"I don't run a charity," Grace whispered, wiping broth from her lip. "I cooked. You clean."
Alaric looked at the two bowls. He had negotiated billion-dollar mergers. He had fired executives. He had never washed a dish in his life.
"No problem," he said, standing up with unearned confidence.
He carried the bowls to the sink. He grabbed the bottle of dish soap and squeezed. A massive glob of blue liquid shot out.
"Whoa!" Grace cried. "That's concentrated! You only need a drop!"
Alaric turned, startled. The soapy bowl slipped from his hand.
Crash.
Ceramic shards exploded across the polished concrete floor.
Silence filled the room. Alaric stood there, hands dripping with blue foam, looking like a guilty toddler in a silk suit.
Grace sighed, rubbing her temples. "Okay. You are banned from the kitchen. Go figure out the television."
Alaric retreated to the living room. The sofa was long enough for three of him. When he lay down, his feet were nowhere near the end. Grace brought him a thin, knitted blanket.
"It was my grandmother's," she said softly. "Goodnight, Alaric."
"Goodnight, Grace."
The lights went out. The apartment was plunged into darkness, save for the constellation of city lights filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Alaric couldn't sleep. The sofa was too comfortable, too quiet. He could hear the faint hum of the air filtration system, but not Grace, in her soundproofed room a hundred feet away.
He pulled out his phone, dimming the screen. He began typing a list to Marcus.
1. Biometric access for Grace K. to penthouse and all facilities.
2. Full background check on Tyler Brock. I want dirt.
3. Set up a shell company. 'GK Restoration.' Fund it with 500k. Make her the sole proprietor.
A faint beeping sound came from the corner.
Alaric froze. He turned on his phone's flashlight.
A small, red light on a smoke detector was blinking rhythmically. It was a model he didn't recognize. One with a lens in the center.
Alaric sat up, his heart rate spiking higher than it had during the market crash of '08. He walked over to the device, pulled a chair over, and twisted it off the ceiling.
The back was stamped: RAYMOND SECURITY.
"What happened?" Grace's voice called out from the bedroom. The door creaked open.
Alaric shoved the device into his pocket. He lay back down, pulling the blanket up to his chin. "Nothing. Just... dropped my phone."
Grace squinted at him, then closed the door.
Alaric exhaled. He picked up his phone again.
4. Sweep the penthouse. Immediately. Tomorrow while she's out.
A drop of water landed on his forehead.
Plip.
He looked up. A sprinkler head was dripping slowly. Plip.
Alaric closed his eyes. He wasn't going to sleep tonight. He was going to plan. This apartment was going to get the most covert, high-tech security overhaul in the history of Tribeca, and he was going to find out which one of his partners was spying on him.
