Beatatric stopped in front of a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall. She knocked twice and opened it. Mr. Webb is here, Miss Kinsley. Send him in, came the voice.
Abalardo stepped into the office. It was less an office and more an observation deck. Two walls were entirely floor to ceiling glass, offering a dizzying panoramic view of the city. The storm from the weekend had finally broken, and the skyline stretched out below them, vast and indifferent. Chia was standing by the window.
She was not the shivering, shattered woman from his couch. She was wearing a tailored charcoal suit that fit perfectly, her dark hair smoothed back into a sharp, severe style. She looked like she owned the building. She looked like she owned the city. She turned around.
When her eyes met Abelardos's, the intense predatory edge in her expression softened just a fraction. "Ah, "Abalardo," she said. She didn't walk to her desk. She walked to a small seating area with two leather armchairs and gestured for him to sit. He walked over and sat down.
The leather creaked under his weight. Chia sat opposite him, crossing one leg over the other. "You didn't go to work," she observed. I figured if I got fired by the CEO in person, it would make a better story for the unemployment office, Abalardo said. The cynicism slipped out before he could stop it.
It was a defense mechanism. Chia let out a short, genuine laugh. It was a startling sound in the sterile room. You aren't fired, though I did spend the morning firing three regional vice presidents, two board members, and my own brother. Abelardo raised an eyebrow.
Busy Monday. My brother Leo attempted a hostile takeover on Friday, Chia said, her tone flattening out into pure business. He bribed three key board members, falsified a vote of no confidence while I was inspecting the Chicago branches and locked my credentials out of the main frame. He thought if he froze me out for 48 hours, he could force a public restructuring. And the shoes?
Abelardo asked. Chia looked down at her feet, currently clad in sharp black leather pumps. I had to walk 20 blocks in the freezing rain to evade the private security firm he hired to escort me to a hotel. I dumped my phone because he was tracking it. By the time I reached your neighborhood, I was not myself.
She looked back up, her eyes locking onto his. You didn't ask me for anything. You didn't try to leverage me. You just saw someone who was cold and you opened your door. I saw a person, Abalardo said simply.
That's it. In this building, Abalardo, people don't see people. They see leverage. They see assets. They see obstacles.