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“Pleasure’s all mine, Alex.” He looks over his shoulder. “Crazy weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Crazy indeed…”
“Why did you want me to meet you here?” My dad checks his watch. “I have a really busy campaign schedule.”
“It’s protocol,” Flower Shop Guy says. “Making sure we’re on the same page before we take things any further.”
“I paid you the deposit. We’re definitely on the same page.”
Paling, my father looks up at the screen as this scene plays. Since he knows the ugly, revealing words that are soon to follow, he quickly pushes his way through the crowd, rushing his way toward the back of the room.
“Once we do this, there’s no going back,” Flower Guy says, right as my father makes it to the door.
“I know. I don’t want her to suffer, though. Nothing too hurtful okay?”
The crowd sucks in a collective gasp, and the room suddenly becomes silent. A few women in the audience shout in disbelief, and my heart drops all over again like I’m hearing his hurtful words for the first time.
He keeps the phone up to his ear, taking the small spiral staircase down to the other ballroom, to the hidden elevators where he can escape.
“You’re missing the best part of the film,” I say. “The part when you say that you want me, gone-gone.”
“I still do.” He hisses. “Now, more than ever.”
I swallow, keeping calm like Michael taught me. Not showing any emotions, ignoring the heavy ache in my chest. “Because you honestly think that I was a liability to your stupid ass campaign? That murder was the best way for you to win?”
“I wanted you gone because you’re a cunt just like your mother.” His words are slow and searing, the first ones that slip under my skin. “You only care about yourself, and you’re completely ungrateful for the lifestyle I’ve provided for you. You’re willing to embarrass me to no end, willing to cost me everything.”
“I’ve never done anything to hurt you,” I say. “I hated you at times, but—”
“What did you do to prevent the guy I hired from doing his damn job, huh?” He cuts me off. “Fuck him just like you’ve fucked all of the other customers in Club Swan?”
“I never fucked any of those customers!” I can’t help but yell. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
“What was it like, for you, then?” It’s not a question; he keeps talking. “Because I can tell you what it was like for me. Night after night, fielding calls from news reporters who wanted money to hide your filthy little secret from the papers and prevent it from embarrassing me.”
“Is your ego that fragile? Is my personal life really that detrimental to yours?”
“You cost me a five hundred-million-dollar deal last year, Meredith.” He hisses. “Disney walked away from my pending deal of a lifetime because one of their lead executives saw the daughter of a so-called ‘family-man’ twirling around, damn-near naked, onstage.”
At least you’re saying ‘so-called’. “Maybe you should’ve asked him why he was at Club Swan in the first place,” I say. “Maybe you should’ve taken a hit out on him.”
“I honestly considered it,” he says, smoothly as ever. “But then I realized just how much I’ve paid over the years to prevent you from dragging my reputation down the drain.”
“I can guarantee that’s exactly where it’s heading right now…”
He lets out a defiant laugh as he moves through the hallway, as he ignores those who are approaching him for autograph and picture requests—those who haven’t yet seen the film that’s playing in the ballroom.
“I doubt anyone will believe that it’s anything more than a badly filmed simulation, the moment my team gets done with it,” he says.
I don’t respond to that. I watch as he takes the grand staircase to the next level, as he slips into the room that leads to a private bank of elevators.
“You didn’t think about that part, did you?” He shatters our brief silence. “That’s another unfortunate problem you’ve always had. Meredith. The failure of following through, and simply acting without thinking.”
“I think you’ll be quite surprised at how well I thought this through, Dad.”
“Then I think we can both agree that you shouldn’t call me by that name that anymore.:
“I did it on purpose,” I say. “I just wanted to taste bile on my tongue one last time.”
His arrogant laugh comes through the line again, and then he ends the call. I tap my screen and see him placing three calls to his executive advisor, his chief of lawyers and his public relations director. He’s leaving short, “I need you to meet me at the office now,” voicemails, but he has no idea that they’ll never receive his messages.
Michael has rerouted them to a separate burner phone.
Knowing exactly where he’s heading next, I make my way to the emergency stairwell and run down fifteen flights to the private garage.
