PART 2
Nathaniel did not wait for the old man to explain.
For a few seconds, no one moved. The huge lobby of Graves Tower, which had been roaring with voices only minutes earlier, felt like a room underwater. Even the security guards stood frozen near the glass doors, their hands hovering uselessly at their belts.
The old man swallowed hard.
Nathaniel’s voice dropped lower. “Tell me exactly what you buried, Arthur.”
Arthur.
I had seen that name before.
It was printed in tiny gold letters on a plaque near the elevators: ARTHUR BELL — SENIOR LEGAL ADVISOR.
He looked even older now than he had when he stepped out of the elevator. His white hair was neatly combed, but his face had suddenly become loose and tired, like a mask falling away.
Not here,” Arthur said.
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. “You lost the right to decide where this conversation happens.”
Arthur glanced at me, then at the eviction notice hidden inside Nathaniel’s jacket. “The child shouldn’t hear this.”
“The child,” Nathaniel said coldly, “is the reason we’re having this conversation.”
I clutched the straps of my backpack.
My fingers brushed against the folded drawing I had made for my mother during recess that morning. In it, she and I were standing in front of a yellow house with blue windows and a red door. I had drawn flowers in the yard even though we had never had a yard. I had drawn smoke curling from the chimney even though our apartment had no fireplace.
A home, I had written in purple crayon.
Now I wondered if I had been drawing something I was never meant to have.
Nathaniel turned to me, and the sharpness left his face.
“Ruby,” he said softly, “I know this is frightening. But I promise you, no one here is going to hurt you.”
I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I believed him.
Rich people made promises differently. They spoke like the world was a door they owned the key to.
Nathaniel looked toward the security guards. “Unlock the doors.”
The nearest guard fumbled with his keys.
“And bring the car around,” Nathaniel added. “We’re going to Miller’s Diner.”
Arthur flinched. “Nathaniel, please. Think before you do this.”
“I have been thinking for twelve years,” Nathaniel said. “That was the problem.”
The glass doors opened again, letting in the noise of the city, but no one in the lobby dared speak.
Outside, a black car waited at the curb, long and polished enough to reflect the gray sky. A driver opened the back door. I hesitated before climbing inside. My sneakers were wet from the puddles on the sidewalk, and I was afraid to stain the creamy leather seats.
Nathaniel noticed.
“Don’t worry about the car,” he said.
That was easy for him to say. It probably cost more than our whole building.
Arthur sat across from us, silent and pale. Nathaniel sat beside me, not too close, his hands clasped together. He kept staring out the window as the city slid by in streaks of rain and traffic lights.