Chapter Seventy-Nine: The Beggar at the Gate
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE: THE BEGGAR AT THE GATE
FLORA WHITMORE
I drove like a madwoman through the city streets, weaving through traffic with reckless abandon.
This had to be the second, or was it the third?—time I'd driven this carelessly in a single day. But what choice did I have? Right now, I was just a woman desperately trying not to fall apart completely, trying to hold on to whatever pieces of my reality were still intact.
I couldn't lose to Anna. Not after everything I'd done to win.
And I couldn't lose Abel. He was the foundation everything else was built on.
I hadn't come this far, hadn't sacrificed so much, hadn't told so many lies just to have all my secrets exposed now.
The Serrano Corporation building loomed ahead, a gleaming tower of glass and steel that screamed power and success. I pulled into the parking garage with squealing tires, found a spot, and practically threw myself out of the car.
The lobby was magnificent, all polished marble floors, modern art installations, and that distinctive smell of wealth and importance. Under different circumstances, I would have taken my time to admire it all, to let my eyes drink in the luxury, to imagine what it would be like to work in a place like this.
But there was no time for that now.
I rushed toward the reception desk where two perfectly groomed women sat behind sleek computers, their expressions professionally neutral.
"I need to see Anna," I said breathlessly, my words tumbling over each other. "I have to see her. Right now. It's urgent."
The closer receptionist looked up at me with barely concealed wariness, her eyes taking in my disheveled appearance, my running mascara, my wild hair, my wrinkled clothes that I'd been wearing since this morning's disaster.
"Ma'am, are you referring to Mrs. Anna Serrano?" she asked carefully, like she was speaking to someone potentially unstable.
"Yes! Anna Serrano." The name left a bitter taste on my tongue, intimidation and unwanted reality mixed together in two simple words that represented everything I'd lost.
"Do you have an appointment with Mrs. Serrano?" The receptionist's tone was polite but firm, with an underlying message I could read clearly: You can't just barge in here and demand to see our CEO.
"Tell her I want to see her and she'll agree," I said, rushing my words, feeling them become more frantic and desperate. "I'm her sister. She cares about me. We're family. Just tell her I'm here and she'll tell you to let me up. I promise."
The receptionist exchanged a glance with her colleague. "Mrs. Serrano's... sister?"
My patience, already worn thin by the day's events, snapped completely.
"Just tell her Flora is here!" My voice rose sharply enough that a few people in the lobby turned to look. "You're not paid to question me. Tell her I'm here and she'll respond. Do your job!"
The receptionist's expression hardened slightly, but she picked up her phone with professional composure. I watched her speak quietly into it, unable to hear the words, my heart hammering against my ribs.
After what felt like an eternity, she placed the phone back in its cradle and looked at me with something that might have been satisfaction.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but Mrs. Serrano isn't in the building. She's out for the rest of the day and won't be back until tomorrow."
"What? No, no, no!" I leaned over the desk, my voice climbing toward hysteria. "I have to speak with her now. I need to see her today. This can't wait until tomorrow!"
"I'm sorry, but she isn't available," the receptionist repeated, her tone making it clear the conversation was over.
"Then tell someone to call her! Have them reach out and tell her to come back! Tell her it's an emergency!"
The second receptionist spoke up now, her voice carrying a distinctly sassy edge. "Ma'am, if you're as close to Mrs. Serrano as you claim, perhaps you should call her yourself. I'm sure she'll answer for family."
The subtle mockery in her tone made my face burn with humiliation.
How dare she?
But I didn't have the luxury of pride right now. I fumbled in my purse for my phone, my hands shaking so badly I nearly dropped it twice before I managed to pull it out.
I found Anna's contact and pressed call.
It rang. And rang. And rang.
"Damn it!" I groaned in frustration, calling again immediately.
Still ringing. No answer.
I called a third time. A fourth. A fifth.
On the sixth attempt, she finally picked up.
"What is it now, Flora?" Anna's voice was sharp, annoyed, exhausted. "Maybe it's time I put your number on my blacklist."
"No, no, please don't!" The words tumbled out desperately. "Anna, please. I need to see you right now. I'm at your company, the Serrano Corporation,and they said you're not here. But I need to talk to you. Please. I need to see you."
"I'm not interested in playing any more of your games, Flora," she said coldly. "I'm done with that."
"This isn't a game!" My voice cracked, tears threatening again. "Please, I need to see you. I need your help."
There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Everywhere was quiet. Too quiet at the other side.
"What help?" Anna asked finally, her tone cautious and suspicious.
"Can I see you? I want to speak with you privately, face to face." I was aware of the receptionists listening, of people in the lobby glancing in my direction, but I didn't care anymore. "I'm not trying to waste your time or play games. Please, Anna. Please."
Another pause, longer this time. I held my breath.
"Fine," she said eventually, her voice still cold but resigned. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."
The line went dead before I could say anything else.
I lowered the phone, my hand still trembling, and looked at the receptionist who'd been watching the entire exchange with barely concealed interest.
Minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness. I stood there awkwardly for a while, then moved to sit in one of the modern chairs in the waiting area, then stood up again because I couldn't stay still.
Finally, the receptionist received another phone call. She listened, her eyes flicking to me with an expression I couldn't quite read, then hung up and whispered something to the woman beside her.
The second woman emerged from behind the desk, her professional smile firmly in place.
"Please follow me, ma'am," she said.