51. Once Upon A December/5.

The second she saw the chubby man sitting by the table, Mira spun on her heel.

But Warshon was faster. Holding her waist, he whirled her into his chest. "Told you not to flee, Evan Ginsberg." 

"I…" Mira tugged at his shirt, her knees wobbling. 

"Relax, darling," he continued in his lazy croon, a trace of smirk hanging loosely on his lips. "I should be the one who wants to flee here." 

"Huh?" 

"Teddy," he raised his voice before she could wipe the astounded frown off her face. "Good news, I found who you're looking for." 

The other man turned his wandering gaze from other tables, his jaw dropping to the floor. 

Mira shut her eyes. The Reyers had secretly sought means to relocate their assets abroad for years, and if she remembered correctly, they were also on the list of names involved in the vaccine scandal. She should have been more careful. Just because the youngest son of Raulf Reyer was a wallflower didn't excuse her for not making the connection sooner. Instead of being a fool in love, she should have done her homework before walking into the minefield, her wheezing breath thinning. 

"You okay, darling?" Warshon glanced at her sidelong, worry laced in his voice. Leading her to a chair, he took out the inhaler. "Here." 

She grabbed onto his wrists and breathed – the easiest task in the world even for a brainless plant, yet it took all her strength to barely manage. She stewed in self-loathing. 

"Teddy, I'm afraid we'll have to call it the night," Warshon tipped his head over his shoulder; his eyes didn't leave her for a second. 

But she shook her head. "I'm fine," she coughed up her words. Who knows – she thought. Maybe it's a good thing that Telesphore was here, and the Reyers could be another catalyst she needed.   "We meet again, Mr. Reyer." She put on a smile. 

Telesphore pushed his glasses, his other hand gripping the armrest. Parting and closing were his full lips that failed to deliver a word. 

Picking up the threads, Mira lowered her head, her eyes lifting across the table. Warshon mentioned Evan Ginsberg outside the restaurant. So, Telesphore must have told him the story that night at Iréne Côté, likely because Reynold Barca's death had been all over the news, and the allegedly deceased, adopted daughter of the former Secretary of the State fared well for a topic. But why did Warshon say that he should be the one who wanted to flee? She chewed on her lip. No, she decided that question wasn't important for now. She needed to send a message that Mira or Evan, de Armas, of Shostakovich, she wasn't to be messing with, and even she doubted that Telesphore could be a threat to her, the same couldn't be said about the Reyers. She wondered how much Warshon knew about their involvement in the vaccine scandal. 

"You seem flabbergasted," she continued, her voice measured. "What's troubling you? Seeing me, or me with him?" She interlaced her fingers with his. Out of the corner of her eyes, she espied a trace of a smile in his onyx gaze, fluttering like an arcane whisper. Don't hesitate for a second when you can think of me as a stepping stone. 

"I am," Telesphore managed with a reply at last, a gauche cackle rattling in his throat. "How did you meet? When?" He shifted his eyes to Washon, who sat beside Mira without letting go of her hand. 

"On the night the DEA raided our Plant," said Warshon languidly as he leaned to her side and held her hand to his lips. "Oh, yes, on the twenty-eighth of September, we spent the whole night together. Isn't that right, my alibi?" 

Mira offered a dismissive shrug to confirm the statement while she met Telephore in the eye. 

Putting his hand up halfway, the chubby man shook his head, his eyes ridden with disbelief at what seemed to be the stroke of fate. "I've tried to look for you, Mira," he muttered, his voice nearly drowned out by the background jazz interwoven with the clinks of glasses and cutlery. "Why didn't you come to me?"

Mira tilted her head, pursing her lips so as not to scoff. Was Telesphore so naive he didn't know that his father was a weather vane of a man who piled on Reynold's downfall? Did he really think she'd seek help from the house that raised Adnet Reyer? She turned her gaze to the man still holding her hand, "Because I found my best bet right here." 

***