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‘I think you should leave now, miss.’ His tone indicated it wasn’t a suggestion.
‘Please! It’s a matter of life or death.’
He froze. ‘Whose life?’
I bit the inside of my lip, afraid I’d overexaggerated things a little. For all I knew, the man I’d wronged wouldn’t bat an eyelid at my actions. Truth was, I wouldn’t know until I confronted him.
‘I...I can’t tell you. But it’s urgent. And private. If you could just tell me if Mr Xenakis is in?’
For an interminable minute he simply watched me. Then he grasped my elbow. ‘Come with me, Miss...?’
I hesitated. Once I gave my name there’d be no going back. But what choice did I have? Either confess and plead my case or wait for the authorities to show up at my door. ‘Preston. Sadie Preston.’
With swift efficiency, I was ushered across the stunning atrium of Xenakis Aeronautics, through a series of nondescript doors that led to the bowels of the basement and into a room bearing all the hallmarks of an interrogation chamber.
Hysteria threatened. I suppressed it as the guard muttered a stern, ‘Stay here.’
The next twenty minutes were the longest of my life. In direct contrast to the speed with which my life flashed before my eyes after the enormity of what I’d done sank in.
The man who entered the room then was even more imposing, leaving me in no doubt that my request was being taken seriously. And not in a good way.
‘Miss Preston?’
At my hesitant nod, the tall, salt-and-pepper-haired man held the door open, his dark eyes assessing me even more thoroughly once I scrambled to my feet.
‘I’m Wendell, head of Mr Xenakis’s security team. This way,’ he said, in a voice that brooked no argument.
Dear God, either Neo Xenakis was super thorough about his interactions with the common man or he was paranoid about his security. Neither boded well.
Another series of incongruous underground hallways brought us to a steel-framed lift. Wendell accessed it with a sleek black key card. Once inside, he pressed another button.
The lift shot up, leaving my stomach and the last dregs of my courage on the basement floor. I wanted to throw myself at the lift doors, claw them open and jump out, consequences be damned. But my feet were paralysed with the unshakeable acceptance that I would only be postponing the inevitable.
Besides, I didn’t run from my responsibilities. Not like my father literally had when things got tough. Not like my mother was doing by burying her head in the sand and frivolously gambling away money we didn’t have. A habit that had veered scarily towards addiction in the last six months.
I stifled my anxiety as the lift slid to a smooth halt.
One problematic mountain at a time.
This particular one bore all the hallmarks of an Everest climb. One that might only see me to Base Camp before the worst happened.
Not a single member of the sharply dressed staff I’d spotted coming and going downstairs roamed this rarefied space, which boasted the kind of furnishings that graced the expensive designer magazines my mother had avidly subscribed to back when money had been no object for the Prestons. The kind that had always made me wonder if the pictures were staged or if people actually lived like that.
Evidently, they did.
The dove-grey carpeting looked exclusive and expensive, making me cringe as my scuffed, cheap shoes trod over it. Lighter shades of grey silk graced the walls, with stylish lampshades illuminating the space and the twin console tables that stood on either side of the immense double doors.
Made of white polished ash, with handles that looked like gleaming aeroplane wings, everything about them and the glimpse of the expansive conference rooms I could see from where I stood screamed opulence and exclusivity. The type that belonged to owners who didn’t take kindly to strangers ruining their day with the sort of news I had to deliver.
Sweat broke out on my palms. Before I could perform the undignified act of rubbing them against the polyester weave of my skirt, Wendell knocked twice.
The voice that beckoned was deep enough to penetrate the solid wood, formidable enough to raise the dread digging its claws into me...and enigmatic enough to send a skitter of...something else down my spine.
That unknown quality threatened to swamp all other emotions as Wendell opened the doors. ‘You have five minutes,’ he informed me, then stepped to one side.
The need to flee resurged. How long would a prison sentence be for this kind of crime, anyway?
Too long. My mother wouldn’t survive more upheaval. And with our landlord threatening eviction, the last thing I could afford was more turbulence.
