Marcus stared at his son, his expression unreadable. He had treated this child as a broken, silent burden. And that child, with his keen, observant eyes, the eyes of a boy who watches the world instead of just hearing it, had just saved his life. The penthouse swarmed with security and later federal agents. The device, a sophisticated incendiary device just as Leo described, was disarmed. Cynthia Davies and Robert Stallard were arrested before they could even have their celebratory champagne. The media, of course, went into a frenzy. Through it all, Gwen stayed. She sat with Leo on the couch, the boy finally asleep, his head in her lap. She had fielded calls from the doctor. Leo’s fever had broken. She had given her statement to the agents. Marcus had been in his office for an hour, on the phone with lawyers, the police, and his board. The predator of Silicon Valley was back, and he was dismantling his enemies with brutal, cold efficiency.
Finally, the penthouse was quiet again. The sun was starting to rise, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. Marcus walked into the living room, his suit jacket gone, his tie loosened. He looked ten years older. He stopped in front of the couch and just looked. He looked at Gwen, her blazer singed from where she had gotten too close to the chemical-doused wires. He looked at his son, sleeping peacefully for the first time in what was probably years, his small hand still loosely clutching Gwen’s. “He saved me,” Marcus whispered. “He saw everything. And I called him delirious. I told him to eat his salmon.” His voice broke. A single tear cut a path down his cheek. The great Marcus Thorne, the man who crushed empires, was crying. “I have been,” he said, his voice thick, “such a fool. An arrogant, blind fool. I’ve been mourning a woman who left me by ignoring the one part of her that stayed.” Gwen finally looked up at him. “Yes,” she said. It was not an absolution. It was just a fact. “You have.”
He sat down in the chair opposite her. “Gallaudet University,” he said. Gwen blinked, confused. “What?” “Gallaudet University, in D.C. It’s the university for the deaf and hard of hearing. My lawyers are efficient.” He held up a file. Her file. “Gwen Vance. Graduated summa cum laude. Master’s in deaf studies and education. Currently working as a waitress to pay off exorbitant medical bills for her father, Joseph Vance, a retired carpenter who lost his hearing in a construction accident.” He tossed the file on the table. “You’re not a waitress. You’re an expert. You’re a professional. And you were serving me truffles.” “I do what I have to do for my family, Mr. Thorne,” Gwen said, her voice tired. “Just like you.” “No,” he said. “Not like me. You succeeded. I failed. I failed him.” He looked at Leo’s sleeping face. “You said I needed to start to learn.” He looked at his own large, clumsy hands. “How? Show me. Please.”