Chapter 9 - The Empty Penthouse
The private elevator doors closed with a soft, pneumatic hiss, sealing Evelyn, her uncle, and Calvin inside as they ascended toward the executive penthouse suite at the top of the Meridian tower.
In the ballroom below, the illusion shattered completely.
The string quartet stopped playing altogether. Investors were already on their phones in corners, frantically calling their brokers, liquidating stock, and distancing themselves from Grant Whitmore before the morning bell rang on Wall Street. Margaret Whitmore had already slipped out through the service exit, unwilling to be seen sinking with the ship she had helped steer onto the rocks.
Sienna was sobbing openly now, her mascara running down her cheeks, clinging to Grant’s arm while he stood frozen in the center of the room like a statue carved out of salt.
“Grant... we have to leave,” Sienna muttered, tugging frantically at his sleeve. “Please. Look at them. They’re all staring at us.”
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Grant slowly turned his head. The ballroom was emptying out. The great and powerful men of New York were walking past him without a glance, as if he were a ghost, an embarrassment, a typo that had finally been deleted from the system.
For the first time in his life, Grant Whitmore felt completely, utterly weightless.
