Chapter 5 - The Trap at Table Twelve
Preston seemed to hear his own words only after they were already in the air.
Gabriel’s eyes narrowed.
“Roland Hale.”
Preston’s father.
The construction magnate whose company had spent eight months competing against Gabriel’s firm for the largest redevelopment contract in Chicago history.
A contract being decided the next morning.
I finally understood why Gabriel had been tense all week.
Why reporters had followed his car.
Why his board had warned him that Roland was desperate.
A public assault by Gabriel Kane the night before the vote would have been enough.
One grainy video.
One headline.
One frightened young heir bleeding on an expensive restaurant floor.
And Gabriel’s company could have lost everything before breakfast.
I looked at Preston.
“You wanted him to hurt you.”
“No.”
“You wanted cameras to see him hurt you.”
His nostrils flared.
“You don’t know anything.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
He said nothing.
David suddenly began crying.
Not loudly.
His shoulders simply folded.
“I owed money.”
Preston spun toward him.
“Shut your mouth.”
David rubbed both hands over his face.
“My wife left. The mortgage… my mother’s nursing facility… I owed people. Hale’s man knew.”
“How much?” Gabriel asked again.
“Fifty thousand.”
A waiter gasped.
David shook his head.
“He said no one would actually get hurt. He said Preston would provoke Anna. Mr. Kane would come. There would be an argument.”
“And cameras,” I said.
David looked at me.
The shame on his face almost made me step backward.
“There are three additional cameras in the private dining room.”
Gabriel’s security chief was already speaking quietly into his phone.
Preston lunged for David.
“You pathetic—”
I stepped between them.
Preston stopped so abruptly his chair toppled behind him.
For one strange second we stood nearly face-to-face.
Brown soda still dripped from the end of my hair.
His expensive cuff was stained with wine.
“You poured a drink over me because you thought my humiliation could be used as bait.”
His eyes flickered.
I saw something finally appear beneath the arrogance.
Not remorse.
Fear.
“You think my husband is the dangerous person in this room?” I asked.
I pointed toward the diners.
“Look around.”
Preston did.
A dozen phones were raised now.
The senator was no longer pretending not to listen.
The banker had moved closer.
Employees stood shoulder to shoulder outside the kitchen.
“You did this in front of people you believed would stay silent,” I said.
My voice trembled.
I let it.
“And maybe they would have.”
I looked at David.
“Maybe I would have gone into the employee bathroom, washed my hair in the sink, finished my shift, and gone home pretending it didn’t matter.”
My throat tightened.
Gabriel squeezed my hand once.
“But you wanted a witness tonight.”
I looked at the phones.
“You got them.”
The plan had required Gabriel to become violent. The only reason it was failing was because I had asked him not to.
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