Chapter 4 - The Penthouse Ghost
The penthouse spanned the entire top floor of the Callaway Grand.
It was a fortress of glass, steel, and cold modern art.
It was not a place meant for a six-year-old girl.
Mave walked into the massive living room, her mismatched shoes making soft squeaks on the hardwood.
She walked to a corner of the room, sat down on the floor, and folded her hands in her lap.
"What is she doing?" Donovan whispered to Greer.
"She’s making herself small," Greer replied, her voice thick with sorrow.
"She’s waiting for you to tell her where she is allowed to exist."
Donovan hated the people who had done this to her.
He walked over and sat on the floor right next to her, ruining the crease in his suit pants.
"You don't have to sit in the corner, kid," he said.
Mave looked at him warily.
"Aunt Ruth said rich people don't like messes."
"I'm not a regular rich person," Donovan said.
"I'm a guy who used to fight in alleys for twenty bucks."
Mave looked at the scar on his jaw, suddenly curious.
"Is that how you got your face broken?"
Pax, standing by the elevator, let out a loud snort of laughter.
Donovan glared at his security chief before looking back at the little girl.
"Yeah, that's exactly how."
"Listen to me, Mave."
"Every room in this house is yours."
"You can touch the art, you can jump on the couches, and you never have to hide."
That evening, they didn't eat caviar or steak.
Donovan ordered the kitchen to send up three plates of grilled cheese sandwiches.
May you like
For the first time since he met her, Mave smiled.
It was a small, fragile thing, but to Donovan, it was worth more than the entire hotel.
