He poured another drink. "Adorable," he told the window. The word sounded thinner every time he said it.
Chapter 9: Chloe Grant
Chloe Grant had won the state robotics championship at thirteen with a climbing robot she'd built mostly out of salvaged printer parts and spite, and the trophy sat on her desk next to a disassembled drone and a stack of library books about women in engineering, and none of it had ever once been mentioned in a press release about her father.
She was used to it. Being Wallace Grant's daughter meant being a prop in somebody else's photograph — the gala pictures, the charity pictures, the pictures of her father cutting ribbons with giant scissors. She had learned, at eleven, to read the news before breakfast so that nothing anyone said about her family could surprise her.
What she had not been prepared for was embarrassment — the kind that came from watching somebody you love be vulgar in public, week after week, on purpose.
She watched her father's press appearances the way an engineer watches a machine fail. The way he said "unopenable" like it was a love song. The way he laughed on the talk shows, the laugh that got thinner every week. The way he'd announced the exhibition at dinner like he was doing the boy a favor.
She'd watched the boy's video four times now. The fourth time, she'd watched it on the train downtown with the sound off, studying his hands, and an older woman across the aisle had leaned over and whispered, "That's the safe boy, isn't it? My grandson won't stop talking about him."
That's when Chloe decided to send the message.
Tiana Wells had an inbox, and Tiana Wells answered everything, and by Friday afternoon Chloe was sitting in a museum café on the South Side with a manila envelope in her lap, watching the door.
Eli arrived with Tiana, who talked for the first ninety seconds straight, then went to "look at the dinosaurs," which fooled no one. Eli sat down across from Chloe — smaller than she'd expected, close-cropped hair, a brass magnifier on a cord around his neck — and looked at her with the steady attention of someone who listened for a living.
"You're the billionaire's daughter," he said. It wasn't a question.
"I'm the robotics kid," Chloe said. "The billionaire thing is just geography." She slid the envelope across the table. "This is the official challenger rulebook. My dad's people don't publish it. I borrowed it."
Eli opened it. Inside: the exhibition terms, the timing protocol, the observation rules, the equipment list. He read slowly, like each page was a lock he was feeling out.
"Sixty minutes," he said. "One attempt. No electronics." He looked up. "A stethoscope is allowed."
"It's not electronic," Chloe said. "My dad's lawyer tried to argue it was, and my dad overruled him, because he thinks it's adorable. He thinks you're going to press it to the door and pretend to hear things and then cry." She said it flatly, without apology, because Eli deserved the truth unvarnished. "He's wrong, but you should know that's the plan. The adorable part."
Eli nodded, absorbing this the way he'd absorbed the pages. "Thank you for this."
"There's more." Chloe leaned forward and lowered her voice, though the café was nearly empty. "Cole Mercer. Head of security, ex-Secret Service. He's the one who'll pat you down, and he's the one who'll stand behind you the whole time. He's professional — he'll be polite, he'll be correct, he'll do everything by the book. But he's going to try to rattle you."
"How?"
"Little things. He'll ask you questions while you're working — your name, your school, whether you're nervous. He'll stand close enough that you can hear him breathe. He'll comment on the clock. It's what he did in the Service: controlled pressure, see who cracks." She paused. "He's not a bad man, Eli. But he works for my father, and my father wants a show."
Eli was quiet for a moment, turning the magnifier over in his fingers. Then he said, "My grandpa used to have a customer, a lady with a poodle, who would stand right behind his chair and talk the whole time he worked. He told me: the lock doesn't know she's there. Only you do. So you decide whether she's there."
Chloe felt that tightening behind her ribs again. "Your grandpa sounds like he was smart."
"He was the smartest person I ever knew."
They talked a few minutes more, and when Tiana came back Chloe stood, and at the door she turned back. Eli was already reading the rulebook again, lost in it, the rest of the café gone.
"Eli," she said, and he looked up. "Don't let him get in your head. Get in his safe instead."