Chapter 2 - THE PENTHOUSE ABOVE MANHATTAN
The ride up in the private elevator of the Bennett Tower felt like ascending into the stratosphere.
When the polished brass doors slid open, I stepped out into a sprawling, glass-walled penthouse that looked more like a modern art museum than a home. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the glowing, rain-drenched expanse of Central Park below, glittering like a sea of diamonds against the dark Manhattan night.
Dr. Richard Bennett was standing by the minimalist wet bar, pouring a glass of amber liquid. He had removed his muddy overcoat and loosened his tie, but the fierce, restless energy in his posture hadn't changed an inch.
As I stepped onto the pristine white hardwood floor, leaving a faint trail of dried mud from my sneakers, he turned to face me.
“Mrs. Gable,” Richard called out toward a hallway on the right. “Bring the first-aid kit, a warm set of clothes, and something hot to drink.”
A middle-aged woman in a neat gray dress hurried out, her eyes widening in immediate maternal shock when she saw me standing there shivering in my torn cream sweater and mud-stained jeans. Without a word, she rushed over, draped a heavy cashmere throw over my shoulders, and gently guided me toward a plush velvet armchair by the fireplace.
“You must be freezing, child,” Mrs. Gable murmured, gently brushing a damp lock of hair from my forehead. “Let’s get you out of those wet shoes.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, pulling the cashmere blanket tighter. I looked across the room at Richard, who was walking toward me with a steaming mug of tea.
“You’re not fine, Lily,” Richard said, setting the mug on the low glass table in front of me. He pulled up a leather armchair and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees, studying me with an intensity that made me want to shrink into the cushions. “Let’s talk about how a twenty-year-old college dropout living out of a 2012 Honda Civic ended up in Central Park at midnight, risking her own life to save my son.”
I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, feeling the heat seep into my numb fingers. I didn't want to tell him. I didn't owe him my life story. But looking into his sharp, tired gray eyes, I realized the bitter truth: when a billionaire decided to look at you, there was nowhere left to hide.
“I was sleeping in my car behind the park,” I said quietly, staring into the dark tea. “My alternator died yesterday. I spent my last twenty dollars on a gallon of gas and a sandwich. When I heard someone crying out near the drain, I went to check. It was Ethan.”
Richard’s face tightened. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “He was kidnapped,” Richard said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a dark, dangerous edge. “His mother—my ex-wife—hired a private firm to snatch him from his private academy this afternoon. They were supposed to take him out of the state, but her accomplices panicked when the police set up roadblocks. They dumped him in the park in the freezing rain.”
I looked up, stunned. “His own mother?”
“She doesn't see a son,” Richard said bitterly. “She sees leverage in a bitter custody battle. But she made one fatal mistake: she crossed paths with you.”
He stood up, walked over to a sleek mahogany desk, and picked up a heavy manila folder. He tossed it onto the glass table right in front of my mug.
“Open it.”
Frowning, I set my tea down and pulled open the folder. Inside lay a certified cashier’s check for two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, made out in my name, alongside a deed to a fully furnished two-bedroom apartment in Greenwich Village, and a complete financial clearance letter wiping out every dollar of my college debt.
I stared at the papers, my breath catching in my throat.
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“What is this?” I whispered.
“It’s the down payment on your life,” Richard said simply. “You gave my son his back. Now, I’m giving you yours back.”
