Chapter 13 - The Death of the Old KhloeI looked out the window at the city skyline. Marcus’s name was on half the buildings out there. He thought he was a king. He thought everything was a transaction. He thought I was just collateral damage in his corporate war.
“He’s downstairs, isn’t he?” I asked.
“In the waiting room. Surrounded by three lawyers and a PR consultant. He thinks he’s going to walk in here, apologize, hand you a diamond, and tell you how we’re going to spin this to the media.”
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I looked down at the dark, ugly bruises forming on my side, then at the monitor showing my son’s steady heartbeat. The woman who had begged for scraps of Marcus’s attention, the woman who had made excuses for his coldness, died on that floor last night.
“Robert,” I said, my voice sounding steadier than it had in five years. “Call the police. I want to make a formal statement. And then, I want you to bring Marcus in here. Alone. It’s time for the king to see his kingdom fall.”
