He looked at Veronica one last time. There was no hatred in his eyes. There was only a profound, terrifying emptiness. He looked at her the way a demolition crew looks at a condemned building. "You're right about one thing," Nathaniel said, his voice carrying clearly in the dead silence of the room.
This isn't an environment for children. He didn't wait for the guards to escort him. He turned his back on Veronica Hale, the melting ice swan, and the hundreds of staring elites. He walked toward the exit, his strides long and measured, carrying his daughter out of the gilded cage. Behind him, he could hear Veronica's voice, artificially loud and falsely cheerful, trying to command the room's attention back to the celebration.
Just a minor disruption, everyone. Please, enjoy the champagne. To the Sentinel Acquisition. Nathaniel pushed through the heavy oak doors of the ballroom. He didn't look back.
The night air was a shock of cold against Nathaniel's skin. The valet stand outside the hotel was quiet, the staff standing at attention beneath the warm glow of heat lamps. Nathaniel bypassed them entirely. He walked two blocks down the street, Hazel still clinging to him, until the towering facade of the hotel was just a block of light in the distance. "Dad," Hazel whispered, her voice muffled against his shoulder.
"Are you okay? She hit you. " "I'm perfectly fine, bug," Nathaniel said gently. He stopped near a quiet park bench and sat down, shifting Hazel onto his lap. He finally reached up and wiped a small smear of blood from the corner of his mouth. "It didn't hurt.
It just surprised me. " "I'm sorry," Hazel sniffled. "I just wanted a strawberry. " Nathaniel felt his heart crack slightly. He pulled back and looked at her, cupping her face in his large hands. "Listen to me, Hazel. You did nothing wrong.
It was an accident. How that woman reacted, that is entirely on her. Do you understand? We do not apologize for other people's cruelty. Hazel nodded slowly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand.
She was mean. She was, Nathaniel agreed. But we don't have to worry about her anymore. Let's go home. He ordered a standard ride share from his phone.
When the beat-up gray sedan arrived, he buckled Hazel into the backseat and climbed in beside her. He didn't sit in the front. He didn't want a barrier between them. The city rolled by outside the window, a blur of neon and tail lights. Hazel, exhausted by the emotional spike, fell asleep within 10 minutes, her head resting on his thigh.
Nathaniel sat in the darkness, staring at the back of the driver's headrest. The burning in his cheek had subsided into a dull throb. But the cold anger in his stomach had crystallized. Veronica Hale had built an empire on ruthlessness. She bought companies, stripped them for parts, fired the veteran employees, and padded her margins to appease her shareholders.
Nathaniel knew all this. His board had convinced him that the $2 billion was worth the moral compromise. They had argued that Hale Industries would modernize Sentinel's grid, that the capital injection would benefit the region. Nathaniel had almost believed them. He had wanted to step back, to take the money and spend his days teaching Hazel how to ride a bike, and building elaborate LEGO castles.