The words embarrassed him.
Aliyah saw it.
So did several guests.
Frank stepped back.
“I’ll call my supervisor.”
Constance turned away from him in disgust.
That was when Edward Harrington appeared.
“What’s going on?”
Constance did not look at him.
“Nothing I can’t handle.”
Aliyah finally looked at Edward.
He had met Marcus Webb repeatedly.
He had participated in telephone negotiations with Aliyah.
But because most legal work had been handled through counsel and several major meetings had been conducted by audio while Aliyah traveled, Edward had never sat across a table from her in person.
He did not recognize her.
That fact would haunt him.
Constance said:
“She got past security.”
Aliyah answered:
“No. My name was checked at the entrance.”
Edward looked at the place card.
Then at his wife.
Then at the gathering attention.
“Constance, just verify it.”
“She is lying.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I know who belongs in this room.”
Edward’s eyes met Aliyah’s.
For one moment, he saw the problem.
Not the financial problem.
The human one.
Aliyah was sitting perfectly still, but there was something in her face that should have made him stop everything.
Instead, he thought about the bankers near the bar.
The directors.
The lenders.
The fragile illusion of control.
“Handle it quietly,” he said.
Then he walked away.
Aliyah watched him go.
She would later remember that more clearly than the slap.
Because Constance was angry.
Preston was reckless.
Edward understood enough to hesitate.
And still chose comfort.
Constance took his retreat as permission.
“Open her bag.”
Frank stared at her.
“No.”
The answer startled everyone.
Constance turned slowly.
“What?”
Frank swallowed.
“I can ask her to leave if you instruct me to. I can escort her. I am not searching her personal property without consent.”
Aliyah looked at him.
Constance’s voice became icy.
“You’re fired.”
Frank exhaled.
“That may be.”
The second security officer looked at the floor.
Constance reached for Aliyah’s clutch herself.
Aliyah put her hand over it.
“Do not touch my property.”
“Then show me what’s inside.”
“No.”
“What are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“Then open it.”
“No.”
Constance’s fingers tightened.
There it was again.
No.
An answer almost nobody in her household gave her.
She reached across, snatched the clutch, and pulled.
Aliyah held on.
The zipper opened.
A lipstick fell onto the white tablecloth.
Then the hotel key.
Then a slim business-card holder.
Constance let go.
The clutch dropped.
A few guests gasped.
Aliyah looked at the scattered items.
Then at Constance.
“You have now taken my property without permission.”
“Oh, stop dramatizing.”
Constance picked up the business-card holder.
She opened it.
Aliyah Owens