Chapter 3 - The Broken Glass
The smell inside the laundromat was a stale mixture of bleach, damp wool, and old iron.
"I told you, Vasquez!" the man with the gold tooth was snarling, completely oblivious to Edward’s entrance. "You're short fifty bucks on this week's rent for the basement room! I don't give a damn if your kid hasn't eaten! You fold these hotel sheets by midnight, or your bags are on the curb by six A.M.!"
"Please, Mr. Vance," Claire’s voice was raspy, laced with desperation that tore through Edward like jagged glass. "I’ll work tomorrow’s morning shift for free. Just give me until Friday. Lily is sick, she needs—"
"I don't give a damn about—" Vance started, raising his hand aggressively toward her face.
"Touch her," a voice echoed from the doorway, cold as arctic ice, "and you will not live to see tomorrow sunrise."
Vance whirled around, his brow furrowing in anger. "Who the hell are you? This is private property, old man, get the—"
Vance’s words died in his throat as Edward stepped fully into the fluorescent light.
Even without his coat, in his tailored suit, Edward exuded an aura of immense, unyielding power. But it was the look in his eyes—a terrifying, predatory glare—that made the heavy-set landlord step back an inch.
Claire stopped dead. The white bedsheet slid from her fingers, pooling onto the dirty floor.
Her breath hitched. The color completely drained from her face, leaving her ghost-white.
"D... Dad?" she whispered.
The word was so small, so fragile, it sounded like it might break in the air between them.
Edward set the box of food down on a nearby folding table with extreme care. Then, slowly, he set Lily down on her feet. Lily immediately ran to her mother, wrapping her small arms around Claire’s knees.
"Mommy!" Lily chirped happily. "Look! The nice man brought the chocolate cake! And he has the picture from under the bed!"
Claire didn't look at the cake. She didn't look at Lily. Her eyes were locked onto Edward, wide with a terrifying mixture of shock, humiliation, and sudden, defensive fury.
"What are you doing here?" Claire’s voice trembled, her hands balling into tight fists at her sides. "How did you find me? Did you hire someone to track me down again? To laugh at me?"
"Claire... no," Edward said softly, taking a step toward her. His eyes were red, brimming with tears he could no longer hold back. "I didn't track you. Lily came into the café. She... she recognized your picture."
Claire looked down at her daughter, stunned, then back at Edward. The shock in her eyes quickly hardened into a rigid, impenetrable wall of protective anger.
"Leave, Dad," she said coldly, wrapping her arms around Lily and pulling her behind her back. "We don't want your money. We don't want your food. We don't need anything from you."
"Vasquez!" Vance interrupted, regaining his bravado and stepping between Edward and Claire. "I don't care who this suit is! You owe me fifty dollars, plus twenty for the late fee, and—"
Edward didn't even look at Vance. He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out a thick leather wallet, extracted a stack of hundred-dollar bills without counting them, and slammed them directly onto Vance’s chest.
"There is five thousand dollars," Edward said, his voice dangerously low. "Take it, get out of this building, and if you ever speak to my daughter in that tone again, I will buy this entire block, tear it down, and bury you under the rubble."
Vance looked at the money, then at Edward’s icy glare. He swallowed hard, his gold tooth flashing nervously, grabbed the cash, and scrambled out the front door without another word.
The heavy glass door swung shut. Silence descended upon the laundromat, heavy and suffocating.
Claire stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights, staring at her father. Tears finally broke over her lower eyelids, streaming down her hollow cheeks.
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"Why did you do that?" she sobbed, her voice breaking. "Why do you always have to throw your money around like you own the world? You ruined my life five years ago, Dad! You drove me away! And now you show up here to watch me drown?"
"Claire, please..." Edward whispered, taking another step forward, his hands outstretched, open, and trembling. "Look at me. Please... just look at me."
