She looked at the food, then at me. She stepped back and opened the door wider.
"Good morning," I said, walking in and setting the trays on the table by the window.
She nodded a greeting and sat down. She picked up her chopsticks, inspecting the fish. She looked at me, raising an eyebrow.
"Salted," I said, answering the unspoken question. "Just a little."
She took a bite. She chewed slowly, then nodded in approval.
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It was a comfortable silence. She reached for the sketchbook on the table and flipped it open to a fresh page. She scribbled something quickly and turned it around.
It was a drawing of a fish with a smiley face, giving a thumbs up.
I chuckled. "High praise. Thank you."
She smirked, a tiny expression that lit up her face. She was becoming normal. Or as normal as someone like us could be.
The peace was broken by the vibration of my phone on the table.
I glanced at the screen. Marcus Thorne.
"Excuse me," I said to Kimiko. I picked up the phone. "Thorne. What is it?"
"Sir," Marcus's voice was professional, but there was an edge of urgency to it. "We just received a priority communique from Vought Tower. From the executive office."
I wiped my mouth with a napkin. "Stan Edgar?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Edgar is requesting a meeting with you."
"…regarding?"
"They're being vague, sir. 'Urgent security acquisition and consultation.' They asked if you could be at Vought Tower within the hour."
"Tell them I accept," I said. "Prepare the convoy. Full formal detail. I want the armored SUVs."
"Understood, sir. Convoy will be ready in ten minutes."
I hung up the phone.
Kimiko had stopped eating.
"I have to go out," I said in Japanese.
She tilted her head, pointing a chopstick at the phone. 'Trouble?'
"Business," I corrected. "Vought wants a meeting."
At the word "Vought," her hand clenched into a fist on the table. Her eyes darkened. She looked at the door, then back at me, her body tense. She made a gesture… two fingers walking, then pointing at herself. 'I go with you.'
"No," I said gently but firmly. "It's a meeting in their tower. Homelander might be there. It's too dangerous for you."
She frowned, looking unhappy. She pointed at me, then made a fist. 'You fight?'
"I'm not going to fight," I said. "I'm going to sell them things. I'm going to smile and shake their hands and take their money. It's a different kind of war."
She studied my face for a long moment. She didn't like it, but she trusted me. Slowly, her hand relaxed.
"Stay here," I told her. "Marcus has the perimeter locked down. No one gets in. You are safe. Watch your drama show. The one with the samurai. Practice your drawing. I will be back soon."
She nodded.
I stood up. "Finish the soup. It's good for you."
I walked out of the room. The underground garage was a hive of activity. Security personnel were checking weapons and earpieces. Five black Spencer Industries SUVs were lined up, engines idling, their polished armor gleaming under the harsh lights.
Marcus opened the rear door of the third vehicle.
"Sir," he said. "We're locked and loaded. Route is clear."
I nodded and slid inside. I adjusted my tie in the reflection of the window. Navy blue suit today. Power tie. I looked like a shark in human skin.
The convoy rolled out. We hit the streets of Manhattan, a line of black steel cutting through the yellow cabs and traffic. People stopped on the sidewalks to watch us pass. Wealth and power always drew a crowd.
We pulled up to the VIP entrance of Vought Tower twenty minutes later.
The building loomed over us, a black obelisk of corporate dominance. Statues of The Seven stood guard in the plaza… Homelander looking noble, Maeve looking fierce. It was all a lie carved in bronze.
My door opened. I stepped out, flanked immediately by Marcus and three other guards.
Waiting just inside the glass doors was a welcoming committee. Madelyn Stillwell stood at the front, flanked by two junior executives who looked terrified.
I buttoned my jacket and walked toward the doors. The automatic glass slid open.
"Mr. Spencer," Madelyn said, stepping forward with a bright smile. She extended her hand. "Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. We truly appreciate it."
I took her hand. "Ms. Stillwell. Always a pleasure. When Stan Edgar calls, one tends to answer."
"He's very eager to see you," she said, gesturing towards the elevators. "These are difficult times. We value our partners."
"I heard about the trouble," I said as we walked through the lobby. "The Z-Drug crisis. Terrible business. And the fire in Pennsylvania?"
Madelyn didn't break stride, but her smile tightened just a fraction. "A tragic accident. We're very concerned about the safety of all our facilities right now. Hence the meeting."
"Of course," I said smoothly. "Safety first."
We reached the executive elevators. Stillwell scanned her badge and the doors opened. We stepped inside, Marcus following close behind.
The ride to the 99th floor was silent. The air was thick with unsaid things. Stillwell was radiating stress. I could smell it on her… expensive perfume masking the scent of fear sweat.
The doors opened onto the executive floor. It was quiet and the carpet thick enough to swallow footsteps.
"Mr. Edgar is in his office," Stillwell said, leading the way.
We reached the double doors.
"Mr. Spencer," she said. "Mr. Edgar requested a private audience."
I turned to Marcus. "Stand by."
"Sir," Marcus nodded, taking a position by the door, his eyes scanning the hallway.
I opened the door and walked in.
Stan Edgar was sitting behind his desk. The room was lit mostly by the natural light from the massive window that overlooked the city. He didn't look up immediately. He finished signing a document, closed the folder and placed it precisely on a stack.
Then he looked at me. His face was unreadable, his eyes dark and intelligent.