*"Surely he didn't mean it literally. Can you imagine?"*
*"What will the press do with this?"*
Annie heard some of it, too. She pressed closer to Lena's side but said nothing.
Then, Charles crossed the floor toward them. The crowd parted for him almost without realizing it—that was another thing wealth did well; it trained other people's bodies before it ever needed their loyalty. Victor Hale followed half a step behind, carrying a digital tablet in one hand and professional discretion in the other.
Charles stopped in front of Lena and Annie. "Ms. Bell." The way he said it—plainly, without a hint of condescension—did not relax her.
"Mr. Whitmore."
His eyes moved briefly to Annie. "Would you and your daughter come with me?"
"Somewhere quieter," Victor added smoothly. "Only for a few minutes. We've arranged a private sitting room just off the west corridor."
Lena looked at Victor, then back at Charles. "My daughter does not go anywhere without me."
"She would not," Charles said. That was the whole sentence.
Something flickered in Victor's face—not anger, but annoyance that the conversation was refusing to become manageable. Charles seemed to understand it at once.
"You both come," he said to Lena, "or neither of you does."
Lena held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded once.
---