Chapter 4 - The Celebrations of the Blind
By Saturday afternoon, the viral clip of Sloane Mercer pouring Coke over Grace’s head had reached four million views.
Sloane was sitting on the plush leather couch in Evan Caldwell’s penthouse apartment, wearing a silk robe and sipping a mimosa while her tablet buzzed continuously with notifications.
"Look at this, babe!" Sloane squealed, showing her phone screen to Evan, who was standing in front of a mirror adjusting his designer golf shirt. "I got an email from a talent agency in Los Angeles! They want to discuss a reality show contract based on 'unfiltered social comedy'!"
Evan laughed, checking his golden Rolex watch. "See? I told you that high-and-mighty waitress was gold. The way she stood there with that stupid, serious look on her face... 'Explain this to my husband.' Man, I almost choked on my steak!"
"What do you think her husband actually does?" Sloane snickered, popping a strawberry into her mouth. "Drives a tow truck? Works security at a warehouse?"
"Who cares?" Evan sneered, pouring himself a mimosa from the crystal carafe on the table. "Some low-life who can't even afford to buy her a dress that fits. My dad's closing the port deal with Dominic Rainer on Tuesday. Two hundred million dollars, Sloane. After Tuesday, I’m buying a yacht, and we’re taking a month-long trip to Saint-Tropez."
"Is Rainer really as scary as people say?" Sloane asked, casually scrolling through the comments under her video. "My manager said Rainer controls every shipping lane from here to Jersey."
Evan waved his hand dismissively. "He’s just an old-school brute who got lucky with land acquisition forty years ago. My dad knows how to handle guys like him. You throw a few million in consulting fees at his shell companies, stroke his ego, and he signs whatever you put in front of him. Money talks, Sloane. Guys like Rainer only understand numbers."
While Evan and Sloane were drinking champagne, Harrison Caldwell was landing at Baltimore-Washington International Airport in his private Gulfstream jet.
Harrison was a man of sixty, with silver-trimmed hair, sharp blue eyes, and a tailor-made Italian suit that disguised the rising blood pressure he fought daily. He walked down the air stairs directly into the back of an armored black sedan where his chief legal counsel, Richard Hayes, was waiting for him.
"How was Miami, Harrison?" Hayes asked, handing the billionaire a leather-bound briefing folder.
"Hot and full of idiots," Harrison growled, opening the folder. "Did the final loan paperwork from Eastern State Bank clear?"
"Conditionally," Hayes said, his tone unusually hesitant. "The bank has approved the hundred and twenty million dollar credit facility, but the terms are strict. The docking rights agreement with Rainer Enterprises must be executed by noon on Tuesday. If Rainer doesn't sign, the bridge loan automatically triggers a cross-default clause on all our commercial properties downtown."
Harrison grunted. "Rainer will sign. He wants the port development as much as we do. His logistics network needs our retail infrastructure."
"There is... one other thing, Harrison," Hayes said, nervously tapping his fingers on his knee.
"What?"
"Your son, Evan."
Harrison let out a tired, annoyed sigh. "What did he do now? Did he crash another sports car? Did he buy another ridiculous watch on the corporate card?"
"No," Hayes said, opening his iPad and hovering his finger over a video file. "He was at Harbor House on Friday night with his girlfriend. They got into an altercation with one of the waitstaff. It was live-streamed. It’s gone viral."
Harrison didn't even look at the screen. He waved his hand dismissively toward the car window.
"I don't care about Evan's internet foolishness, Richard," Harrison barked. "He's thirty-one years old. If some low-wage waitress wants to sue him for emotional distress, pay her ten grand from the public relations settlement fund and make her sign an NDA. I am forty-eight hours away from cementing the Caldwell legacy forever. Don't bore me with viral videos."
"Harrison, the woman in the video—"
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"I said I don't care!" Harrison snapped, closing his briefing folder with a sharp thud. "Tell Evan to stay out of the newspapers until Tuesday morning. Once Rainer signs that lease, Evan can throw Coke at whoever he wants."
The black sedan sped down the highway toward the city, leaving the warning unspoken, while the timer on the Caldwell family's empire ticked down toward zero.
