The elevator numbers climbed. 1... 2... 3...
Eva watched her reflection in the polished brass doors. The cut on her cheek had stopped bleeding, but it was swelling, a jagged red line against her pale skin.
"It's bad," Felicity whispered, standing in the corner of the elevator. "They're saying Arvo was with her."
Eva turned her head sharply.
Arvo Crawford. Alek's younger brother. The family failure.
"He... he used company funds," Felicity stammered, realizing she was saying too much but unable to stop. "To bail her out. To hush it up. But the press found out."
Eva closed her eyes for a second.
It wasn't just a DUI. It was a merger of disasters. The Bowens and the Crawfords, tied together again by stupidity and greed.
Ding.
The doors opened to the penthouse.
Felicity stayed in the elevator. She pressed the 'Close' button frantically.
Eva stepped out.
The penthouse was dark. The only light came from the city skyline through the panoramic windows. The air smelled of expensive bourbon and destruction.
Glass crunched under her shoe.
Eva looked down. A crystal tumbler lay shattered on the marble floor.
"Did you know?"
Alek was sitting on the leather sofa, shrouded in shadow. The blue light of a tablet illuminated his face, making him look like a ghost.
He swiped the screen violently, then tossed the tablet onto the coffee table. It landed with a heavy clack.
The screen showed Britt's mugshot.
Alek stood up. He walked toward her, kicking a piece of broken glass across the floor.
"Your sister," he spat the word out like poison. "She's a cancer. Just like your father."
Eva shook her head. She held out her hands, palms up. I didn't know.
"Don't lie to me!" Alek roared.
He grabbed a stack of papers from the table and threw them at her.
They fluttered through the air, hitting her chest, her face. They scattered on the floor around her.
Eva looked down. Bank transfers. Arvo Crawford to Britt Bowen. Huge sums.
"My brother," Alek said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Is facing an embezzlement charge because of your sister's drug habit."
He pointed to the floor.
"Clean it up."
Eva looked at the papers.
"Not the papers," Alek said. "The glass."
He gestured to the shards of the crystal tumbler scattered near his feet.
"Use your hands."
Eva hesitated.
"Do it," he commanded.
Eva knelt. She reached for a large shard of jagged crystal. She picked it up, placing it in her other palm.
She reached for another. And another.
A tiny sliver, invisible against the marble, sliced into her thumb.
She flinched. A sharp intake of breath.
A drop of bright crimson blood welled up. It seemed to hang in the air for an eternity before falling, a single, perfect sphere of red against the pristine white carpet.
Alek's eyes snapped to the blood.
His pupils dilated. He took a step back, his breath hitching. He didn't look triumphant. He looked sick. A faint sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead, his jaw clenching as if fighting a wave of nausea.
He stared at the red spot on the carpet, then at her bleeding hand.
"Stop," he said. His voice was strained.
Eva kept picking up the glass. She needed to finish.
"I said stop!" Alek shouted. He kicked the coffee table, sending it skidding across the room. "Get out! Get out of my sight!"
Eva scrambled to her feet, clutching the shards of glass in her good hand, blood dripping from the other.
She bowed quickly and backed toward the elevator.
As the doors closed, she saw Alek turn away, running his hands over his face, his shoulders shaking.
He wasn't angry at her. He was unraveling.
Eva looked at her bleeding thumb. The pain was sharp, grounding.
He has a weakness, she thought. He can't stand the sight of real damage.
