Chapter 9: Mr. Medrano

The ballroom fell silent.

Joaquin did not look at the woman in silver.

He looked at me, and I saw an apology in his face before he said a word.

"Chairman," Grayson repeated, with a short laugh. "Of what?"

"Meridian Pacific Holdings," the woman said brightly.

"Ports in Singapore, Rotterdam, Busan and Durban. Forty-one billion dollars in assets."

"Did your father not mention it, Mr. Chastain? He called our office twice this week."

Grayson's smile left his face all at once.

"That's not funny."

"It's not a joke." She turned to the crowd. "Mr. Medrano closed the Rotterdam terminal on Tuesday. The papers print it in the morning."

Somebody dropped a glass.

I could hear my own pulse.

Two hundred phones came up at once, and a murmur swelled, and a man near the stage said, quite loudly, "Medrano? The Medrano?"

"Yes," the woman said. "He started with one secondhand barge."

Lionel was staring at Joaquin.

"You," he said, hoarsely.

Joaquin gave him a polite nod.

"Mr. Heyward. We'll talk."

On the other side of the floor, Noelle had both hands over her mouth.

Her diamond caught the chandelier light.

She was looking at Joaquin the way she had looked at Grayson in the restaurant.

I felt a small, clear stab of something that was not pity.

I turned and walked out through the side doors into the garden.

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