Chapter 8: Six Inches

Patrick's POV

I had imagined the day Natalie Bancroft would ask me for her father's shares about four hundred times.

In none of them did she write it out in my kitchen at midnight with her sleeping daughter on my sofa.

In none of them did she walk into her own boardroom three days later.

In none of them did she take the chair out from under her husband.

I stayed in my seat after the vote and watched the room empty.

Desmond went last.

He stopped at my chair and smiled the smile the whole third floor loved.

"Quiet man," he said. "I thought you were on my side."

"I'm on the trust's side."

"That's what I said."

He tapped the table twice with two fingers and left.

The board secretary gathered her papers and would not look at me.

On the table in front of Natalie's empty seat, her pen lay uncapped, and a ring of coffee had dried beside it.

Her father had made me promise to wait until she asked.

I had waited six years.

Today she had asked, and then she had stood up in front of everyone and used what I gave her.

I felt proud, which was a stupid thing to feel, and under it something much more dangerous.

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