Chapter 2 - The Boy with the Silver Robot
For the next hour, Trent found new ways to make himself feel important.
He sent back a steak because it was too rare, then rejected the replacement because it was too cooked. He knocked a fork onto the floor and waited for me to pick it up. When I handed him the whisky he had ordered, he complained that the glass was warm.
Greg watched from the service station.
Whenever I looked toward him, he pointed at Trent’s table and mouthed, “Fix it.”
At Damian’s table, the conversation remained controlled.
Nico ate only a few bites of dinner. He kept Atlas beside his plate and occasionally glanced toward the aquarium.
When Damian took a call, Nico slipped from his chair and returned to the fish.
I was carrying a tray past him when he held up the robot.
“Atlas has a camera.”
“Does he?”
Nico pressed a button. A tiny light blinked in the robot’s chest.
“He records missions.”
“That could be useful.”
“He recorded my birthday.”
“Then Atlas must be very important.”
Nico nodded.
A waiter rushed around the corner and nearly collided with me. I twisted to protect the tray.
My elbow brushed Nico’s hand.
Atlas fell.
The robot landed on the marble, rolled beneath an empty chair, and continued toward Trent’s table.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Nico hurried after it.
Before I could stop him, Atlas rolled beneath Trent’s shoe.
Trent looked down.
Nico remained several feet away.
“Excuse me,” he said quietly. “That’s mine.”
Trent bent and picked up the robot.
“Well, look what wandered over.”
He turned Atlas in his hand.
One of his friends laughed. “Careful. It might be spying on you.”
Trent held the robot above his head.
Nico’s eyes widened.
“Please give it back.”
“Come get it.”
I stepped closer.
“Mr. Whitaker, the toy belongs to him.”
“I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Nico approached carefully.
Trent moved the robot behind his back.
“Say please.”
“Please.”
“Louder.”
Nico looked toward his father.
Damian was still on the phone, but one of his men had noticed the confrontation.
I saw him lean toward Damian.
“I said louder,” Trent repeated.
“Please give me Atlas.”
Trent smiled.
Then he dropped the robot.
Atlas struck the edge of a chair and landed on the floor.
A small piece broke from one arm.
Nico stared at it.
His face did not crumple. He did not scream.
That somehow made the cruelty worse.
He crouched to pick it up.
Trent placed his shoe over the robot.
“Children should not interrupt adults.”
“Move your foot,” Nico whispered.
“What did you say?”
I stepped between them.
“That is enough.”
Trent stared at me.
I had spoken without thinking.
Behind him, Greg shook his head urgently.
Trent rose.
“Do you know who you are talking to?”
“Yes.”
“Then apologize.”
“For asking you not to destroy a child’s toy?”
His friends stopped laughing.
I could feel Greg’s anger from across the room.
Trent leaned closer. Whisky sharpened his breath.
“You think wearing that apron makes you noble?”
“No.”
“It makes you replaceable.”
“I know.”
“Then apologize.”
Nico reached for Atlas.
Trent kicked it farther beneath the table.
The boy flinched.
Something inside me hardened.
I had spent a year apologizing to landlords, doctors, school administrators, and customers. I had swallowed insults because swallowing them paid better than fighting back.
But Nico was six years old.
He had done nothing wrong.
“I won’t apologize,” I said.
Trent’s expression changed.
He was no longer amused.
He was embarrassed.
And men like Trent considered embarrassment an attack.
May you like
He raised his hand toward Nico.
I moved before I could become afraid.
