The front entrance of the club was a chaotic strobe of flashbulbs. The paparazzi were swarming like gnats, held back by velvet ropes and stone-faced bouncers.
Imogene had to pass the main entrance to get to the subway station. There was no other way. She pulled her hood down low, hugging her backpack to her chest. She tried to make herself small, to become part of the architecture.
The double doors of the club swung open.
Kenan Cervantes emerged.
The crowd erupted. "Kenan! Over here! Is the merger happening? Kenan!"
He was surrounded by a phalanx of bodyguards. He wore a black suit that fit him like armor. He looked nothing like the broken, feverish man she had held. He looked like a god of industry-untouchable, frozen, perfect.
Imogene paused. She couldn't help it. She was ten feet away, separated by a line of screaming photographers.
Kenan stopped. He adjusted his cufflinks. His gaze swept over the crowd, bored and detached.
Then, his eyes landed on her.
Time seemed to stutter.
He looked right at her. He saw the gray hoodie. He saw the mud stains on her jeans from the alley. He saw the messy hair escaping her hood.
There was no recognition in his eyes. No spark of memory.
There was only a flicker of mild distaste. A rich man looking at a stain on the scenery.
Imogene felt the look like a physical blow. It hurt more than Frank's shove. It was a complete erasure of her existence. To him, she wasn't the woman who saved his life. She was just background noise.
"Mr. Cervantes!"
A shout broke the moment. Frank Kowalski, emboldened by the cash and the vodka, burst from the crowd. He had followed her, or maybe he had just seen the fancy car.
"Mr. Cervantes! I have a business plan!" Frank yelled, lunging toward the VIP. "Solar panels! Listen to me!"
Two bodyguards intercepted him instantly. They slammed Frank into the pavement with practiced efficiency.
"Get off me!" Frank screamed. "I know people!"
Kenan didn't even flinch. He didn't look down at the man writhing on the ground. He stepped into the waiting Maybach as if Frank were a puddle to be stepped over.
Imogene's heart hammered in her throat. She backed away, terrified that Frank would point at her, that he would drag her into the spotlight.
"Immy!" Frank yelled, spotting her. "Tell them! Tell them who I am!"
Imogene turned and ran. She pushed through the tourists, ducked under a barrier, and sprinted down the stairs to the subway station. She didn't stop until she was through the turnstile.
She collapsed onto a plastic bench on the platform. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
Above ground, inside the quiet sanctuary of the Maybach, Marcus handed Kenan a tablet.
"The girl," Marcus said. "Tiffany. She's been quiet. No leaks."
Kenan nodded, looking out the window at the blurring city lights. "Good."
For a second, an image flashed in his mind. The girl in the hoodie. Her eyes. They were wide and terrified. They reminded him of... something.
"That girl outside," Kenan said. "The one in the gray."
"The homeless one?" Marcus asked.
"Never mind," Kenan said, dismissing the thought. It was ridiculous. The woman who helped him had hands that were steady and cool. That girl outside was a mess.
"Just drive," Kenan said.
Imogene sat on the swaying subway car. The lights flickered. She wrapped her arms around her knees. She felt foolish for thinking he might remember. Why would he? She was a ghost.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket.
She pulled it out. A text from Tiffany.
OMG. Guess who just gave me his personal card?
Imogene stared at the screen. A cold knot formed in her stomach.
Who? she typed back.
The reply came instantly, accompanied by a blurry photo of a black business card with silver embossing.
Marcus. The assistant. I think Kenan wants to see me again.
Imogene let the phone drop to her lap. The train rattled into the darkness, carrying her further and further away from the light.
