Chapter 8 - The Auction of Hawthorne Tower
Six months later, the cold autumn had given way to the brilliant, blossoming warmth of a North Carolina spring.
On the forty-second floor of what used to be Hawthorne Tower, an official bankruptcy auctioneer was standing on an elevated wooden block, his rapid-fire chant echoing through the gutted, emptied executive suites.
"Looking for two million, two million bid, now two-point-five, two-point-five to the gentleman in the front, do I hear three?"
The entire contents of Preston Hawthorne’s executive vanity project were being sold to satisfy remaining civil judgments. His art collection, his custom Italian leather furniture, his vintage scotch collection, even the bronze bust of himself he had commissioned for the reception atrium—all of it was tagged with bright yellow auction stickers.
Standing near the perimeter of the room, disguised beneath a wide-brimmed straw hat and oversized dark sunglasses, was a gaunt, hollow-eyed young woman in a faded linen dress.
Cassidy Miller.
She had avoided state prison through her cooperation agreement, pleading down to a misdemeanor assault charge and two years of intensive probation. But the social and financial devastation was total. Her name was toxic. Every luxury apartment building in the city refused to lease to her; her former friends blocked her calls; her designer wardrobe had been sold to pay her criminal defense attorneys. She was currently working thirty hours a week as a cashier at a suburban grocery store twenty miles outside the city limits.
She stood near the display table holding Preston’s personal effects, staring down at an empty glass jewelry case.
"Looking for something, Cassidy?"
Cassidy jumped, gasping as she turned around.
I stood there, looking radiant in a blush-pink silk wrap dress, holding eight-month-old Maya on my hip. Maya was babbling happily, wearing a soft white sun hat, playing with a small wooden rattle. Beside me stood two security guards in plainclothes, their presence subtle but impenetrable.
Cassidy’s eyes dropped to the floor, her shoulders slumping in deep, humiliating defeat. "Claire. I... I didn't think you’d be here."
"I own the building, Cassidy," I replied calmly. "I came to inspect the renovations. The top three floors are being converted into an pediatric health clinic."
Cassidy swallowed hard, her fingers clutching a cheap, imitation-leather handbag that was peeling at the seams. "I... I just wanted to see if the bracelet was in the lot. The lawyers said it was being returned to you, but I thought maybe..."
"The bracelet was melted down three months ago," I said, my voice completely devoid of malice, carrying only the simple weight of truth. "The diamonds were re-set into seven scholarship rings for young women entering the UNC Kenan-Flagler Business School who survived domestic violence. The gold was sold and donated to the neonatal intensive care unit at Carolinas Medical Center."
Cassidy flinched as if struck. She looked at Maya, then looked back at me, tears welling in her tired eyes. "I hate him, Claire. I hate him so much. He promised me the world. He told me he was going to buy me a house on Lake Norman. He told me you were nothing."
"Preston was a mirror, Cassidy," I said gently, looking at the broken young woman before me. "He showed people whatever lie they were desperate enough to believe about themselves. You wanted an easy shortcut to wealth and status, so he gave you a stolen bracelet and a fantasy. I wanted a partner who shared my vision of building something meaningful, so he gave me fourteen years of counterfeit devotion."
I shifted Maya on my hip, kissing her soft, baby-powder-scented cheek.
"The difference between you and me," I added, stepping closer, "is that when the mirror shattered, you sat in the shards feeling sorry for yourself. I used the glass to cut his throat."
May you like
Cassidy stared at me, shivering despite the spring warmth. Without another word, she turned and hurried toward the service elevator, disappearing into the anonymous crowds of the city she had tried so desperately to conquer.
***
