Chapter 15: The Penthouse

I flew the Monday mail run to Boston with the flight track printed and folded in my jacket.

Sawyer flew right seat and didn't ask where I was going after.

He knew. He'd known since the hangar kitchen.

"You want me to come?" he said on the ramp.

"No. If you come, he'll talk to you."

"I'd love to talk to him."

"That's why you're not coming."

He handed me the thermos. "Coffee for the road."

"I'm taking a cab."

"Then coffee for the cab."

Delano Hotels lived in a gray stone building in Back Bay with a doorman and brass on everything.

I'd been inside it maybe ten times in five years.

Christmas parties. A photo shoot for the annual report where they stood me at the end of the row.

The woman at the front desk knew my face. She went pale.

"Mrs. Delano. Mr. Delano's in the board meeting until..."

"I know. It's board Monday."

I'd sat through five years of board Mondays at home, waiting for dinner.

I took the elevator to the eleventh floor.

The boardroom had glass walls.

I could see them all from the hallway.

Twelve men and two women sat around a long walnut table.

Pierce was at the head in a charcoal suit, clicking through a slide of the island.

My island. With the airstrip gone.

I opened the door.

Fourteen heads turned.

Pierce stopped mid-sentence. The clicker stayed in his hand.

"Darcy."

"Don't get up," I said. "This won't take long."

An older man near the window half rose. "I'm sorry, this is a closed session of the..."

"I know who you are. You sat next to me at the Christmas party in 2022 and asked me to get you a drink."

He sat back down.

I walked down the length of the table and laid the flight track in front of Pierce, on top of his slides.

"Your helicopter," I said. "The night of the gala. Read where it landed."

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