Chapter 7 - The Gathering at Hartwell Tower
At 4:15 PM, a sleek black town car pulled up to the subterranean entrance of Hartwell Tower.
Daniel Cross stepped out, smoothing his lapels, adjusting his silk tie, and smiling at his father, Arthur, who looked pale and nervous beside him.
"Relax, Dad," Daniel said as they entered the private executive elevator. "I spoke with David and Julian from the analyst team. They said the chairman himself is attending today. That means they want to finalize the forty-million-dollar deal immediately. We’ll sign the papers, wire the twelve million to clear the house mortgage, and be celebrating at the country club by seven."
"I hope you're right, Daniel," Arthur muttered, rubbing his temples. "If this money doesn't post by 5:00 PM, the bank in New York freezes our operating accounts."
"It will post," Daniel declared with supreme confidence. "I have this firm right where I want them."
The elevator doors chimed smoothly as they arrived on the fifty-fifth floor. The reception area was vast, lined with dark marble and glass, overlooking the downtown Nashville skyline. Two armed security guards stood near the entrance of the main boardroom.
Marcus Vance, the managing partner of Hartwell Capital, stepped out to greet them. He was a tall man with silver hair, sharp blue eyes, and an expression that offered no warmth whatsoever.
"Mr. Cross, Arthur," Marcus said formal, shaking Arthur’s hand briefly while ignoring Daniel's extended palm. "The chairman is waiting inside. Please step in."
Daniel frowned slightly at the snub, but brushed it off as high-level corporate posturing. He pushed open the heavy double doors of the boardroom and stepped inside, his winning smile fully prepared.
The room was immense. At the far end of a twenty-foot polished oak table sat three people.
On the left sat Eleanor Hart, wearing a tailored navy suit—the posture of a woman who had spent decades dominating federal courtrooms.
On the right sat Richard Hart, his broad shoulders squared, his cold eyes fixed directly on the two men who had just walked in.
And sitting in the center chair, framed by the massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, sat Maya. I wore my dark glasses, my posture straight, my hands resting calmly on a leather folder in front of me.
Daniel stopped dead in his tracks. His smile vanished, replaced by an expression of utter, bug-eyed confusion.
"Maya?" Daniel stuttered, taking a step forward. "What... what the hell are you doing here? How did you get into this building?"
Arthur looked at his son, confused. "Daniel, who is this?"
"She's my wife!" Daniel snapped, his voice rising in anger as he pointed a finger at me. "She's supposed to be at home! Maya, get up right now! This is a high-level financial conference for Hartwell Capital! You are humiliating me!"
"Sit down, Mr. Cross," Richard Hart’s voice boomed across the silent room like a thunderclap. The sheer power of his tone made Daniel flinch, his jaw snapping shut instinctively.
"Who are you to tell me—" Daniel began.
"I am Richard Hart," my father said coldly, standing up from his chair. "Chairman and founder of Hartwell Capital. And this is my wife, Eleanor Hart, former United States Attorney."
Daniel’s face went from pale to ghostly white in a matter of seconds. His eyes darted frantically from my father, to my mother, and finally to me.
May you like
"Hart..." Daniel whispered, the name suddenly connecting in his panicked mind like a high-voltage current. "Hart... well Capital..."
"Did you really think," I said, slowly taking off my dark sunglasses to reveal the faint red marks still lingering around my healing eyes, "that I was a penniless nobody, Daniel?"
