THE LIGHT ABOVE THE BOOKSHELF
“Is that recording?” Greta asked.
Her hand dropped to her side. She looked from the smart display to me, then back again.
Paula was already kneeling beside Oliver. “Keira, get away from him.”
I let go of his wrist but kept my hand between his fingers and the nearest shard. “Please pick him up. Straight up. There’s glass by his feet.”
Paula slid both hands under his arms and lifted him against her shoulder. His bare feet swung clear of the rug. She backed toward the glass office door, pressing her cheek to his curls.
I stayed where I was. A piece of the award had landed against my flat, and smaller fragments lay between me and the desk. I pushed myself up carefully, using the edge of the glass desk for balance.
Greta moved toward the wall display.
“Don’t touch it,” I said.
She stopped with her hand halfway up. “It’s my office.”
Paula turned. “What is on it?”
“Probably nothing.” Greta smoothed the front of her black suit. “The camera light comes on for calls.”
“It was on before you went into the corridor,” I said. “You told me the regional office was joining your meeting.”
Greta’s mouth opened, then closed.
Paula looked at her. “You said Keira dropped the award.”
“She did.” Greta pointed at the broken glass. “Look where she is.”
“I’m there because Oliver was there,” I said.
Oliver rubbed his face into Paula’s shoulder. She shifted him to her other arm and looked down at the rug.
“My phone’s in my bag,” she said. “Keira, bring it to me.”
Her bag hung from a hook just inside the door. I took it down and carried it to her, keeping my eyes on the glass underfoot. She dug out her phone and called downstairs.
“Rosa, it’s Paula. Please come to Greta’s office. Bring the first-aid kit, and ask someone to keep the corridor clear.”
She listened, then added, “Oliver’s with me. Just come up.”
Greta stepped around the desk. “There’s no need to involve the front desk. We can clean this up.”
Paula held the phone against her dress. “You told me my son was in danger.”
“He was.”
“Then Rosa is coming.”
Greta’s fingers touched the edge of the display. I took a step toward her, and she snatched her hand back.
“You don’t give me orders, Keira.”
“No,” I said. “But Paula asked what was on it.”
A chime sounded from the display. All three of us turned. A small message appeared beneath the camera light: MEETING RECORDING IN PROGRESS.
Greta reached for the screen again.
“Don’t,” Paula said.
This time Greta obeyed. She crossed her arms, hiding her hands in the sleeves of her suit.
I could hear the elevator doors opening down the hall. Rosa arrived with a white first-aid box tucked under one arm. She stopped at the office door and took in Paula holding Oliver, the glass on the rug, and Greta standing beside the display.
“What happened?” she asked.
“That’s what we’re finding out,” Paula said. “Would you look at Oliver? I don’t want to put him down.”
Rosa set the box on the glass desk and opened it. She checked Oliver’s bare feet and legs while Paula held him. A tiny glittering speck clung to his romper, and Rosa lifted it away with a piece of gauze. Oliver grabbed her finger and wouldn’t let go.
“No cuts that I can see,” she said. “We should have a doctor check him, just in case.”
Paula nodded. “Call the clinic we use for staff. Tell them we’re coming.”
Rosa took her phone out, but Paula caught her sleeve.
“And ask security to send someone up. Nobody touches that display.”
Greta let out a short laugh. “Security? Paula, I manage this hotel.”
“My son was in here with you.”
“I was waiting for you,” Greta said. “You asked me to watch him.”
“I asked you to sit with him for five minutes while I took a call from his pediatrician.” Paula adjusted Oliver against her hip. “Why were you holding the award?”
Greta looked at me. “I wasn’t.”
I felt the heat return to my cheek. “You lifted it over him.”
“I picked it up because he was reaching for it.”
“It was on the bookshelf,” I said. “He was on the rug.”
Greta turned to Rosa. “Keira came in shouting and startled me. That’s why it fell.”
“That isn’t what you told me,” Paula said quietly.
Greta’s gaze flicked toward the display. “I was shaken. I may have described it badly.”
The elevator opened again. Marcus from security came down the corridor, his radio clipped to his belt. Rosa met him at the door and spoke to him in a low voice. He looked at the display, then at the broken award, and stayed outside the office.
Paula handed Oliver to Rosa. He protested until Rosa bounced him gently, one hand covering the back of his head.
“Marcus,” Paula said, “can you save whatever that meeting recorded?”
“I can ask the IT team to preserve it,” he said. “I won’t need to touch the screen.”
He stepped aside to make the call. Greta followed him into the corridor.
“This is ridiculous,” she said. “You’re treating me like I’ve done something wrong because my assistant is trying to protect herself.”
Marcus kept his phone to his ear. “Please wait inside, Greta.”
She returned to the office and stood near the bookshelf. Her name badge had tilted sideways. She straightened it, then straightened it again.
Paula looked at me. “Why did you say, ‘Put him down’?”
I stared at her. “You heard that?”
“I heard someone shout it as I got off the elevator. I thought it was Greta.”
“I saw the award above him. I meant the award.” I pressed my fingers together. “I know that’s not what I said.”
Paula glanced at the glass on the rug. “I didn’t see it fall.”
“No.”
She looked at my cheek, then away. “I didn’t see you catch his hand, either. I only saw Greta pointing at you.”
I pulled my sleeve down over the scrape on my wrist. “Oliver almost reached a piece.”
“I know. I saw him reach again.”
Marcus came back to the doorway. “IT has preserved the recording. The meeting organizer can play it from the display.”
Greta folded her arms more tightly. “There were people on that call.”
“They left before this happened,” I said. “The regional director said she had another meeting. Greta told me to bring her the award for the quarterly presentation, and then she asked me to get the figures from the printer.”
Paula looked at Greta. “You were still recording after the call ended?”
“I forgot to stop it.”
“Then play it.”
Greta didn’t move.
Paula took a step toward her. “You’re the meeting organizer. Play it.”
Greta tapped the screen. A list appeared, and she selected the latest recording. For a moment, the display showed the empty corner office: the glass desk, the bookshelf, the rug. Then Greta came into view carrying Oliver.
On the recording, she put him down on the rug and returned to the desk. She opened a folder, read a page, and answered a call. Oliver crawled toward the bookshelf and pulled himself up against its lowest shelf.
Paula leaned forward. Rosa stayed in the doorway with Oliver, covering one of his ears when the sound from the display rose.
The recorded Greta ended her call and put the phone down hard. Oliver cried. She went to the bookshelf, took the award from its stand, and turned toward him.
“Shut up!”
My own voice followed from outside the picture. “Put him down!”
I appeared in the frame, diving with both arms out. The award slipped from Greta’s hand. I missed it, and it shattered near Oliver.
Paula reached for the desk. Her palm landed flat on the glass.
The recording continued. Greta stood over me as I shielded Oliver. Paula appeared in the glass office door. Greta pointed down.
“She did it!”
“Stop,” Paula said.
Greta touched the screen, but her finger missed the control. Marcus stepped in and paused the playback.
The room went quiet except for Oliver’s small, uneven breaths.
Greta looked at Paula. “I didn’t mean to drop it.”
“You held it over him,” Paula said.
“I was angry. I wasn’t going to hurt him.”
Paula’s hand slid off the desk. “You told me Keira did it.”
Greta looked at me. “I panicked.”
“You let me hit her.”
Greta opened her mouth, then shut it.
Paula went to Rosa and took Oliver back. He wrapped his hand around the edge of her grey knit dress. She kissed the top of his head and faced Marcus.
“Keep the recording. And please make sure Greta doesn’t delete anything from that meeting.”
Marcus nodded. “IT has a copy.”
Greta took one step toward Paula. “We can discuss this privately.”
“No.” Paula shifted Oliver higher. “You’re relieved of your duties while this is investigated. Marcus will walk you out.”
“You can’t make that decision here.”
“I own the hotel, Greta.”
Greta’s eyes moved to me. “Keira knows how difficult you can be. She’s seen it.”
I thought of the mornings I’d brought Greta coffee before she asked, and the afternoons I’d stayed late fixing schedules she’d changed without warning. I looked at the broken award instead.
Marcus waited at the door. After a moment, Greta picked up her bag from behind the desk. Her flats made no sound on the rug; her heels clicked once she reached the corridor. Marcus followed her to the elevator.
Paula turned back to me. There was a red mark across her palm.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have asked you what happened.”
I touched my cheek. “I need to have this looked at.”
“Yes.” She glanced toward Rosa. “Will you come to the clinic with us?”
I looked at Oliver. He had one fist hooked in Paula’s dress and was watching the paused image on the display.
“I’ll come,” I said. “But I want a copy of that recording.”
“You’ll have one.”
Rosa brought my bag from under the desk. I took it from her, then stopped at the doorway.
“The glass needs clearing before anyone uses this office,” I said.
“I’ll call housekeeping,” Rosa said.
Paula waited while I stepped around the last piece near my flat. Then she carried Oliver into the corridor, and I followed her toward the elevator.
