Page 20 of The Birthday Girl
“Forty grand. With an NDA. If it ever leaks, she knows she’ll be sued into oblivion.”
Tahlia’s laugh was sharp, humorless. “So that bitch got forty grand of my money?”
“Yes, but we secured the file. No one else will see it.”
“I suppose a thank you is in order,” Tahlia said, sneering. “But next time, you call me before spending a dime. I wouldn’t have paid her a single cent.”
“It was best to get the situation contained. What if Mr. Lawson decided to sue or press charges?”
“He wouldn’t,” she replied, unflinching. “A man with his reputation? Please. The public would’ve crowned me a hero, and over half the women in this country would’ve sent me flowers after finding out myboyfriendknocked up my sister. Lawson would’ve been the punchline, not me.”
Ezra hesitated. “Still, Ms. Banks—”
“There is no still,” she cut in. “That exposure wouldn’t have weakened me. It would’ve weakenedhim.Remember that before you go throwing my money around again.”
“But—”
“Erase that word from your vocabulary when you’re speaking to me. There is no ‘but.’ You did your job, and now the problem is mine. What happens next is none of your concern. End of discussion.”
“Ms. Banks, I’d advise against—”
“You don’t advise me,” she snapped. “You mitigate risk and neutralize exposure. Those are your duties, and that is why you’re on my payroll.”
Ezra hesitated before speaking again. “…Understood. We’ll stay ready.”
“Do that.” Tahlia ended the call with a slam of the receiver, her morning ruined by the thought of Mercedes.
Her chair shot backward as she stood, the wheels snagging on the rug. Three quick strides carried her to the window, where she pressed her fingertips against the glass, leaving perfect oval prints behind. The Texas sun turned the neighboring skyscraper into a blade of light, slicing directly into her eyes.
She squinted, whispering the Konami Calm under her breath.Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, start.The chant steadied her pulse, each word cutting through the static in her head until her breathing leveled out. By the time she reachedstartfor the fourth time, her rage had distilled into something far more useful. Focus.
Tahlia wasn’t one to be taken advantage of, especially not by someone like Mercedes, who thought she was clever enough to spar but too cowardly to ever take a real swing. Mercedes had the survival instincts of a cockroach but none of the grit. She’d crawl out for crumbs, but only if the lights were off and the coast was clear. She was a parasite in the flesh. A worthless bitch.
For Tahlia, the baby shower hadn’t been tainted by what she did. If anything, smashing that bottle over Tyriq’s head had been thehighlight, the purest thrill she’d felt in years. The laughter,the flowers, the ridiculous pastel balloons, none of it compared to the sound of glass shattering against his skull.
She replayed it now, over and over, each swing in her mind cleaner and more perfect than the last. The gasp of the crowd, the spray of liquor and blood, the way his body buckled under the weight of her fury. God, it was intoxicating.
She almost wished it had been recorded in high definition. Slow-motion. Multiple angles. Why would she be ashamed of it? Why would she pretend it was a slip, or a “lapse in control,” when the truth was it had been the only honest moment of the entire charade?
Mercedes had dragged the memory back into the light, and instead of shrinking from it, Tahlia embraced it. Let the world see. Let them talk. Her image wasn’t fragile. It was forged in violence and steeled by spectacles.
If they thought she was crazy, good. Crazy women didn’t get pushed around. Crazy women didn’t beg. Crazy women made sure no one ever forgot the sting of broken glass.
Mercedes had reached for a piece of Tahlia, and that could not be forgiven. Murder was no longer an idle consideration, flitting at the edges of her mind. It had become math, the simplest equation in the world. Remove the problem. Preserve the empire.
She turned from the window, collected her coat, and slipped her Montblanc into her bag. The office around her was immaculate, as always. No trace of her day remained, nor any sign of her intent.
By the time Tahlia reached her private elevator, she’d drafted a list of necessities. She would need leverage, evidence, and a means of presentation. Mercedes had made the first move, but Tahlia would dictate every subsequent step, starting with a visit to the urban blight Mercedes called home. There was something almost reassuring in the predictability of her adversaries.They mistook money for power, and power for safety, never suspecting the violence required to keep either.
The elevator hummed as it carried her down to the lobby. When the doors parted, she stepped out, her heels clicking against polished marble. A rush of morning chatter filled the space, but it all blended into a blur. All focus was on her mission.
Detective Vega was halfway inside the elevator when he spotted Tahlia, and the sight of her yanked him back out.
“Tahlia Banks!” he shouted, his voice cracking across the lobby, dragging attention his way.
His crooked tie flapped as he charged through the thinning morning crowd, weaving around startled employees who shrank from his approach.
“Ms. Banks!” he called again, louder that time.
