"For your assistance on Tuesday," Caldwell replied, his tone suggesting he found this conversation incredibly tedious. "Mr. Hayes is very appreciative that you stayed with his mother until her transportation arrived. He wishes to reimburse you for your time and any inconvenience."
Sadie stared at him. Mr. Hayes: Beatrice's son, the one who treated her like porcelain.
She looked at the envelope. It was thick; the paper looked expensive. There was probably more money in there than she made in six months. All she had to do was take it, sign a piece of paper saying she wouldn't talk about a bleeding old woman she didn't want to talk about anyway, and her rent problems would vanish. Her hand twitched.
But then she remembered Beatrice's pale blue eyes in the booth, the fierce, terrifying grip of her frail hand, the way she drank that terrible coffee just to spite the cold. Beatrice hadn't wanted her son to know; Beatrice had been humiliated by her own frailty.
This envelope wasn't a thank-you. It was a broom sweeping up a mess. It was an eraser.
"I don't want his money," Sadie said. Her voice shook slightly, betraying her; she hated herself for it.
Caldwell's impeccably groomed eyebrows twitched upward just a fraction of an inch. "Excuse me?"
"I said I don't want it. Tell Mr. Hayes I'm not a charity case, and I'm not a liability. His mother fell. I gave her a napkin. End of transaction."
Frank grabbed Sadie's arm, his fingers digging into her bicep. "Are you insane?" he muttered under his breath. "Take the envelope, Sadie!"
She yanked her arm away. "Back off, Frank!"
Caldwell stood perfectly still. He slowly lowered the envelope, his eyes narrowing as he re-evaluated the exhausted girl in the stained apron.
"Ms. Miller, I highly recommend you take the envelope. Mr. Hayes does not like to leave loose ends, and he certainly does not like to be refused."
"Then he should have come down here and handed it to me himself," Sadie fired back, adrenaline finally burning away the fatigue, "instead of sending his errand boy to buy my silence."
The insult landed. Caldwell's jaw tightened; the polished veneer slipped just enough to reveal the cold, hard machinery underneath.