Chapter 3 - The Morning After
The penthouse suite atop the Mercer Royale in Midtown smelled of stale espresso, burnt brioche, and the cloying, suffocating scent of Lila Hart’s gardenia perfume.
Gavin awoke at seven-thirty with a dull, throbbing headache behind his temples, the residue of three bottles of vintage Cristal he had ordered to celebrate what he had foolishly considered his total domestic dominance. He rolled over, reaching for his titanium smartphone on the marble nightstand.
The screen did not show his customary morning market summary.
It showed one hundred and forty-two missed calls, seventy-eight urgent voicemails, and three hundred text alerts from every senior vice president, board member, and public relations consultant on his payroll.
Before he could swipe to unlock, the device began to vibrate violently in his palm. The screen flashed: HARRISON CROFT — GENERAL COUNSEL.
Gavin sat up, rubbing his eyes, tossing the silk duvet aside. “Harrison. What the hell is going on? My phone has been buzzing since dawn.”
“Turn on CNBC, Gavin,” Harrison’s voice croaked through the receiver, sounding thin, breathless, and stripped of its usual smooth, ten-thousand-dollar-a-day legal polish. “Do it right now.”
Gavin grabbed the remote and hit the power toggle on the seventy-five-inch display mounted across from the California king bed.
The headline banner scrolling across the bottom of the screen in bright, alarming crimson made his stomach drop into his intestines:
BREAKING: MERCER CREST SHARES PLUNGE 28% PRE-MARKET FOLLOWING BALLROOM ASSAULT VIDEO; HUDSON HARBOR ZONING PERMITS SUSPENDED OVER OWNERSHIP DISPUTE.
On the screen, a high-definition video loop was playing.
It showed Lila Hart, wearing her emerald-green couture gown, kicking the leg of Claire’s gilded banquet chair. It showed Claire’s eight-month pregnant frame tilting precariously backward, the crystal shattering across the floor.
And then the camera panned to Gavin.
The zoom was cruel. It caught the exact moment Gavin threw his head back, his mouth wide in a roar of laughter, raising his glass in an arrogant toast while his pregnant wife struggled to keep her footing against the edge of the mahogany table.
The anchor’s voice was lethal: “...outrage continues to mount across Wall Street and social media this morning following what legal experts are describing as a grotesque display of corporate hubris and domestic cruelty. The City of New York has confirmed an emergency injunction halting all construction on the three-billion-dollar Hudson Harbor site after the Vance Family Trust exercised an immediate reversionary clause on the underlying real estate...”
“Harrison,” Gavin choked out, his throat suddenly bone-dry. “What does it mean, the reversionary clause? Claire can’t just cancel a thirty-year ground lease!”
“She can, Gavin,” Harrison said, his voice cracking into panic. “I warned you four years ago when we structured the mezzanine tranche! You insisted on using her family’s land as collateral because it saved you twelve million in private equity fees! The clause is airtight! Section 18-B! Material endangerment of the beneficiary!”
Lila emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a white terrycloth robe, her damp hair tossed over her shoulder, the diamond bracelet on her wrist catching the morning sun. “Gavin, darling, who are you shouting at? Order some mimosas, will you? My head is pounding.”
Gavin looked at her.
For the first time, he didn't see the sleek, daring, exciting woman who had made him feel twenty-five again in hotel suites across Europe. He saw an eight-hundred-dollar-an-hour PR consultant who had just detonated a four-billion-dollar real estate empire with the tip of her designer stiletto.
“Take it off,” Gavin whispered, his face turning an ash-gray color.
Lila paused, her hand hovering over the breakfast menu. “What?”
“Take the damn bracelet off, Lila!” Gavin roared, lunging across the mattress, grabbing her wrist with enough force to make her shriek. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You kicked her chair on camera! In front of three city commissioners and the chairman of Chase Manhattan!”
“Let go of me!” Lila screamed, clawing at his fingers with her long acrylic nails. “You laughed, Gavin! You told me she was a pathetic, boring cow who wouldn't dare fight back! You said she was terrified of you!”
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The bedroom door buzzed with three heavy, authoritative strikes that vibrated through the solid oak frame.
“Security,” a deep voice called from the vestibule. “Open the door, Mr. Mercer. We have officers from the Midtown South Precinct and representatives from the Supreme Court of New York.”
