Chapter 4: The Office on the Fifty-Eighth Floor
The Moretti Group occupied the top three floors of a glass tower on Michigan Avenue.
Emma had walked past it dozens of times without ever looking up.
She looked up now.
The lobby was all pale stone and quiet.
A receptionist checked her name against a list without being asked, then handed her a visitor badge and directed her to a private elevator.
The elevator opened directly into a waiting area with floor-to-ceiling windows and a view of Lake Michigan that Emma had only ever seen in photographs.
Daniel Reyes met her at the elevator.
He was younger than she expected — mid-thirties, dark suit, efficient smile.
"Miss Carter.
Thank you for coming." He gestured toward a set of glass doors.
"Mr.
Moretti is ready for you."
Vincent's office was large but not theatrical.
A desk, two chairs, a long table along one wall stacked with documents.
He was standing at the window when she entered, his back to the room.
He turned when he heard the door.
"Miss Carter." He gestured to one of the chairs.
"Please sit."
Emma sat.
She kept her bag in her lap.
Vincent sat across from her.
He studied her for a moment — not unkindly, but directly, the way a man studied a contract he was about to sign.
"You lost your job this morning," he said.
It wasn't a question.
Emma held very still.
"How did you know that?"
"Because I know Victoria Langford." He picked up a pen from the desk, then set it back down.
"She made the call before her car reached the end of the block.
I expected it.
I'm sorry I wasn't faster."
"I don't need your apology."
"No," he said.
"You don't." He leaned forward slightly.
"What you did last night for my mother — I want you to understand something.
That isn't the first time someone has treated her that way.
It is the first time anyone has stopped it."
Emma looked at him.
"Where were her security guards?"
Something moved across his face.
"Reassigned.
Without my knowledge.
An internal scheduling change that I'm currently investigating." He paused.
"My mother has early-stage dementia.
She requires full-time assistance.
Last night, the person assigned to stay with her stepped away for reasons I haven't yet confirmed."
"She was alone in that room."
"Yes." His jaw tightened.
"She was."
Emma thought of Isabella's hand covering hers.
The way the old woman had held on without saying a word, as though she had learned a long time ago that words didn't always help.
"What do you want from me, Mr.
Moretti?"
Vincent was quiet for a moment.
Then he said, "I'd like to offer you a position.
As my mother's personal companion and daytime aide.
The role involves accompanying her to appointments, social engagements, and daily activities.
It requires patience, discretion, and the ability to stay calm when a situation becomes difficult."
Emma stared at him.
"I'm a waitress."
"You were." He didn't say it cruelly.
"What I watched last night wasn't a waitress.
It was someone who made an accurate assessment of a dangerous situation, calculated the personal cost, and acted anyway." He looked at her steadily.
"That is exactly what my mother needs."
"I don't have any medical training."
"She has a medical team.
What she doesn't have is someone who sees her as a person rather than a liability." He placed a folder on the desk and slid it across.
"The position is full-time.
The salary is here.
There is also a housing allowance if relocation is an issue, and full family medical coverage."
Emma's hand went to the folder.
She didn't open it.
"Why not hire through an agency?"
"I tried that.
Three times." His voice was even, but something underneath it was not.
"The last person I hired through an agency was the one who left my mother alone last night."
Emma opened the folder.
She read the first line of the salary figure.
She read it again.
"This is—" She stopped.
"It is a serious offer," Vincent said.
"Not a gesture."
Emma closed the folder.
She thought of her father.
She thought of Lily.
She thought of one hundred and twelve dollars and nine days.
"I need twenty-four hours," she said.
Vincent nodded.
"Of course."
She stood.
He walked her to the door himself.
She was almost through it when he said, "Miss Carter."
She turned.
"Victoria Langford will not stop at your job." His voice carried no drama, only fact.
"She will try to make certain that no one in this city hires you.
I want you to know that, so you understand what you're walking back into if you decline."
Emma held his gaze.
"And if I accept?"
For the first time, something that was almost a smile crossed his face.
"Then she has a considerably larger problem than a dismissed waitress."
Emma walked to the elevator.
She pressed the button.
The doors opened immediately.
May you like
She stepped inside and the city spread out below her, enormous and indifferent, as it always had been.
But somewhere in the building above her, something had just shifted — and Victoria Langford, wherever she was, had no idea yet.
