Chapter 4

I looked down at the shattered glass and the spreading pool of red wine. I knew wine. My director at NASA was a connoisseur, and he' d taught me a few things. The color was too light for a Cabernet of that supposed age and quality. The smell was generic, fruity, not the complex bouquet of a high-end vintage. It was cheap table wine, probably a twenty-dollar bottle they served by the glass.

The entire table was staring at me, their faces a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. They were waiting to see how the cornered animal would react.

Anthony leaned in, whispering, "Gabby, just apologize. Maybe he' ll let it go."

I ignored him. I looked directly at Matthew. "The wine you serve by the glass here is a generic California Merlot. It costs about five dollars a glass. The bottle, maybe twenty wholesale. I' ll give you one hundred dollars for the mess and my dry-cleaning bill."

I reached into my purse, pulled out a hundred-dollar bill, and placed it on the table.

A flicker of surprise crossed Matthew' s face before it was replaced by pure rage. He wasn' t expecting me to call his bluff. He was expecting tears, begging, humiliation.

"You think you' re so smart, don' t you?" he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "You always did. Walking around with your nose in the air. Too good for me. Too good for this town."

He took a step closer, invading my personal space. The smell of whiskey on his breath was overpowering.

"This isn' t about the damn wine, and you know it," he said, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. "This is about prom night. This is about you getting me suspended for that physics test. You embarrassed me. In my town."

He straightened up, his voice booming through the now-silent restaurant. "Nobody disrespects me in my town! And nobody leaves this restaurant until I say so."

He snapped his fingers. Two large men in black suits, who had been standing by the bar, moved to block the exit. They were his bouncers. His private army.

The other classmates shifted uncomfortably, but no one said a word. No one moved to help. Their silence was complicity.

Matthew smirked, enjoying his power. "Now. You have two choices. You can pay me the ten thousand dollars you owe me. Or," he paused, letting his eyes roam over me in a way that made my skin crawl, "you can spend the night with me. We can finally settle that score from high school."

The room was silent. This had gone far beyond a high school grudge. This was extortion. It was a threat. My hand, hidden in my coat pocket, found the small, discreet panic button. The situation had officially escalated.