Chapter 2 - The Ride to the Past
The private elevator didn't stop at the corporate suites on the upper floors. Instead, it plunged downward, sinking deep into the subterranean bedrock beneath Graves Tower.
The descent felt endless. I clutched the black leather wallet in my lap like a shield, stealing sideways glances at Nathaniel Graves. He sat silently in the corner of the wood-paneled cabin, staring straight ahead at the digital floor numbers ticking down into negative digits, his jaw clenched so tightly a muscle twitched near his temple.
Viktor stood silently beside the control panel, his expression unreadable, though his eyes kept darting to me through the rearview reflection in the polished brass walls.
When the doors slid open, we weren't in a parking garage. We were in a massive, brightly lit underground motor pool lined with black Maybachs and armored SUVs. A sleek, matte-black car was already idling by the exit ramp, its engine purring with a deep, suppressed power.
“Get in,” Nathaniel instructed gently, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder as he guided me toward the back seat.
As soon as the doors closed and we pulled out into the slushy New York afternoon, Nathaniel picked up a encrypted satellite phone from the console.
“Find Marcus,” he ordered into the receiver without preamble. “I want him at the Aldridge Street apartment with a medical team, a team of contractors, and three units of private security within ten minutes. If a single paparazzi or slumlord is within three blocks of that building, throw them in the river.”
He clicked the phone off before the person on the other end could answer. He turned to me, his gaze softening instantly.
“Are you hungry, Ruby?” he asked, opening a small refrigerated compartment built into the door. It was stocked with bottled water, artisanal fruit, and small chocolate pastries. “You said you used your lunch money for the bus. You must be starving.”
I hesitated, staring at the chocolate pastry. My stomach growled so loudly it echoed in the quiet car.
Nathaniel chuckled—a low, rumbling sound that felt surprisingly warm. He picked up the pastry and handed it to me. “Go on. Eat. I promise you, from this moment on, you will never have to worry about missing a meal again.”
I unwrapped it and took a bite. It was the richest, sweetest thing I had ever tasted in my life.
“Why did you cry?” I asked around a mouthful of chocolate, my childish curiosity overriding my fear of the powerful man sitting beside me. “When you saw the eviction notice... you looked like you saw a ghost.”
Nathaniel’s expression darkened, the warmth evaporating from his eyes, replaced by a deep, aching shadow of regret.
“I did see a ghost, Ruby,” he said softly, staring out the tinted window as the gray concrete buildings of the lower East Side blurred past. “I saw a mistake I made twelve years ago. A mistake that cost me the only two people I ever truly cared about.”
I didn't understand what he meant. I just chewed slowly, watching the rain streak down the glass.
Ten minutes later, the Maybach slowed to a crawl, turning down Aldridge Street—a narrow, decaying avenue of brick tenements and rusted fire escapes.
My heart sank into my stomach as I saw our building.
May you like
Number 442.
A rusted dumpster sat out front, overflowing with trash. A battered green sedan was parked illegally across the curb, and standing right outside the front glass door was Mr. Henderson, our landlord, wearing his stained trench coat and holding a clipboard, arguing fiercely with two men in dark suits.
