Chapter 2: Who Brought This Glass Upstairs
The question stayed in the air after I asked it. Who brought this drink?
Lucia didn't move her finger. She kept it pointed at the cut crystal glass in the center of my desk, right between the stack of leather books and the little gold lion. The water inside was perfectly still. The daylight coming through the sheer curtains made a bright line across the polished mahogany.
Elena was the first to break. She took a quick breath and stepped forward from behind Lucia, her hands already reaching.
"It's nothing, sir," she said. Her voice was tight. "It's just your water. I brought it up like always. Ten o'clock service."
She said it too fast, and she didn't look at me. She looked at the glass. She reached for it with both hands the way you clear a table, anxious to be done.
I put my hand out. I didn't grab her wrist. I just laid my tattooed hand flat on the desk, between her and the glass, my palm down. My dark ring caught the light.
"Don't," I said.
She froze with her hands in the air. Color rose in her cheeks under the white cap.
"Sir, please," she said quietly. "Let me take it. I'll bring you a fresh one. This one has been sitting."
That was the lie. It was too practiced. I could hear the shake in it. I kept my hand where it was and looked at her properly for the first time that morning. She was twenty-something, shoulders high, apron pressed, eyes darting to the door like she expected someone else to walk in.
"Elena," I said. "Who handed you this glass?"
She swallowed. "It's routine. It's just water from the kitchen. I carried it up."
I shifted my hand and slid the glass back toward me, away from the edge of the desk. The crystal scraped lightly on the wood. I didn't lift it. I didn't want my fingerprints on the rim. I left it centered where the light hit it, but now it was on my side of the desk, out of her reach.
"No one touches it," I said. I said it calmly, but I meant it. I glanced down at Lucia.
She was still beside my chair, her yellow dress bright against the dark leather. Her bow was a little crooked. She looked up at me, not at Elena. Her face was serious, not scared. She was breathing normally, small steady breaths.
Elena tried again, softer this time. "Lucia, honey, don't say that," she whispered to her. "You're going to get us in trouble."
Lucia didn't answer Elena. She leaned in a little closer to my desk and sniffed once, just barely, her nose wrinkling.
I remembered what she'd said a minute earlier, that strange adult sentence in that small voice. Sir, you're not tired, you're drugged. And then Elena had hushed her.
I turned my chair slightly so my body was between Lucia and Elena. I kept my voice low.
"Lucia," I said. "Tell me again."
She pointed once more, her fingertip steady, maybe an inch from the water.
"I smelled something strange," she said.
It was exactly the same as before. No extra words. Just that. She said it like she was reporting a fact she was sure about, calm and earnest.
Elena made a small sound. "She's four," she said to me quickly. "She smells markers and thinks everything is strange. Sir, I've worked here three months, I would never—"
I cut her off, not unkindly, but clearly.
"I didn't ask if you would," I said. "I asked who gave it to you downstairs."
Elena's hands twisted in her white apron. She stared at the glass now safely under my hand. For a second I thought she was going to deny it again.
Then her shoulders dropped a fraction.
"I carried it up," she said. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I did. I came from the kitchen pantry hall. But I didn't pour it. It was already poured. On the tray. Someone left it there for you."
The daylight moved a little through the curtains and across her face. I could see she was holding back tears, not from sadness but from pressure.
"Who left it?" I asked.
"I don't know," she said. "It was just there. With your name on the little card, like always. I thought I was supposed to bring it right up."
I didn't take my hand off the desk. The glass sat there, untouched, the water clear, the desk reflecting it underneath.
"Okay," I said. "Step back into the hall, Elena. Wait there. Don't go down to the kitchen. Don't touch anything."
She hesitated, looking at Lucia, then at me, then at the door.
"Yes, sir," she said.
She backed up slowly, opened the heavy office door just enough to slip through, and pulled it closed. I heard her stop right outside. She didn't walk away.
May you like
Lucia was still beside me. I looked down at her and she looked up at me. I reached over and gently straightened her big yellow bow without saying anything. She let me.
The glass stayed where it was, right in the center of the desk, with my hand guarding it, the water inside completely still.
