Gwen found herself on the busy sidewalk, the five-o’clock rush-hour noise crashing around her. She was jobless. She was humiliated. And the check for her father’s next round of treatments was due on Monday. She sank onto a nearby bench, the city’s indifference a cold slap in the face. She had done the right thing, the noble thing, and it had cost her everything. Gwen’s phone buzzed in her pocket. It was an unknown number. She ignored it. It buzzed again and again. A relentless, frantic buzzing. Annoyed, she finally pulled it out and answered. “What?” she snapped. “Gwen. Thank God.” It was Marcus Thorne. He sounded breathless, panicked. “You have to come now. The penthouse. It’s Leo.” “Mr. Thorne, I don’t work for you, and I don’t work at the restaurant anymore. Thanks to you.” “What? Fired? Who?” “Cynthia.” “I’ll buy that place and burn it to the ground. Listen to me.” His voice cracked. “He’s sick. He has a fever. The doctor’s on his way, but he’s hysterical. He’s signing, and I don’t know what he’s saying. He keeps signing fire and man, and he’s pointing. He’s terrified. Please. I’m begging you. He won’t let me near him.”
The image hit Gwen like a physical blow. A small, sick boy, terrified, trying to communicate a danger his own father could not understand. Her anger at Marcus, her humiliation from Cynthia, it all vanished, replaced by a fierce protective urgency. “I’m on my way,” she said, already hailing a cab. Twenty minutes later, she burst into the penthouse. The scene was chaos. Marcus was on the phone, pacing and yelling. A terrified-looking nanny was standing in the corner. And Leo. Leo was huddled by the glass wall, his drawing pad clutched to his chest. He was flushed with fever, tears streaming down his face, and his hands were moving in a frantic, almost unreadable flurry of signs. Man. Bad man in the office. Fire. Fire. Hurt. Dad.
“He’s delirious,” Marcus said, hanging up the phone. “The doctor’s stuck in traffic. He keeps signing fire. I checked everything. There’s no fire.” Gwen walked slowly toward Leo, ignoring Marcus. She knelt, just as she had in the restaurant. Leo, she signed. It’s me. Gwen. You’re safe. Leo’s head snapped up. Relief washed over his face, quickly replaced by the same frantic terror. No, Gwen. The man. The man in the office. He’s bad. What man, Leo? Gwen signed, her calm projecting an authority that silenced the room. Show me. Leo pointed, not at a fire, but at the door to Marcus’s home office. He was in there when Dad was in the shower. The man in the black suit. Not Dad’s suit. A different suit. Marcus froze. “What? My office? That’s impossible. Security.” What did he do, Leo? Gwen asked. Leo’s signs became more precise. He had a box. A small box. He opened the wall. The painting. He opened the wall and put the box in. And he… Leo’s face contorted in concentration. He mimicked a spraying motion. He sprayed something on the wires. It smelled bad. Like a bad lemon.