Chapter 3
AT HALF PASTTEN, Erik slipped out a side door of the opera house, foregoing the grand entrance with its revolving doors and accompanying event decor. He didn’t want to see the crowds gathered on the warm late-summer night when the lack of power made the atmosphere one part borderline-apocalyptic and two parts festive. Looting on the one hand, free beer and ice cream on the other.
Garret’s sleek black Mercedes pulled up along the alley abutting the opera house, and Erik slipped in silently. The car barely stopped before continuing on its way like a ghost.
Erik took off the black mask, held it in his hands, and stared at it with a bitter taste in his mouth. Why was he so incapable of controlling his temper? In moments of stress, his anger was a comforting balm. It promised to protect him from threats and see to his best interests. Only when the crisis passed, did he realize how much his temper did more harm than good.
“You okay?” Garret looked at Erik through the reflection in the rearview mirror.
“Fine.” Erik wanted to crawl out of his skin. Already, he sensed the self-loathing climbing up his spine and churning in his chest. The look on Christine Derring’s face was one of shock, but it wasn’t fear. It hadn’t been horror. No, she hadn’t been scared until he threatened her. He hadn’t given her a chance to disappoint him. Instead, he’d reacted like a wounded animal. He scratched and bit at whoever came near, whether or not they were dangerous. He became the danger.
“Home?” Garret asked as if the answer were not painfully obvious. Where else was he going to go?
“Are the elevators working?”
“Never stopped. Your elevators are on a generator. I don’t even think the air conditioning went out in your damn palace.”
“Then yes—immediately. How’s the city?”
“Power went out in most of the boroughs and Hoboken. Staten Island was spared—go figure. Outside, the region appears unaffected. People are acting like it’s a party. Some minor crimes, but mostly public urination and drunkenness. They say power will be restored to everyone by morning.”
“What was the cause?” Erik pulled at his bow tie, unwilling to feel its restriction around his throat.
“Transformer blew, caused a chain reaction. How long were you stuck in the elevator?”
“Four hours.”
“That’s uncomfortable, but you’re used to being alone.” Garret turned around to look at his boss. His bushy gray eyebrows rose. “Were you alone?”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it.” Erik’s eyes flashed at Garret, who hemmed a bit. Garret was one of perhaps three people in whom Erik confided. If it was a verboten conversation topic, Garret would know better than to pursue it.
“You got it.” Garret faced forward and drove the rest of the way in silence.
For the next two days, Erik tried to forget the look of fear on Christine’s face. He tried to forget how he’d taken a young woman he cared for and had sworn to support and turned her into his enemy. He played punishing concertos and slammed his hands on the piano keys. He abused his gym equipment to stave off self-loathing. Even physically exhausted, his inner anguish didn’t abate.
According to his mother, Erik had always had a poisonous temper. As a child, he wasn’t quick to anger, but his tantrums, once triggered, forced his parents to leave more than one party early. In one apocryphal story, he’d singlehandedly destroyed a full Viennese dessert table when told he couldn’t go barefoot on the dance floor at a family wedding. Understandably, Erik didn’t remember the story—he’d only been two at the time, but it was enough evidence that his mother labeled his temper ‘a problem.’ Any show of frustration became an excuse to disregard his emotions as being dramatic. No negative reaction was reasonable, even if its cause was justified.
Erik’s temper blossomed into something extreme after the accident left him in his pitiable state. He was angry at everyone, from the doctors who did their best to heal him to his mother who absconded to Switzerland to the friends who supported him. Mostly, he was disgusted with everything about himself. He lost his temper at the slightest provocation and further fueled the loss with bouts of melancholy that started the cycle of self-hatred all over again. In time, he’d whittled his anger and self-loathing into something more manageable, or at least less explosive.
His monstrous response to Christine and the resulting guilt brought back the angst from a decade prior, and much like then, his best friend was the one who snapped him out of his childish sulk.
Reza Khan was the COO of Gardner Industries and one of Erik’s few visitors. The boys became friends when Reza moved to the States in the middle of sixth grade. It hadn’t been longafter 9/11. Erik’s mother had been making increasingly anti-Muslim comments in his presence, and he took one look at Reza and decided they would be friends. He could sense the isolation Reza was experiencing, and he empathized. His mother’s frustration with the new friendship was a delightful fringe benefit.
The first time Erik brought Reza home to play video games, the ice-cold tension from his mother spoke volumes, and Reza had picked up on Erik’s friendship being something of an act of rebellion. This led to tension between them until Erik broke up an attack on Reza by some older boys, suffering a broken nose in the process. Reza never doubted the friendship again.
This act of solidarity committed by twelve-year-old Erik had paid off in spades as the boys grew genuinely close. They attended the University of Pennsylvania together and pledged the same fraternity. Eventually, Erik brought Reza on at Gardner as his go-between and the public face of the organization. For professional reasons, as well as personal, they met every other day, which was why this was an unavoidable meeting even as Erik dismissed Garret of his responsibilities for the next week.
“Where’s your man Friday?” Reza asked as he entered Erik’s home, referring to Garret, who was as much a chauffeur as he was an errand boy, assistant, and even barber. He was usually around.
Erik slammed the piano lid in frustration.
“I sent him and Wendy to Aruba for the week.”
“That was…nice of you.” Reza looked at his friend. “What brought on this act of generosity? Not that you aren’t generous, but you usually like him at your beck and call. ”
“I wanted to be alone.” Erik gave Reza a pointed look.
“Worked out well for you, didn’t it?” Reza flipped through the folders he had brought. “Did you need me to leave, your lordship?” he asked with a smirk. When Erik didn’t respond with his typical quip, Reza looked over at him with a searching glance. “What’s going on?”
Erik looked at his oldest friend, who was waiting expectantly. “I did something I regret,” Erik reluctantly admitted. He sank into the armchair across from Reza with a thump while Reza waited. That was one of the things he liked most about his friend—Reza’s ability to sit and listen patiently. He wouldn’t push Erik, but he wouldn’t go away either. He would wait until Erik was ready to share it all.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Erik ran a hand through his hair. “On the night of the blackout, I was stuck in an elevator with Christine Derring.”
“Gus’s daughter?” Reza looked at him with surprise. “I didn’t know you were in contact with her.”
“I’m not—I wasn’t. I’ve kept a loose eye on her over the years. It turns out she’s been doing something similar—wanting to work at Gardner. She applied to the opera for an admin role. She’s been working there for the last year, give or take.”
“Hell of a coincidence.”
“She applied on her own, but I may have greased the wheels of the interview process. Made sure Marie knew she was my priority candidate.”
“Does she know?”
“That I knew her father? No—and she won’t.” Erik gave Reza a meaningful look. Reza gestured for Erik to continue. “When the power came back on, she saw me without my mask on and I reacted…poorly.”
“Define poorly.” Reza kept his face studiously neutral.
“I threatened her with everything next to bodily harm if she told a soul about my face. I was vicious, and she gave me no reason to be that way.” Erik pressed his fingers against his forehead before pulling at his scars. He never wore a mask around Reza.
“So she didn’t scream when she saw you?” Reza tilted his head toward Erik.
“She looked too stunned to do anything. I was verbally eviscerating her before she could respond.” Erik stared at the glasstop coffee table in front of him. “I was cruel. Needlessly so.”
“You were scared,” Reza offered in the way of explanation. “Doesn’t make it better, but it makes it understandable. Is she likely to go to the papers?”
“I spent several hours in her company. I don’t think she’s the kind of person to say anything.”
“Then why’d you lose your cool?”
How could Erik respond? For the first time in a decade, he’d shared something akin to emotional intimacy with a stranger—a beautiful woman—and the cold splash of reality when the lights went on sent him reeling. He was hardly ready to admit to himself that his feelings for Christine Derring were…he wasn’t sure what they were. Erik shrugged in response to the question. He felt Reza’s eyes on him.
“Well, regardless, it would be a good idea to have her sign an NDA,” Reza offered. “Would you like me to approach her? If she’s someone we care about, I can offer her a sizable sum.”
Reza’s concerns were on point. It was probably for the best. He didn’t think she would share his truth with the world, but he owed her at least that to make up for his behavior. This way she could move from her hovel of an apartment and graduate from Columbia debt-free. He never should have interacted with her in the first place. This would simply put everything back in its original place .
He nodded at Reza. “Make it one million. I want to see her comfortable and settled. And offer her a job after she completes her MBA. She deserves that much.” He grumbled, “And she can forgive me.”
And forget me.
“You got it, boss.”
Erik scowled in response.