Chapter 10 - Vengeance and Restoration
The Grand Western Hotel ballroom emptied within twenty minutes.
The great and the good of New York society fled the scene like rats from a sinking ship, desperate to distance themselves from the radioactive carcass of the Pemberton empire. Caterers stood frozen by the buffet; the quartet had packed their instruments and departed without asking for payment.
Terence knelt once more beside his mother’s wheelchair. His security detail had brought three heated thermal blankets from their private armored SUV, wrapping her warmly. Dr. Vance, Terence’s personal physician, was already attending to Irene, gently swabbing the contusion on her cheek with antiseptic ointment.
"How are you feeling, Mama?" Terence asked, his voice returning to the soft, gentle tone reserved only for her.
"My cheek stings a little, baby," Irene said, leaning her head against his hand. "And my heart hurts for that foolish girl. She’s destroyed her life before it even started."
Terence kissed his mother’s forehead. "You don't need to worry about her, Mama. She will answer to the law. And her father will answer to the market."
He stood up and looked around the abandoned ballroom until his eyes landed on Mateo, who stood nervously near the kitchen doors, holding his grease-stained apron in his hands. The hotel’s general manager had already approached the boy, his face dark with fury, clearly preparing to fire him on the spot for speaking out of turn.
Terence walked over to them. His heavy footsteps made the manager flinch.
"Were you about to say something to this young man?" Terence asked the manager, his tone razor-sharp.
"I... Mr. Washington, sir," the manager stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead. "He breached protocol. Staff are never permitted to address VIPs directly—"
"This young man showed more integrity, more courage, and more decency than everyone sitting at your top-tier tables tonight combined," Terence interrupted coldly. He reached into his pocket and handed Mateo an embossed black card with gold lettering.
"What is your name, son?" Terence asked gently.
"Mateo, sir. Mateo Alvarez."
"Do you have family in the city, Mateo?"
"My mother and little sister, sir. I work here at night to pay for my community college tuition."
Terence put a firm, paternal hand on the young man’s shoulder. "Not anymore. Starting Monday, you are enrolled in Columbia University’s business management program, fully funded by the Washington Foundation. Marcus will arrange a stipend for your family’s living expenses, and you will have a junior analyst desk waiting for you at Washington Capital the day you graduate."
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Mateo stared at the card, then at Terence, tears spilling down his cheeks. "Sir... I don't know what to say... I just couldn't let them hurt your mom..."
"You did the right thing when the powerful were doing the wrong thing," Terence said. "That is the rarest asset in this city. Pack your things, Mateo. You’re coming with us."
