Chapter 4

Kathern walked into the small bathroom of the new apartment. She turned on the faucet, washed the dust off her hands, and dried them on a paper towel she found in her bag. She walked out the front door and locked it securely behind her.

At that exact moment, in the center of Manhattan, the rusted Ford van rolled slowly down the concrete ramp into the underground VIP parking garage of the Vaughan Group headquarters. It slid into a secluded, oversized parking spot.

Bronson pushed the heavy door open and stepped out onto the concrete. The tension in his jaw remained, but the fake, middle-class posture vanished instantly. He stood tall, radiating the absolute authority of a man who controlled billions.

His personal assistant and head of security, Dwayne, stepped out from the shadows. Dwayne held a perfectly pressed, custom-tailored black suit jacket over his arm.

Bronson ripped the cheap gray suit jacket off his shoulders and handed it to Dwayne with a look of absolute disgust. "Dispose of it," he ordered, refusing to let the cheap fabric touch him a second longer. He then slid his arms into the tailored jacket Dwayne held out for him.

"Madam Eleanor has been waiting in the top-floor office for twenty minutes, sir," Dwayne said quietly.

Bronson's eyebrows pulled together. He reached up and aggressively adjusted his silk tie. He walked past Dwayne, heading straight for the private elevator that required his biometric scan to operate.

The elevator doors slid open on the top floor. Bronson walked down the wide, silent corridor. He pushed the heavy mahogany double doors of the CEO's office open.

Eleanor Vaughan sat on the white leather sofa. She held a delicate porcelain cup of Darjeeling tea. She placed the cup down on the saucer the second he walked in.

"Well?" Eleanor demanded, her eyes bright with expectation. "Did it go smoothly? Is she happy?"

Bronson walked around his massive glass desk and sat down in his leather chair.

"The task is done," Bronson said, his voice flat. "The certificate is signed."

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. She picked up her wooden cane and tapped the metal tip sharply against the floor.

"Do not bully that girl, Bronson," Eleanor warned.

Bronson let out a dark, cynical laugh.

"I will provide the housing as promised," Bronson said. "But she is under a six-month background investigation starting today."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk.

"Until I confirm that woman isn't a corporate spy or a gold digger aiming for the Vaughan estate, my identity remains completely hidden."

Eleanor pointed a trembling finger at him.

"Your paranoia is a sickness," Eleanor snapped. "You will pay for this arrogance one day, mark my words."

Bronson ignored the threat. He reached out and tapped his mouse, waking up his dual monitors.

"I have a cross-border video conference in two minutes," Bronson said, staring at the stock numbers flashing across the screen.

Eleanor let out a heavy sigh. She stood up, leaning heavily on her cane.

"Have a little patience with her," Eleanor said softly before walking out the door.

The heavy mahogany doors clicked shut. Bronson stared at the financial data, but the image of Kathern's clear, defiant eyes as she refused his credit card flashed violently in his mind.

He ground his teeth together. He lifted his hand and rubbed his temples hard, forcing the woman's face out of his brain.

Miles away, Kathern sat on her scooter outside a rundown convenience store. She held a cold bottle of water against her leg. She pulled out her phone and dialed Eleanor's number.

The line connected quickly.

"Kathern, dear," Eleanor's warm voice came through the speaker. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay," Kathern said, her voice softening with genuine gratitude. "I just wanted to call and say thank you. You really saved me today."

Eleanor sighed loudly into the phone. "I'm the one who should apologize. I know my grandson is as stubborn and cold as a brick wall."

Kathern smiled slightly. "Mr. Bronson seems very distant, but he kept his word. He's a good man."

There was a pause on the line.

"Mr. Bronson?" Eleanor asked, a bitter chuckle escaping her lips. "Please, dear, just call him Bronson."

"Okay, Grandma," Kathern corrected herself smoothly.

They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Kathern ended the call. She stared at the black screen of her phone for a moment. She took a deep breath, letting the cold air fill her lungs.

She shoved the phone into her pocket, pulled her helmet back on, and started the engine. She steered the scooter back toward Gussie's apartment.

The thought of facing Glenwood's smug face again made the muscles in her arms pull tight. Her eyes hardened as she sped down the street.