Coffee Where Neither Owned the Room
Chapter 09 - Coffee Where Neither Owned the Room
Roman arrived early.
Naen hated that she noticed.
He wore a navy sweater instead of a suit.
No cane now.
His left leg had healed enough that only a slight stiffness remained when he stood from the table.
She had not seen him move without pain before.
He saw her looking.
“Better.”
“Good.”
No miracle.
No lingering theatrical injury.
Just healing.
They sat.
For five minutes, they discussed coffee.
The café was loud enough to protect silence.
Roman looked older.
Not dramatically.
Less polished.
More gray at the temples.
“You look different,” Naen said.
“So do you.”
“Mine is moisturizer.”
“Mine is prison.”
She laughed before she could stop herself.
Good.
“How’s Leo?”
Roman asked.
Naen’s smile faded slightly.
“Good.”
“School?”
“Kindergarten.”
He nodded.
Did not ask to meet him.
Good.
“How’s work?”
“Better than Laura.”
“Low standard.”
“Claire will be offended.”
Roman smiled.
Then:
“School?”
“Finishing hospitality management.”
“That’s good.”
“No ‘I’m proud of you.’”
He blinked.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“You were thinking it.”
“Maybe.”
Naen stirred coffee.
“Why does that bother me?”
Roman thought.
“Because I didn’t build it.”
Exactly.
She looked up.
“Good answer.”
He leaned back.
“I had time.”
“Apparently.”
Silence.
Then Roman said:
“I wanted to see you.”
“That was clear from the coffee invitation.”
“No.”
He looked at her.
“I mean I wanted to see you before prison too.”
Naen waited.
“But wanting something was usually the point where I started arranging it.”
There.
“And?”
“I’m trying to learn wanting is not authority.”
Good.
She looked out the window.
“Do you want dinner?”
Roman asked.
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“Coffee again?”
“Maybe.”
“Progress.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
The second coffee happened two weeks later.
Then lunch.
Three weeks after that, Naen canceled because Leo had strep.
Roman replied:
Hope he feels better.
No doctor sent.
No medicine delivered.
No pediatrician appearing mysteriously at her door.
That should not have impressed her.
It did.
At the fourth coffee, Naen asked:
“What did you do when you got out?”
“Therapy.”
“Besides?”
“Met with Helen and the compliance monitor.”
“Fun.”
“Very.”
“Companies?”
Roman retained two property buildings, one hotel stake, and several restaurant leases.
Caruso Property Holdings had an independent board now.
He no longer controlled tenant employment decisions.
That mattered.
“What about Laura?”
“Sold the building.”
Naen stared.
“To who?”
“A pension fund.”
She laughed.
“Poetic.”
“Unintentionally.”
“And Claire?”
“Restaurant stayed. Different landlord.”
Good.
“Why sell?”
“Too many connected properties. Monitor wanted separation.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Honest.
“I hated it.”
“Also honest.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
Naen’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“Your lawyer probably already knows.”
“That is not comforting.”
“North River reopened Eli’s personnel classification.”
“Yes.”
“They found internal emails from him.”
Naen stopped.
“What emails?”
Roman did not have copies with him.
Good.
He explained only the outline.
Eli had complained twice that the loading platform was unsafe.
Not to Roman.
To site management.
First complaint ignored.
Second forwarded to maintenance vendor.
Then Eli wrote:
If someone gets hurt on that platform after this, nobody gets to call it an accident.
Naen’s throat closed.
Roman watched.
Did not touch her.
Good.
“Was that in the original file?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Removed from final legal packet.”
“By who?”
“Still investigating.”
“Enzo?”
“Maybe.”
Roman corrected immediately.
“I don’t know.”
Good.
Naen stared at the table.
Eli had known.
He had spoken.
Then died on the exact thing he warned them about.
Her grief changed shape.
Not worse.
Sharper.
“He wasn’t careless.”
“No.”
“The agency said he probably overloaded it.”
“I know.”
“They told me workers said he rushed.”
“I know.”
“He didn’t.”
“No.”
Roman’s voice broke slightly.
“No.”
Naen looked at him.
“Why are you telling me instead of my lawyer?”
He took a breath.
“Because the company spent years letting you believe something false about him.”
“And you want to fix it.”
“Yes.”
“You can’t.”
“I know.”
Good.
The next week, North River issued a corrected public incident statement.
Not heroic.
Legal.
Plain.
Elias Walker had raised documented safety concerns before the fatal collapse.
Prior statements implying worker misuse were unsupported.
Naen read it once.
Then printed it.
She put it in a drawer beside Leo’s birth certificate.
Not shrine.
Record.
When Leo was older, he could know his father had seen danger and said something.
That mattered.
Roman did not call after the statement.
Good.
Naen called him.
“Dinner.”
A pause.
“Yes?”
“Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“Not your restaurant.”
“I expected that.”
“And not French.”
“Cruel.”
“Character building.”
Their first dinner was at a noisy Thai place in Queens where Their first dinner was at a noisy Thai place in Queens where Roman had to wait twenty minutes because Naen refused to let his name skip the line.
He survived.
Barely.
At the end he asked:
“Can I kiss you?”
Naen looked at him.
“No.”
Roman nodded.
“Okay.”
She smiled.
Then leaned across and kissed his cheek.
“Ask again another time.”
His expression changed.
Hope is dangerous on powerful men.
This time, he simply said:
May you like
“I will.”
And went home.
