Chapter 3 - The Cold Walls Of The Penthouse
Matthew’s bedroom was twice the size of Hannah’s entire apartment, but it looked more like a luxury hotel suite than a child's sanctuary. Shelves of untouched, expensive robotic toys lined the walls. A four-poster bed with dark silk sheets stood in the center.
When Hannah walked in holding a wooden tray with two grilled cheese sandwiches and apple slices, Matthew was sitting on the wide marble windowsill, hugging his knees to his chest.
""You came back,"" he said without looking at her.
""I did,"" Hannah said, setting the tray on a low coffee table. ""And I brought food that doesn't require a tuxedo to eat.""
Matthew turned his head slowly. ""My father paid you.""
""He did,"" Hannah admitted honestly, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the table. ""He paid me a lot of money because my mom is very sick, and I need medicine for her. But he didn't pay me to like you. That part is entirely up to you.""
The boy’s eyes widened slightly. ""What if I break things again?""
""Then we clean it up together, and you don't get dessert,"" Hannah shrugged, taking a bite of her sandwich. ""Breaking plates is boring anyway. If you want to make noise, we should build a drum set out of cardboard boxes.""
For the first time, a tiny flicker of genuine amusement touched the boy’s dark eyes. He hopped off the windowsill, his socks sliding against the polished wood, and walked over to the table. He picked up half of a grilled cheese sandwich, inspecting the melted cheddar with deep suspicion.
""Chef Julian didn't make this,"" Matthew noted. ""He only makes things with French names.""
""Chef Julian got a morning off because I commandeered the kitchen,"" Hannah smiled. ""Try it. It won't bite.""
Over the next two weeks, the icy penthouse began to show small signs of life. Hannah banned the guards from standing inside Matthew's room. She replaced the minimalist gray cushions with bright yellow throws she bought at Target with her own money. She dragged Matthew into Central Park, ignoring the two black Suburbans tailing them fifty yards behind, and let him hunt for smooth river stones until his knees were green with grass stains.
Every evening at six-thirty, Victor appeared in the dining room.
He rarely spoke, sitting at the head of the long mahogany table like a dark shadow. But Hannah noticed that he never brought his phone. And every evening, Matthew would glance at his father between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, secretly checking if Victor had noticed his clean plate.
One Tuesday evening, Matthew proudly laid a messy watercolor painting beside Victor’s water glass. It was a crude depiction of a black boat sailing across blue waves, with three stick figures standing on the deck.
Victor stared at the paper for a long moment. His face remained unreadable, but his fingers lightly traced the edge of the wet paint.
""The hull of the ship is too narrow,"" Victor said, his voice flat. ""It would capsize in heavy seas.""
Matthew’s face instantly fell. He snatched the paper back, his lower lip quivering, and ran toward his bedroom.
Hannah slammed her fork onto the table with enough force to make the silver clatter. ""Are you completely blind, or are you just trying to break his spirit?""
Victor looked up, his eyes turning cold. ""I teach him how the world works. Flattery will get him killed.""
""He's six years old, Victor!"" Hannah snapped, standing up from her chair. ""He doesn't need naval architecture lessons! He wanted you to tell him you liked it! If you keep pushing him away like this, one day you're going to look around this empty penthouse and realize that all your billions can't buy back the son you pushed out the door!""
Victor stood up slowly, towering over the table. The sheer physical presence of the man was suffocating. He took two slow steps toward her, stopping close enough that Hannah could smell the cedarwood and crisp mint on his breath.
May you like
""No one speaks to me that way in my home,"" he whispered dangerously.
""Then fire me,"" Hannah challenged, lifting her chin, refusing to step backward even an inch. ""Fire me and watch him go back to screaming in restaurants. But you won't, Victor. Because for all your power, you know damn well that I'm the only person in this city who isn't terrified of you.""
