The Trillionaire Chapter Nine: Safety, Safety, Safety

There were too many days when Tori barely left the penthouse.

It had become an ivory tower in the most literal sense: beautiful, elevated, and nearly impossible for ordinary life to penetrate.

The evenings were worst.

During the day there were housekeepers, assistants, attorneys, accountants and security personnel moving through her life. Then offices closed. Staff went home. Doors clicked shut.

Silence took over.

Sometimes Tori could hear the refrigerator humming from the other side of the apartment.

That was when Kal became hardest to resist.

Whatever their relationship was, it had developed slowly and badly.

He had flirted first.

Tori reminded herself of that whenever she knew she should put an end to it.

He was older. He worked for her. He was supposed to protect her. Every sensible part of the arrangement argued against allowing it to become personal.

Still, months of traveling together had created an artificial intimacy.

Kal knew where she slept.

He knew when she was frightened.

He knew which entrances she preferred, which crowds made her nervous and which memories she avoided discussing.

Tori had mistaken being known for being understood.

Perhaps she'd even mistaken it for being loved.

She had never entirely gotten over Jesse.

Jesse represented something Kal couldn't.

Normalcy.

Jesse had known Tori before the penthouse, before private security, before anyone cared what her signature could authorize.

He'd liked the girl in thrift-store clothes who lived in a trailer.

That relationship was gone.

Tori wanted another one.

More simply, she wanted someone to love her.

Kal was there.

Sometimes that was enough to confuse loneliness with affection.

Kal wasn't unattractive.

He was strong, well groomed and possessed the practiced confidence of someone who

knew other people found him impressive.

Tori didn't.

Something about him always felt performed.

She couldn't identify it at first.

Eventually she did.

Kal enjoyed being important more than he enjoyed being useful.

Whenever Tori asked him to do something inconvenient, his response somehow became a

story about himself.

Could he check the parking garage?

He had once spent three days awake during an operation overseas.

Could he accompany her downstairs?

He'd crossed a border alone under circumstances much more dangerous than anything she could imagine.

Could he please just look into something that worried her?

She worried too much.

There was always some previous hardship in Kal's life that proved Tori's present concern was trivial.

At first, she'd found his stories impressive.

Then reassuring.

Eventually they became exhausting.

She didn't need to win a suffering competition with her own security guard.

She needed him to do his job.

Time became Tori's greatest problem.

For most of her life, every day had contained a task required for survival.

Get food.

Get to school.

Help Mom.

Pay something.

Fix something.

Endure something.

Now problems disappeared before she could fully experience them.

A broken appliance was replaced.

A scheduling conflict was delegated.

An unpleasant employee disappeared from the roster.

A bill arrived and somebody else paid it from an account Tori barely understood.

She had imagined that freedom from problems would feel wonderful.

Instead, sometimes it felt like freedom from purpose.

Tori began sleeping late.

She stopped caring about manners because everyone around her was paid to tolerate her.

She stopped planning because other people planned for her.

She could purchase almost anything she wanted, yet wanting things had become increasingly difficult.

That frightened her.

She saw something of her father in it.

Not his cruelty.

Not yet.

His detachment.

Then one afternoon, Tori discovered that an important meeting concerning several of her holdings had taken place without her.

When she confronted one of the advisers, he explained that the discussion had been highly technical and there had been no reason to trouble her with it.

Trouble her.

Tori stared at him.

It was her money.

Her assets.

Her responsibility.

And they hadn't thought she belonged in the room.

The humiliation did something useful.

It made her angry.

For the first time in months, Tori wanted something.

She wanted to understand.

She began looking at colleges.

Prestigious ones.

Why not?

If she was going to spend the rest of her life sitting across tables from people who knew more than she did, Tori wanted the education necessary to understand what they were saying.

Kenton responded to her ambition the way he responded to most problems.

He assembled professionals.

Tutors appeared.

An admissions consultant appeared.

Someone developed a testing schedule.

Someone else compiled schools.

Tori studied harder than she expected herself to.

She had never been an exceptional student.

But for the first time in her life, she had every advantage required to become a better one.

Time.

Tutoring.

Food.

Sleep.

Quiet.

Books.

Nobody dying in the next room.

Her scores improved.

That made her proud.

Then she discovered what had happened to her admissions essay.

Tori had spent weeks writing it.

She'd worked with a tutor, rewritten whole sections and finally produced something she

thought sounded like herself.

The consultant replaced it.

Not edited.

Replaced.

Tori read the new version.

It was beautiful.

Elegant.

Thoughtful.

Polished.

And almost completely foreign to her.

She called Kenton.

"What happened to my essay?"

"The admissions consultant strengthened it."

"She wrote another one."

"Essentially."

"I didn't write this."

"The ideas are based on your experiences."

"That's not the same thing."

Kenton went quiet.

Tori looked at her own discarded draft.

"Was mine bad?"

"No."

"Then why wasn't it good enough?"

"It's an extremely competitive process."

That hurt more than if he'd simply said it was terrible.

Tori ended the call.

For two days, she considered abandoning the entire idea.

Then anger returned.

No.

If she got into college, she wanted to know that at least the work she claimed as hers actually belonged to her.

She restored her own essay.

If a school rejected it, then it rejected Tori.

She could live with that.

What she couldn't live with was being admitted as somebody else's improved version of her.

Tori attended an orientation program at one of the schools she was considering in New

Hampshire.

Kal accompanied her.

Before leaving, she told Peeters about the trip.

"Keep your circumstances private," he advised.

"I know."

"No, you know the words. I am uncertain you understand them."

Tori rolled her eyes.

"I'm going to look at a college."

"You are going into an environment populated by intelligent, ambitious people. Do not confuse intelligence with benevolence."

"Do you trust anybody?"

"Rarely."

"That sounds miserable."

"It is efficient."

Tori ended the conversation before he could ruin the entire trip.

She told Kal they needed to remain inconspicuous.

Kal responded by reminding her that he'd worked in military and security environments where protecting someone was considerably more complicated than escorting a teenager around New Hampshire.

Tori didn't argue.

She was beginning to realize that Kal's résumé had become his excuse for no longer proving himself.

They rented a small house near campus.

The first evening, Kal barely looked around before dropping onto the couch and turning on a game console.

Tori watched him.

"Aren't you supposed to check the house?"

"I already looked."

"You walked from the door to the couch."

"It's fine."

That was apparently the security assessment.

The next morning, Tori waited for Kal to discuss the day's schedule.

He didn't.

Finally she asked.

"What's the plan?"

"For what?"

"Today."

"Go to orientation."

"Are you coming?"

Kal looked away from the television.

"You really need me to walk around a college with you?"

Tori felt stupid immediately.

That annoyed her.

"I'm asking because you're my security."

"And I'm telling you there's no credible threat."

"How do you know?"

"Tori."

There it was.

That tone.

"You're being paranoid."

She stared at him.

Then she left without him.

For several hours, Kal appeared to be right.

Nobody recognized her.

Nobody cared about her.

Tori walked through buildings with prospective students and listened to guides discuss

courses, housing and traditions.

For once, she wasn't an heiress.

She was simply a girl considering college.

She liked it.

She liked it more than she'd expected.

At lunch, Tori stopped at a sandwich shop near campus.

She was eating alone when a woman approached.

"Mind if I sit here?"

There were other open tables.

Tori noticed that immediately.

Still, she nodded.

The woman introduced herself as Dayton.

She was older than the students Tori had spent the morning with, perhaps in her twenties.

At first, the conversation seemed harmless.

Then Dayton mentioned New York.

Tori looked up.

"You live there, right?"

Tori felt something tighten in her stomach.

"Sometimes."

"I knew I recognized you."

"From where?"

Dayton smiled.

She didn't answer.

Instead, she began talking about an organization she worked with and the financial difficulties it faced.

Tori stopped eating.

There it was.

Money.

Again.

"I have to go."

Dayton's expression changed.

"I haven't even told you what we do."

"I'm late."

Tori stood.

Dayton followed.

Outside, Tori walked faster.

"So that's it?" Dayton called.

Tori kept going.

"You people can spend whatever you want on yourselves, but somebody asks for help and suddenly you're busy?"

Tori stopped.

She shouldn't have.

"Please leave me alone."

Dayton laughed.

"Must be nice."

Tori resumed walking.

Dayton followed.

Tori's pulse quickened.

She reached for her phone and called Kal.

No answer.

She called again.

Nothing.

Dayton continued behind her.

By the time Tori reached the rental house, Dayton was openly shouting.

Tori hurried toward the door.

Dayton caught her arm.

Tori spun around.

"Get off me."

"Listen to me."

"Let go."

Dayton's fingers tightened.

Tori shoved her.

Dayton grabbed again, nails digging into Tori's skin.

"GET OFF ME!"

Tori wrenched herself free, stumbled through the doorway and slammed the door.

Dayton began pounding against it.

Tori locked the deadbolt.

She turned.

Kal was sitting in the next room.

Headphones on.

Game controller in his hands.

For several seconds, Tori simply stared.

She walked into the room.

"Kal."

No response.

"KAL."

He lowered one side of the headphones.

"What?"

Tori held out her arm.

Red marks were already appearing.

"You're fired."

Kal blinked.

"What?"

"I need an actual security guard."

He removed the headphones.

"Because of that?"

Tori couldn't believe him.

"She followed me here."

"Who?"

"The woman outside!"

As though summoned by the words, Dayton kicked the door.

Kal glanced toward the sound.

Then back at Tori.

"Call the police."

"You're security."

"She's one woman."

"She put her hands on me."

"And you're fine."

Something inside Tori went cold.

"Get out."

Kal sighed.

"Tori, you need to toughen up."

She stared at him.

"I've been in situations where—"

"No."

Kal stopped.

Tori had heard enough of his stories.

"I don't care."

His expression hardened.

"You don't understand actual danger."

"And apparently you don't understand your job."

He laughed once.

That decided it.

Tori pulled out her phone.

"I'm calling the company."

"You're being dramatic."

"Good."

"Tori."

She dialed.

"You can tell them."

Upstairs, her arm throbbed.

Tori sat on the bed and stared at the marks Dayton had left behind.

Her anger gradually gave way to something worse.

Hurt.

Kal hadn't failed because he couldn't reach her.

He hadn't failed because Dayton surprised him.

He had been in the house.

Feet away.

And he hadn't cared enough to notice.

That was the part Tori couldn't escape.

She had known their relationship was inappropriate.

She had known affection and employment had become tangled together.

Somewhere along the way, she'd nevertheless begun hoping that if she were genuinely frightened, Kal would protect her because he cared about her.

Not because she paid him.

Because he cared.

He didn't.

Tori began crying.

And, absurdly, she thought of Molly.

Middle school.

A girl several grades older had been bullying Tori near the cafeteria.

Tori had eventually admitted to Molly that she was afraid to walk to lunch alone.

Molly never gave her a speech.

She never told Tori she'd experienced worse.

She simply said, "I'll walk with you."

And every day afterward, Molly did.

It shortened Molly's lunch.

She didn't care.

They walked together.

They shared food.

They laughed.

Nobody paid Molly.

Nobody ordered her.

Nobody had to explain why Tori being afraid mattered.

It mattered because Tori mattered to her.

Tori covered her face.

She missed Molly.

She missed Jesse.

She missed washing dishes beside her mother.

She missed riding the bus.

She even missed worrying about stupid things.

For months, Tori had told herself that she needed to stay away from Molly because helping

her might only enable her addiction.

Maybe that was true.

Maybe it wasn't.

Tori was beginning to understand that she didn't know nearly as much as she thought she did.

Money could pay for treatment.

It could pay for housing.

It could pay for security.

It could pay for experts.

But it couldn't undo what had already happened.

And it couldn't purchase the one thing Tori wanted most.

Someone who cared whether she was afraid.

For a terrible moment, Tori wondered whether something about her destroyed the people she loved.

Her mother.

Molly.

Jesse.

The warehouse.

Everyone seemed to disappear eventually.

Then she caught herself.

That was grief talking.

Not truth.

Her mother had died from cancer.

Molly had her own life, her own choices and her own struggles.

Jesse had made his.

Tori wasn't powerful enough to cause everything bad that happened around her.

Her money wasn't either.

That realization didn't make the losses hurt less.

But it gave her somewhere to stand.

Tori wiped her face.

Then she called the security company.

"This is Victoria Pontius."

The response on the other end changed immediately.

"I need Kal removed from my detail. Effective now."

She explained what had happened.

This time, nobody told her she was overreacting.

The supervisor became very quiet.

Then very serious.

A replacement team was dispatched.

Tori hung up.

She stepped into the hallway.

From the top of the stairs, she could see Kal.

Still on the couch.

Still wearing his headphones.

Still playing his game.

She looked at him differently now.

For months, she'd wondered whether he loved her.

Now she understood that she'd been asking the wrong question.

He was an employee who had stopped doing his job.

Everything else had merely made it harder for her to admit it.

Tori returned to her bedroom.

She made one more call.

Mr. Peeters.

His assistant answered.

"I need to meet with him."

"Regarding what matter?"

Tori looked toward the bedroom window.

"Me."

There was a pause.

"I'll see what can be arranged."

Tori hung up.

She had once thought Peeters cruel.

She still did.

She had thought him cold.

He was.

But Peeters had never pretended otherwise.

He had never asked Tori to mistake a transaction for love.

That made him, strangely, one of the few people she trusted.

Tori sat on the edge of the bed.

Downstairs, somewhere beyond the closed door, Kal continued playing his game.

Soon someone would arrive to remove him from her detail.

After that, Tori would decide what happened next.

Not Kenton.

Not Kal.

Not Peeters.

Her.

For most of her life, Tori had believed growing up meant learning how to survive whatever

happened to you.

Her father's world was teaching her something different.

Sometimes growing up meant recognizing what you had allowed to happen—

and ending it.