Chapter 3 - The Ghost from the PastI watched the transformation in real-time. One second, Rachel was sharp and radiant; the next, she looked like she had just spotted a ghost draped in a Brioni suit.
“Marcus,” Rachel said, her voice dropping an octave into a dangerous, low register. “What a nasty surprise.”
The man—Marcus—smiled, though it didn’t reach his cold, predatory eyes. He glanced briefly at Amanda and me before locking back onto Rachel. “I told you, small world. I’m staying in the penthouse suite upstairs. Thought I might run into you. We still have unfinished business regarding the Henderson account, darling.”
“My name is Ms. Lawson,” Rachel shot back, standing up abruptly from the booth. The casual elegance she had worn moments before was gone, replaced by pure, defensive armor. “And whatever business we had died six months ago along with my professional relationship with your firm.”
Marcus chuckled, a low, condescending sound that made my hands instinctively curl into fists inside my pockets. “Don’t be dramatic, Rachel. You walked away with nothing because you couldn’t prove a single allegation. Let’s not make a scene in front of your... friends.” He flicked a dismissive glance at me.
As a professional athlete, I’d dealt with trash-talking opponents trying to get under my skin. But the sheer arrogance radiating off Marcus hit me on a primal level. Without thinking, I stood up. At 6-foot-3, I towered over him by at least four inches, filling the space between our table and his exit path.
“Is there a problem here, pal?” I asked, my voice flat, steady, and carrying the heavy authority of a man used to commanding a football gridiron.
Marcus’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. For a brief second, a flash of genuine panic crossed his face as he took in my size. But he quickly recovered, smoothing his lapel. “No problem at all. Just exchanging pleasantries with an old... colleague.” He offered Rachel a tight nod. “See you around, Rachel.”
As Marcus walked away toward the elevators, Rachel sank back down into the booth. Her hands were trembling slightly against her lap.
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I sat back down, my protective instincts flaring up in a way I didn't quite know how to process. “Who the hell was that?” I demanded quietly.
Rachel looked down at her glass, her voice barely a whisper. “That is the man who ruined my career, stole my intellectual property, and almost got me blacklisted from the entire financial sector.”
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