into something dangerous.
Applause rose.
Lena closed her laptop.
The service elevator opened behind her.
A silver-haired man stepped into the corridor wearing a navy suit and a white boutonniere pinned crookedly to his lapel.
Lena recognized him from quarterly calls and industry photographs.
Simon Vale, chairman of Calder Finch Global.
He looked at her laptop, then at her face.
“Ms. Mercer,” he said.
“Mr. Vale.”
“I thought I might find you upstairs.”
“That sounds like a security concern.”
His mouth twitched. “Only if you intended to steal the champagne.”
Despite herself, Lena almost smiled.
Simon moved beside the corridor window and looked down toward the chapel, where guests were rising and turning toward the reception elevators.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
That surprised her.
“For what?”
“For not realizing sooner that Ellery knew you personally.”
“He didn’t know me.”
Simon studied her. “No. I suppose he knew of someone he had invented.”
That was close enough to truth that Lena looked away.
Before she could answer, footsteps struck the stairs at the end of the corridor.
Fast. Angry. Uneven.
Grant came through the service door first.
His boutonniere was crushed beneath one hand. His hair had loosened at the temple. Behind him came Brielle, still holding her bouquet, veil snagged on one shoulder. Their mother followed in silver silk, her face tight with embarrassment. Their father arrived last, breathing hard, confusion darkening his features.
For a moment, the corridor held them all in a silence no one knew how to enter.
Brielle stared at Lena.
Not at her dress. Not at her shoes. At her face, as if trying to reconcile the woman in front of her with the sister she had edited into something smaller.
“What are you doing here?” Brielle demanded.
Grant answered without looking away from Lena.
“She owns Ardent House.”
Her mother gave a brittle laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Simon turned toward her. “It is true, Mrs. Mercer.”
The laughter died.
Lena’s father looked from Simon to Grant. “What is Ardent House?”
Grant’s jaw clenched.
“The acquisition I told you about,” he said. “The one my promotion was tied to.”
Brielle’s bouquet lowered. “Lena?”
There was an entire childhood folded into the way she said it.
Lena remembered braiding Brielle’s hair before school because their mother was busy. She remembered saving lunch money to buy Brielle a birthday charm. She remembered standing outside Brielle’s college dorm with boxes in her arms while Brielle introduced her to friends as “my sister, she’s between things right now.”
Between things.
As if Lena had not been holding everyone else’s edges together.
“Yes,” Lena said.
Grant stepped closer. “You should have disclosed this.”
“To whom?”
“To me.”
“You were not entitled to know the founder’s personal family history.”
“I negotiated this deal.”
Simon’s voice cut in. “You began preliminary outreach. You were removed from direct negotiations six weeks ago.”
Brielle turned to Grant. “Removed?”
Grant’s face reddened. “For procedural reasons.”
“For ethical reasons,” Simon corrected. “Ms. Mercer requested separation after a private event made your personal bias clear.”
Lena felt the corridor shift.
Brielle looked at her. “What private event?”
“Thanksgiving,” Lena said.
Grant’s eyes flashed. “That was a family dinner.”
“You called people who look like me polite failures.”
“I didn’t mean you.”
“Yes,” Lena said.
