“Oops,” Diane said with a half-smile, not pretending for a second that she was sorry. The shock of the near-freezing water caused my baby to kick hard inside me.
“Try to see the positive,” she added, raising her glass. “Now you actually look presentable.”
Brendan let out a burst of laughter.
Jessica looked at my soaked shoes and said in a light voice: “Someone bring her an old towel. We don’t want that smell on the expensive linen.”
The water dripped onto the Persian rug.
The same rug I had approved three years ago in the renovation budget for the corporate headquarters.
I took a deep breath.
Not for them.
For my daughter.
Jessica laughed again.
“Who are you calling? A charity? It’s Sunday, honey.”
“Brendan,” Diane sighed while pouring more wine, “give her twenty dollars for a cab and make her disappear.”
I didn’t answer.
I opened the contact saved as “Arthur – EVP Legal” and waited.
He answered on the first ring.
“Cassidy?” he said immediately. “Are you alright?”
I looked Brendan straight in the eyes.
“No. Execute Protocol 7. Now.”
There was a brief silence on the other end.
Arthur knew exactly what that order meant.
“Cassidy… if I activate it,” he said cautiously, “the Morrisons could lose everything.”
“They already lost it,” I replied, placing the phone on the glass table. “Make it effective.”
Brendan frowned.
“Protocol 7? What the hell is that? Another one of your dramas?”
I held his gaze while the water continued to fall from my hair onto the pristine floor.
Then, outside, we heard brakes.
