Two eggs.
Dry toast.
Papaya.
Black coffee.
Jonathan had mocked the routine for years.
Elena lifted the small plate of toast.
Derek stepped forward.
“Elena.”
She stopped.
“If you give him anything from this property, you're finished.”
Jonathan watched her.
This was the moment.
The test.
He suddenly hated himself for creating it.
Elena had a child.
Bills.
Rent.
She shouldn't have to risk her livelihood so a billionaire could answer a philosophical question.
He almost stood up.
Almost ended the disguise.
Then Elena looked at him.
Not his clothes.
Not the dirt.
His eyes.
She removed two pieces of toast.
Then half the fruit.
She placed them on a napkin.
“Elena.”
Derek's voice hardened.
She walked through the gate.
Knelt beside Jonathan.
And handed him the food.
“Eat slowly.”
Jonathan stared at her.
“Thank you.”
“Do you need a doctor?”
“No.”
“A shelter?”
He shook his head.
“Just food.”
Derek stormed toward them.
“I warned you.”
Elena stood.
“Then write me up.”
Jonathan nearly smiled.
Derek didn't.
“I can fire you.”
“No, you can't.”
“I can recommend termination.”
“Then recommend it.”
Derek stepped close enough that Elena had to look upward.
“You think Mr. Lancaster wants homeless people hanging around his gate?”
Elena swallowed.
Jonathan watched.
She was afraid.
That mattered.
Courage wasn't the absence of fear.
It was often a person calculating exactly what something might cost and doing it anyway.
Elena said:
“I think Mrs. Lancaster would have fed him.”
Silence.
Jonathan stopped breathing.
Derek's expression changed.
“Mrs. Lancaster is dead.”
Elena's eyes flashed.
“I know.”
“Then don't use her name to justify ignoring orders.”
Jonathan looked down.
The toast suddenly felt heavy in his hand.
Margaret.
Even now.
Eighteen months underground and somehow she was still running the moral center of his house better than he was.
Derek pointed toward the mansion.
“Inside.”
Elena picked up the tray.
Before leaving, she looked at Jonathan.
“There is a church two miles east. St. Matthew's. They serve breakfast at eight.”
“Thank you.”
She turned.
Derek grabbed her wrist.
Jonathan's body went rigid.
Elena looked down at Derek's hand.
“Let go.”
“Listen to me—”
“Let go of me.”
Jonathan stood.
Not fully.
Still stooped.
But his voice changed.
“Take your hand off her.”
Derek turned.
For one second, something instinctive passed through his expression.
The recognition men sometimes had when another man gave an order and expected obedience.
Then Derek remembered who he thought Jonathan was.
He laughed.
“You want to join her in unemployment?”