Carter Banks was no longer red. He was gray. He was looking at the exit. “It’s a mistranslation,” Carter stammered, sweat dripping down his temple. “These legal terms are ambiguous. She’s a waitress, Adrian. She doesn’t know what she’s reading.” “I have a master’s degree in comparative linguistics from NYU,” Sarah said, her voice gaining strength. She felt a sudden surge of anger. These men played games with billions of dollars while her mother could not afford medicine. “And Übertragung der Stimmrechte is not ambiguous, Mr. Banks. It means transfer of voting rights. You wrote yourself a coup into the contract.”
Just then, Klaus Vanderburg returned from the restroom. He looked like a ghost. He saw the phone on the table, saw Sarah holding the contract, and saw Adrian’s murderous expression. “Klaus,” Adrian said, his voice terrifyingly soft. “My waitress tells me your son, Stefan, is safe. The police found him.” Klaus let out a sob, a literal, gut-wrenching sob. He collapsed into his chair, burying his face in his hands. “Thank God. Oh, thank God.” “They took him,” Klaus wept, looking up at Adrian. “Three days ago. Carter. His men. They said if I didn’t get you to sign this version of the contract, they would kill my boy. I didn’t know what to do. I am so sorry, Adrian.”
Adrian stood up slowly. He adjusted his cufflinks. He looked at Carter Banks, who was now backing away toward the door. “Sit down, Carter,” Adrian said. “I need to call my lawyer,” Carter stuttered. “You’re going to need more than a lawyer,” Adrian said. He pulled out his own phone and tapped a single button. “Security, seal the exits. Nobody leaves the VIP room. Call the NYPD. We have a case of kidnapping, extortion, and corporate fraud.” Carter bolted. He turned and sprinted toward the main dining-room doors. “Stop him,” Adrian shouted. But before the security guards could reach the doors, Sarah acted. She was standing near the service cart. As Carter rushed past, she did not try to tackle him. She was five-foot-four. Instead, she kicked the brake off the heavy dessert trolley and shoved it hard into his path. Carter, looking back at Adrian, did not see the cart filled with tiered cakes and silver platters. He slammed into it at full speed. He went down in a spectacular crash of metal, frosting, and broken china. He groaned, writhing on the floor, covered in raspberry coulis.
The entire restaurant had gone silent. Diners were standing up, phones out, recording. Adrian Sterling walked over to where Carter lay groaning. He looked down at his former friend, then looked at Sarah. For the first time all night, Adrian Sterling smiled. It was not a shark’s smile. It was genuine, impressed, and dangerously charming. “Nice aim,” he said to Sarah. Sarah brushed a stray hair from her face, her heart pounding like a drum. “He didn’t pay his bill,” she said. Adrian laughed, a rich, deep sound that surprised everyone in the room. He turned to Gerard, who was cowering in the corner. “Gerard,” Adrian said. “Yes, Mr. Sterling?” “Bring a bottle of the 1945 Romanée-Conti and two glasses.” “Two, sir?” “Yes,” Adrian said, walking back to Sarah. He extended a hand to her. “One for me, and one for Ms. Bennett. She’s joining me for dinner.” “But she’s on shift, sir,” Gerard squeaked. “Not anymore,” Adrian said, his eyes locking with Sarah’s. “I think she’s vastly overqualified for this place. Don’t you agree?” Sarah took his hand. It was warm and firm. For the first time in her life, she was not invisible. She was the center of the world.