Chapter 8
Several had opened on impact. From 1 spilled a beautiful, untouched portion of lobster risotto from 2 nights earlier. From another rolled a perfectly cooked, unbitten filet mignon from the previous night beside a scoop of cold garlic mashed potatoes. The food had been carefully wrapped in paper napkins to prevent it from shifting. Around the containers lay several crumpled papers. Zo recognized the red lettering immediately. PAST DUE. FINAL NOTICE. DISCONNECTION IMMINENT. Beside his polished leather Oxford shoe lay a small plastic medical cooler. It had opened during the fall. Inside were 2 small vials of insulin and several sterile syringes. Beside them was a worn plush rabbit missing 1 ear.
Tessa dropped to her knees. She did not attempt to run. She did not beg for her life. She scrambled across the floor, crying silently as her red, damaged hands tried to scoop the spilled filet mignon back into its container. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Her voice broke. “I’m sorry. I didn’t steal from the pantry. I swear to God. I only take my portion. The plate they set out for me. I scrape it into the boxes in the bathroom. I don’t take anything extra.” She tried to gather the food. “I just—I can’t eat it. I can’t.” Zo looked at the insulin. Then at the expensive food. Then at the starving, exhausted woman kneeling on the floor. She was not skipping dinner to betray him. She was skipping dinner so she could smuggle her untouched mandatory meals out of his house. She was starving herself to the point of collapse so someone at home could eat. A child, judging by the rabbit. A diabetic child.
The mudroom fell silent except for Tessa’s broken breathing and rain hammering against the steel door. For the first time in 10 years, Zo Rossi felt the suffocating weight of his own cruelty. He stood in a bespoke suit, a man who discarded thousands of dollars in excess food each week as part of an image of power, and watched a woman slowly killing herself to take his scraps home. The anomaly had never been a threat. It was a tragedy. And it had been happening underneath his roof. Zo remained still for a long time. Tessa’s bruised hands continued gathering cold grains of sauce-stained rice from the concrete and pressing them into a cracked plastic container.
