Chapter 5 - The Glass Wall
The silence in the lobby was heavier than the sixty stories of steel pressing down from above.
Marcus took two fast steps toward us, his leather-soled shoes clicking sharply on the black granite. “Ethan, the Tokyo group is threatening to walk if we don't finalize the merger terms tonight. Board members are calling my home line. Why are you standing at the security desk?”
I didn't answer Marcus. I couldn't.
My eyes were locked on Maya.
She hadn't moved. She hadn't gasped. But her face had turned entirely smooth, like a sheet of ice frozen over a dark pond. She looked at Marcus’s pristine pinstripes, then at my charcoal coat, and finally up at my face.
“Mercer,” she said softly, the word tasting sour on her tongue. “Ethan... Mercer.”
“Maya,” I started, taking a half-step closer to the desk. “Let me explain.”
“Mr. Mercer,” she corrected instantly, her voice dropping into a cold, flat, professional register that felt like a slap across the cheek. “I didn't realize you were the building owner. If there’s an issue with the overnight security detail, I can fetch the duty log for your review.”
“Maya, stop it. It’s me.”
“No, it isn't,” she said quietly, her grey eyes locking onto mine with a fierce, quiet dignity that made my six-billion-dollar net worth feel like a pile of wet leaves. “I don't know who you are. I knew a guy named Ethan who sat in a booth at the Bellweather Grill and ate a cheeseburger because he was lonely. You’re the man who owns the floor I’m paid six20 dollars an hour to guard.”
Marcus looked between the two of us, finally realizing he had stumbled directly into something he didn't understand. He cleared his throat nervously, adjusting his briefcase strap. “Ethan? Do you... know Ms. Collins?”
“Marcus,” I said, not turning my head, my voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Go to the car. Now.”
“Ethan, the Tokyo contract—”
“Go to the car, Marcus!” I snapped, my CEO authority flashing out like a strike of thunder.
Marcus blinked, surprised by the raw venom in my tone, but he knew better than to push. He took two steps back, held up his hands in surrender, and headed toward the revolving doors, his eyes darting back toward Maya with deep confusion.
When the glass doors swept shut behind him, the lobby fell silent again.
“Maya,” I said, leaning over the counter, desperate to bridge the three-foot gap between us. “I didn't lie to you about how I felt last night. Every word I said was true.”
“You let me put twenty dollars on that table,” she said, her voice trembling slightly, though her jaw remained set. “You let me sit there and feel sorry for you because you looked like you didn't have anyone in the world. You let my seven-year-old daughter invite a billionaire to dinner because we thought you were sitting by a plastic plant alone!”
“I was alone!” I shouted, the sound echoing off the three-story ceiling. “I’ve been alone for ten years! Everyone who talks to me wants a check, a contract, a board seat, or a promotion! You and Lily were the first human beings in a decade who looked at me and saw a man, not a corporate entity!”
“Then you should have had the guts to be honest with me!” Maya snapped back, her eyes shining with sudden, angry tears that she refused to let fall. “I don't care about your money, Ethan! I care that you looked me in the eye and played a role! You made me feel like I was helping someone, when really you were just... what? Slumming it? Taking a little vacation in the real world before you went back up to your penthouse?”
The word hit me like a physical blow. Slumming it.
“That’s not what it was,” I whispered.
“It doesn't matter what it was to you,” Maya said, pulling her radio off her belt and turning her back to me. “You need to leave the lobby, Mr. Mercer. Building regulations state that tenants and executives aren't permitted to linger at the security console.”
“Maya—”
“If you don't step away, I’ll have to log a security boundary incident,” she said, her back still turned, her voice tight and formal. “And I really need this job.”
I stood there for five long seconds. I could have pulled rank. I could have ordered her to talk to me. I owned the building. I paid her security firm’s master contract. I had all the leverage in the world.
And using a single ounce of it would prove every terrible thing she thought about me was right.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
May you like
She didn't turn around.
I walked through the revolving doors and out into the freezing Chicago wind, feeling colder than I had in forty-one years.
