Chapter 4 - The Drive to 4th Street
Junie ate the first half of her hamburger with a slow, methodical precision that broke Colton’s heart more than any tearful outburst could have. She chewed twenty times per bite, exactly as Grandma Elena had taught her, making sure nothing was wasted, licking a stray drop of melted cheese off her thumb with delicate care.
Colton watched her without touching his own coffee, which Miller had brought in a desperate attempt to redeem himself.
“You’re not eating,” Junie observed, pausing with her milkshake straw between her lips.
“I’ve already had breakfast,” Colton lied smoothly. He hadn’t eaten since a protein shake at 5:00 AM, but the thought of food while sitting across from a child who rationed her bites like medicine made his stomach feel hollow in an entirely different way.
“You should take the other one for later,” Junie said, pointing at the second wrapped burger sitting untouched on the tray. “If you don’t eat, you get that hollow feeling under your ribs. Then your voice sounds like gravel.”
Colton let out a low rumble that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so much like a sigh.
“My voice always sounds like gravel, Junie. That’s just manufacturing defects.”
When they finished—Junie wrapping the second burger carefully in its original paper and slipping it into her yellow jacket pocket with an expression of intense concentration—Colton stood up and signaled the manager with a single flick of two fingers.
Miller was there in three seconds flat.
“The bill, Mr. Vale?”
“Settled,” Colton said, dropping a crisp hundred-dollar bill onto the tray despite the meal costing less than twenty. “Keep the change, Miller. Buy yourself a new towel. One that doesn’t smell like desperation.”
Outside, the Seattle rain had turned into a steady, gray mist that coated the sidewalks in a slick sheen of moisture.
Colton reached for his umbrella, but before he could open it, a black Maybach S-Class slid silently to the curb beside them, its tinted windows gleaming like wet obsidian. The rear door clicked open instantly, and a tall, impeccably dressed man in a dark suit stepped out, holding a second, larger umbrella.
“Mr. Vale,” the driver said, nodding respectfully. “Shall I bring the car around to the garage?”
“No, Marcus,” Colton said, gesturing toward Junie, who was staring at the sleek vehicle with undisguised awe. “We have an errand on 4th Street.”
Marcus glanced at Junie, his expression professional and unreadable, though a microscopic softening occurred around his eyes. “Shall I call ahead?”
“Unnecessary. We’re dropping in unannounced.”
Junie clutched her pocket where the wrapped burger lay safe. “Are you taking me home in the spaceship car?”
“It’s a German sedan, not a spaceship,” Colton corrected, holding the door for her as she climbed into the leather-lined interior that smelled of cedar and fine leather. “Though the suspension is designed to handle rough terrain, which should accommodate your street quite nicely.”
As the Maybach glided away from Harbor Grill, leaving Miller standing under the dripping awning like a forgotten prop in a bad play, Colton dialed a number on his encrypted satellite phone.
“Vance,” he said quietly as the car merged into the morning traffic.
“Sir? I thought you were reviewing the Vancouver port acquisitions.”
“Cancel the morning portfolio review,” Colton instructed, his eyes fixed on the gray blur of the Seattle skyline passing the window. “And call Dr. Harrison at Swedish Medical Center. Tell him I need an immediate, off-the-books house call on 4th Street. Bring the full diagnostic kit. Respiratory and cardiac.”
There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “Sir? Is someone in your family—?”
“Do it, Vance,” Colton cut him off, his voice carrying the absolute weight of command. “And have my legal team pull the property records for the green house with the blue rope behind the laundromat. I want to know every lien, tax assessment, and municipal threat against it by noon.”
“Understood, Mr. Vale. Right away.”
Junie was pressing her nose against the cool glass of the Maybach, watching the city blur past. She reached into her pocket, felt the paper-wrapped burger, and then looked up at the billionaire with absolute seriousness.
“You know what?” she said softly.
“What, Junie?”
“You’re not just an investor.”
May you like
“Is that so?”
“No,” she nodded sagely. “You’re a rescue vehicle.”
