Chapter 8: The Lobby

Rhea's POV

The lobby of Harrowgate Mutual had a marble floor, a bronze eagle, and a security desk with two guards behind it.

A dozen people from my diner walked in out of the cold, each one holding a paper coffee cup with our name on it.

I stopped in front of the desk.

"I'm here to see Garner Harrowgate," I said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"I have a notice."

I laid it on the counter, flattened and a little greasy at the corner.

The guard looked at it, and at the crowd behind me.

Then he looked at the woman in the hospital smock, who had brought her own thermos.

He picked up the phone.

Conor stood at my elbow.

He didn't speak.

I knew by now that was how he helped, by being there and being quiet, so that nobody could decide I was alone.

Above us the mezzanine had filled up.

Men in suits and women with lanyards leaned on the glass rail with their phones out.

It was ten minutes before the elevator doors opened and Garner Harrowgate walked out, alone, in a charcoal overcoat.

He smiled at the lobby.

"Miss Quillan," he said. "How enterprising. You've brought a congregation."

"I brought the tenants."

"So I see," he said.

"Mr. Harrowgate," I said, "this notice says you have thirty days to take the diner away from them."

"That's the law."

"It says the rooms above, too. That's my room. My father lived in it. I'm told it's your building."

"Harrowgate Realty holds the building," he said patiently. "It's an asset of the family trust. I'm the trustee."

"For fifteen more days."

His smile didn't move.

But the people on the mezzanine had stopped talking, and I could feel it.

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