Page 70 of Don't Tell

Devon steps aside. Roger doesn’t know what to do with his face.

I’m still holding the champagne flute. I set it down on the corner of a folding table as we pass it. The small chime of the base on the wood is the only sound in the room.

Carmen looks up from the table, and Frank is behind us somewhere.

We are in the lobby.

On the private elevator, he swipes his card, and the doors open. He pulls me inside. The doors close. He hasn’t spoken once since he walked in. Things move so quickly.

The numbers go up.

I’m shaking, and it’s not because of the temperature.

He takes me to the suite and unlocks the door. He walks me to the couch, sits me down, and kneels in front of me.

"Suzanne, are you okay?"

I don’t answer. It all goes by in a blur.

"Look at me."

I look at him.

"I’m going to handle it. Just sit here and breathe. It's going to be okay. I’ll make sure of it. I’m going to make a few phone calls. Do you understand?"

I nod.

He stands and takes out his phone.

The next forty minutes are the worst of my life, and I'm barely in them.

I sit on the couch and watch him pace. He paces from one end of the suite to the other and back again with the phone at his ear. He’s speaking in a tone I don’t recognize. It’s clipped. It’s specific. He says a name I think is an investment bank. He's throwing out phrases like "term sheet," "close of businesstomorrow," and "I don't care what it costs." Then he demands the controlling interest tonight and the owner's contact now.

My hands are in my lap. The shaking has moved to my knees.

I’ve been fired and now have no income starting tomorrow morning.

I have some savings in a credit union account, but I can’t think clearly.

"Henry." I hear him say.

I don’t know who Henry is. I watch his face. His mouth softens, and his jaw loosens at the same time. For one second, the combination makes him look unrecognizable.

He walks to the window, and his voice goes low.

I hear pieces of their conversation.

"Appreciate that… No, I know… How is she?"

There was a long pause. His hand comes up and rests flat against the glass.

"Alright. Yes, I'll be there."

He stays at the window for three seconds after the call ends and puts the phone in his pocket.

He turns back to me. He does not explain.

He makes two more calls. The last one is shorter. He tells the person on the other end, "It is done." He tells them to process the transition first thing in the morning. He tells them he wants Roger Tate out of the building by the start of the morning shift. No severance. No negotiation.