He was tired of the grind, but seeing Veronica in person, feeling the casual, violent arrogance radiating from her, he knew exactly what she would do to Sentinel. She would gut it. She would fire the line workers who had been with him since day one. She would compromise the grid safety to save a fraction of a cent on maintenance. And she had laid a hand on him in front of his child.
The car pulled up to Nathaniel's home. It wasn't a sprawling mansion in the hills. It was a restored mid-century modern house in a quiet, heavily wooded neighborhood. Unassuming from the street, but fortified with state-of-the-art security and entirely self-sufficient on a microgrid Nathaniel had designed himself. He carried a sleeping Hazel inside, navigating the dark hallway from memory.
He laid her in her bed, pulling the dinosaur-patterned quilt up to her chin. He plugged in her nightlight, a small, glowing moon, and stood by the door for a long time, just watching her breathe. When he finally closed her door, the persona of the gentle, tired father melted away. The posture straightened. The eyes hardened.
He walked down the hall to his home office. The room was spartan. A massive oak desk, a wall of monitors, and a single, heavy leather chair. Nathaniel sat down and woke up his main terminal. The screen flared to life, illuminating his face.
The red mark on his cheek was still visible. A stark contrast to his pale skin in the monitor's glow. He looked at the clock on the wall. It was 11:45 p.m. He picked up his phone and dialed a number he rarely used this late.
It rang twice before it was answered. Nathaniel? The voice on the other end was groggy, laced with confusion. It was Brooks, his chief legal counsel, and the man who had spent the last eight months negotiating the Hale merger. Are you all right?
It's almost midnight. Wake up, Brooks, Nathaniel said. His voice was flat, devoid of any inflection. I need you at your computer. He heard the rustle of sheets on the other end, a muttered apology to his spouse, and the sound of footsteps padding across a floor.
Okay. Okay, I'm up. What's going on? Did something happen at the gala? I thought you were just popping your head in.
I did, Nathaniel said. And I saw everything I needed to see. Good, Brooks said, sounding relieved. Because Hale's people just sent over the final draft of the acquisition paperwork. They want ink on paper by tomorrow afternoon.
They're already popping champagne over there. Let them drink, Nathaniel said. Pull the contract. The line went dead silent. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint hum of Nathaniel's computer towers.
I I'm sorry, Nathaniel. I don't think I heard you correctly, Brooks stammered. Did you say pull the contract? As in stall them? No, Brooks, I mean kill it.