“No.”
“Then why are you moving me anywhere?”
That landed.
The man with the newspaper stopped pretending to read.
Richard looked toward him, then back.
“I have been a member of this club for thirty-eight years.”
“Congratulations.”
His face reddened.
Adrienne had not intended sarcasm.
It sounded like it anyway.
Richard took one step closer.
“My family has been involved with Wycliffe for three generations.”
Adrienne’s jaw moved slightly.
“So has mine.”
Richard almost laughed.
Not loudly.
A small, involuntary sound.
That was worse.
Adrienne heard it.
His expression changed when he realized she had.
“My apologies.”
“No.”
She looked directly at him.
“Keep going.”
Richard became uncomfortable.
“I didn't mean—”
“You laughed.”
“I was surprised.”
“Why?”
Richard opened his mouth.
Nothing useful arrived.
Adrienne nodded.
“That is what I thought.”
He became defensive.
“You are trying to make this into something it isn't.”
“What is it?”
“I am confirming that someone entering a restricted room belongs here.”
“You have not confirmed anything.”
“Because you refuse to answer a straightforward question.”
Adrienne’s tone remained level.
“I answered the building’s staff when I arrived.”
“That should have been sufficient.”
Richard stared.
“Then call them.”
“I don't need to.”
“You seem to.”
He flushed harder.
“I’m saying if you believe a mistake occurred, ask an employee.”
“I am not your employee.”
Silence.
A door opened behind Adrienne.
Footsteps crossed the threshold.
A younger man in a black suit entered from the administrative corridor.
He was perhaps thirty-five, lean, clean-shaven, and wore a small gold Wycliffe pin beside his name badge.
JULIAN PRICE
EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR
He saw Adrienne.
Then Richard.
His expression changed instantly.
“Ms. Warren.”
Richard went still.
Julian approached.
“I’m sorry. Counsel’s elevator was delayed.”
Adrienne nodded.
“Not a problem.”
“The special committee is assembled upstairs whenever you're ready.”
“Thank you.”
Julian looked toward Richard.
“Mr. Bellamy.”
Richard stared at Adrienne.
“Warren?”
“Yes.”
The surname reached him slowly.
Then all at once.
His eyes widened.
“Adrienne Warren.”
She said nothing.
Richard looked toward Julian.
“The Warren Trust?”
Julian’s face tightened.
He knew enough not to answer questions that were not his.
Adrienne answered instead.
“Yes.”
Richard’s mouth opened.
No sound came.
The Warren Trust.
The largest single shareholder in Wycliffe House Holdings.
Owner of 28.4 percent of the corporation that owned the building under his feet.
Holder of one of the consent rights required before the property could be sold.
And the woman Richard had just told to use the staff entrance was its trustee.
His face went red.
Then pale.