word about Adela Richmond and Juston Bond leaks to the press, I will personally bankrupt the publication that prints it."
Donovan nodded, typing furiously on his phone. "I'll handle it. But sir... she just walked out into a storm. Should I bring the car around?"
"Bring the car to the front," Harmon said. "But keep your distance. Wait."
Donovan frowned slightly. "Wait for what, sir?"
Harmon stopped walking. He looked at the glass doors at the end of the hall.
"Juston Bond is a narcissist with a bruised ego," Harmon said, his voice chillingly analytical. "He was just humiliated in front of his sycophants. He won't let her walk away feeling victorious. He's going to text her. He's going to try to destroy her psychologically so she feels she has no choice but to return to him."
Donovan stared at his boss's back. Harmon was dissecting human behavior like a surgeon.
"He's been close to the Richmonds, close to Kayden. If he knows anything about her family's secrets-like the truth about that risotto incident-he'll use it now," Harmon said softly.
Donovan's blood ran cold. He knew about the risotto incident. Harmon had ordered a private investigation into the Richmond family years ago. Harmon knew everything.
"Let her read it," Harmon commanded. "She needs a reason to burn her bridges completely. When she has nothing left to hold onto, pull the car up."
Now, sitting in the driver's seat of the Maybach, Donovan looked in the rearview mirror.
Everything happened exactly as Harmon predicted. Down to the second.
Adela Richmond climbed into the back seat. She was completely soaked. Her expensive dress was clinging to her skin, and she was shivering so violently her teeth were chattering. She looked completely broken.
The heavy door shut, sealing them inside the warm, quiet cabin of the car.
Adela didn't speak. She just stared blankly at the leather seat in front of her, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
Harmon didn't say a word. He calmly took off his bespoke charcoal suit jacket. He leaned over the center console and draped the heavy, warm fabric over Adela's shaking shoulders.
The jacket swallowed her. It smelled of cedar and bergamot.
Adela flinched slightly at the contact, but she didn't push it away. She pulled the lapels tighter around her neck, burying her face in the fabric like a wounded animal seeking shelter.
Harmon met Donovan's eyes in the rearview mirror and gave a single, sharp nod.
Donovan put the car in drive and pulled smoothly away from the curb, merging into the rainy New York traffic.
Harmon looked at the woman beside him.
"Where to?" Harmon asked, his voice smooth and calm. He let a beat of silence pass before adding, "Or should I have my driver take you back to the Richmond villa on the Upper East Side?"
