The Hale Inheritance 1

Chapter 5

The Hale building had two elevators.

The new one, all glass and speed, installed in 2023 when Daniel rebranded the lobby. And the old service elevator on the north side, wood-paneled, slow as hell, that Thomas Hale had insisted on keeping because "a man should have somewhere to think."

Lila only used the old one. Nathan knew that by the end of week two.

Which was why he used the new one.

It was Thursday, 6:17 p.m. He had a dinner with a concrete supplier he was trying not to offend. She had a call with Tara that she was taking in the car.

He stepped into the new elevator. Doors closing.

A hand.

Lila slipped in, out of breath, holding her phone and a stack of files that was too tall.

"Hold the door - thanks."

She saw him. Her professional smile clicked on a half-second too late.

"Mr. Hale."

"Ms. Monroe."

The doors closed.

The elevator dropped, hummed, and stopped between the 31st and 30th floor with a jerk that sent her files sideways.

The lights went out.

Emergency light clicked on, pale yellow.

"What -" she started.

The intercom crackled. "This is maintenance. We have a power fluctuation on floors 28 through 35 due to the storm. The elevators are on safety lock. Should be ten, fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty."

Rain hammered the windows outside the shaft. Nathan hadn't even noticed the storm.

Lila pressed the emergency call button. "We have two people in Elevator A. One is claustrophobic."

"I am not claustrophobic," Nathan said.

She looked at him. "You were. When you were twelve. Daniel told me you got stuck in the dumbwaiter in Greenwich and cried for an hour."

"I was twelve."

"And some things don't change."

The intercom crackled again. "We are working on it. Please remain calm."

She slid down to the floor. Her heels were off in one smooth motion. He stared.

"What?" she said. "If we're going to be stuck for twenty minutes I'm not doing it in Louboutins."

He sat down too, opposite her. The elevator was small. Their knees almost touched. For the first time in two weeks, she couldn't report to the board instead of talking to him.

"How long has it been raining?" he asked.

"Since three. You would know if you ever looked out the window instead of at that sustainable concrete report that you're obsessed with."

"I am not obsessed."

"You highlighted it. In three different colors."

"I color code."

She laughed. A short, surprised sound. Then she stopped herself.

Silence. The rain.

"18 months," she said quietly, not looking at him. "You know, when Richard called me, I told Tara I would never come back here."

"Tara Singh?"

"My business partner. She said you were -" She caught herself. "She said it was a bad idea."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I needed the money. That Monroe Consulting needed a marquee client." She picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. "That I was over it."

"Are you?"

She finally looked at him.

"No."

It was honest. It cost her.

"Nathan, you can't -"

"I know." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "I know I can't apologize on a floor and I know I can't make you forgive me because we're stuck in a box. But I need to say it anyway. That morning. 18 months ago. I didn't leave because it was a mistake."

Her eyes flashed. "You said it was a mistake."

"I know what I said. What I meant was, I was terrified that it wasn't. Lila, you were - you are Daniel's -"

"Don't." Her voice was sharp. "Don't you dare make me Daniel's again. I was Daniel's fiancée for three years. I have been Daniel's grieving fiancée for 18 months. I am so tired of being a footnote in your family's story."

"You've never been a footnote."

"Then what am I? What was I that morning?"

He had never answered that question. Not really.

"You were the first thing in that house that felt alive," he said. "And I was so - I had just buried my brother. I had just been handed a company I didn't know how to run. And you looked at me like I was someone who could run it. And then the next morning I woke up and realized if anyone found out, if my mother found out, I would lose you and the company and any chance of ever being anything other than the spare who f****d his brother's fiancée. So I said it was a mistake. Because if it was a mistake, it wasn't a choice. And if it wasn't a choice, I didn't have to be scared."

The emergency light buzzed.

Lila's eyes were wet. She wasn't crying. She never cried in front of him anymore.

"You still draw," she whispered, echoing the archive room.

"You still correct my structural notes."

"I had to. That wall would have killed someone."

"I know."

They were both leaning in now. The elevator was too small. Or maybe 18 months was too long.

His phone buzzed. Hers buzzed. The main lights flickered back on.

The intercom: "Okay folks, we are moving again. Sorry for the delay."

The elevator jerked and started descending.

Lila scrambled up, shoving her feet back into her heels. Nathan stood too.

Doors opened on the lobby. A crowd of junior analysts waiting, phones out, watching.

Lila straightened her suit. Consultant mask back on in half a second.

"Thank you, Mr. Hale. I'll send you my notes on the concrete report by nine."

She walked out, heels clicking, not looking back.

Nathan stood in the elevator alone, heart hammering, and watched her disappear into the rain.

On the 38th floor, twenty minutes later, an email pinged in his inbox.

From: Lila Monroe

Subject: Elevator

Load-bearing wall still needs to move 6ft north. Also, you are still claustrophobic.

- L.M.*

He laughed out loud in his empty office for the first time in 18 months.