Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, February 15, 2009
Leon S. Kennedy stared at the iconic work before him: The Death of Socrates. Claire, standing beside him, had just explained that the painting depicted the moment before the philosopher's execution, after he had chosen to die for his convictions rather than renounce them. A strange feeling went through him and, although he didn't know exactly why, the explanation made him wonder whether he himself might one day meet his death for similar reasons.
Leon smiled and lowered his gaze, trying to brush it off.
Then, the smile disappeared from his lips.
- What? - Claire said beside him.
Leon looked up and, from the way she was scrutinizing him, it was clear she had just misinterpreted his reaction.
- That's what he said. - she complained.
He smiled again. She decided to explain herself.
- Socrates was accused of "corrupting the youth." They gave him a choice between recanting or dying... and he chose the latter. The unexamined life is not worth living.
- Right... - he murmured. - How could I possibly doubt the words of a man who lived in ancient Greece?
- Don't tell me you're a skeptic, Leon - she replied with a small laugh.
Claire brought her glass of Veuve Clicquot to her lips and took a sip. Then, almost in a whisper, she added:
- If those in power are unjust... resist. Even if it costs you your life. Or whatever.
They looked at each other. Neither of them said anything else, although the way they looked at one another was a silent agreement not to mention that night the motivations that made them act the way they did in life, but which also drove them apart, even if neither of them wanted to admit it.
Claire was the kind of person who raised her voice, the kind who believed injustices had to be shouted out to the world so everyone could hear them and decide what to do about them. He wasn't... He was the kind who stayed silent and carried the weight of the American State's secrets on his shoulders so its citizens could sleep peacefully at night, without even knowing what kind of horrors had been breathing down their necks.
This time it was Leon who brought the Glenfiddich to his lips, stopped looking at her and turned his attention back to the painting.
‹‹Claire said this painting doesn't represent a defeat, but an intellectual victory...››
She said Socrates had lost his life, but not the argument. And the fact that, centuries later, the two of them were still standing in front of that scene was enough to understand what she meant.
As he observed the painting, memories from three weeks earlier overwhelmed him again. Leon remembered one of those nights when the ghosts inside his head seemed determined not to leave him alone. The suffocating feeling of thinking about how his life had ended up becoming this, the desperation that took hold of his sanity whenever he felt alone and that urge to drown out the sound of his own screams, something he never allowed himself.
He also remembered the lightness that had begun settling into his consciousness after the third glass of whisky and the brief opportunity it gave him to stop, to not think. Then he heard the sound of his phone clearly again and remembered the faint tremor that had run through the hand holding the glass when he turned his face toward it. For a few seconds, he wondered whether he was really in any condition to accept another case after his last drink. His muscles tightened just as they had that night and a kind of vigor coursed through his body, telling him that everything was under control. That he was still capable.
It was precisely that feeling that made him answer the call, expecting to hear Benfield's voice on the other end with a new mission.
However, it hadn't been his boss who called him that day. On the other end, Claire's cheerful voice had broken through the siege to tell him that she would be in the United States in a few weeks and that she had a proposition for him. At first, Leon assumed she wanted some kind of favor now that he was with the government, but she simply explained that she had been invited to a private charity gala at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, organized by one of TerraSave's biggest benefactors, and that they had given her an additional invitation so she could bring a guest.
And she wanted him to come.
Leon remembered falling silent for several seconds and Claire probably interpreted the pause as an attempt to turn her down, because she immediately began listing reasons why he should accept. However, he knew he had taken so long to answer because he had just realized that Claire was one of the few people who still reached out to him without asking for anything in return. She had called him simply because she wanted to see him.
And so he accepted.
Leon returned to the present and took another sip of his whisky. He felt her palm on his shoulder. He turned his face toward her and caught the smile she gave him. Claire was looking at him with some concern, and that made him uncomfortable. He didn't want her to worry. He was fine.
‹‹I have everything under control...››
- So, what's this guy's name again? - he asked, making his body language appear confident. - The one we came here to listen to.
Claire, who had already taken her hand off him and was walking toward the hors d'oeuvres table, stopped when she heard him.
- Come on - she said, smiling at him again as she reached out to tug gently on the sleeve of his suit. Leon watched her for a second longer than necessary and followed without saying anything.
As they walked, he couldn't stop looking at her. Claire wore her hair pulled tightly back, with a few loose strands deliberately arranged around her face. Her eyes were lined in black and her lips painted a deep red. She wore a fitted black dress that fell below the knee, with sheer panels around the waist and hips. Around her neck, a rigid gold necklace gave her an almost Egyptian-goddess kind of look. Good thing he'd had the common sense to invest in the tuxedo...
- He's a renowned philanthropist - she explained. - Sebastian Harrington-Alcántara. He's one of TerraSave's main benefactors. He donates millions every year.
- I see...
The hors d'oeuvres table turned out to be an excellent idea. They had been drinking for a while as they wandered through the galleries, and the alcohol was beginning to make itself felt. Not just in him; she was laughing with increasingly obvious ease.
- Sebastian is a worldwide prodigy - she continued. - And he's not even forty!
- Prodigy? - Leon repeated, picking up something at random to eat.
- At thirty-eight, he's a billionaire. He inherited Alcántara Pharma, Madrid's historic pharmaceutical company specializing in sleep disorders and neuroscience... but he didn't stop there. He studied Law at the Complutense University of Madrid and earned his doctorate at Harvard. That's where he made his connections.
- A lawyer who doesn't practice...
- A strategist - she corrected him. - He understands money, the law... and power.
She paused, enthusiastic.
- A few years ago, his company's stock skyrocketed because of advances in sleep pharmacology and, instead of simply letting his fortune grow, he dedicated himself to more noble causes... - she popped a bite into her mouth and continued enthusiastically. - He sits on TerraSave's board, organizes events like this one, funds humanitarian causes... even small nursing homes. He's very interested in gerontology.
- Right... old people sleep less. Good business.
Claire ignored the sarcasm.
- He's also an environmental activist.
- Europe's most eligible bachelor - Leon said dryly.
Claire laughed.
- Two continents, actually. America and Europe.
- Wow... no pressure.
- He's gorgeous and nobody knows of him dating anyone. Besides, he helped fund the investigation that proved Umbrella's connection to Raccoon City.
Leon raised an eyebrow slightly.
- Quite the hero...
- That's why TerraSave invited me - she continued. - Because I'm a survivor.
Leon looked at her.
- And that's why you brought me?
- No - she laughed. - I brought you because this is fun... - she shrugged. - And because, yeah... even though that's what brought us together, I'm glad I met you, Leon.
Once again, she looked at him in that way that was different from other times. He didn't know what to say, although he didn't have time to figure it out either, because a man in a navy-blue suit and red tie approached the microphone and announced:
- Ladies and gentlemen, please make your way to the Temple of Dendur. Our guest of honor is waiting for you.
Claire let out a small squeal and her eyes lit up with excitement, drawing a smile from Leon. It was obvious that she deeply admired the man and couldn't wait to see him; either that, or the alcohol was already beginning to affect her more than he had calculated and she simply found everything more amusing than she should.
Once inside the gala hall, the guests began gathering on their feet around the area reserved for the speech. The Temple of Dendur rose within that enormous structure of glass and steel. An attractive, dark-haired man, the first hints of gray beginning to show at his temples, approached the podium. He was lean, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard framing a strong jaw and a seductive smile. There was nothing particularly distinctive about the black suit he wore at first glance and, yet, Leon knew immediately that it probably cost far more than his monthly salary.
And Leon made good money.
The newcomer smiled warmly, apparently genuinely, then raised one hand to greet the room with an almost casual naturalness. The response was restrained applause. Leon felt Claire hold her breath beside him and saw a radiant smile spread across her face as she raised her champagne glass and tried to join in the applause with so little coordination that she ended up spilling some of the drink.
That had to be Harrington-Alcántara...
- Claire... - Leon whispered, taking the glass from her hand before she finished bathing herself in it.
Claire thanked him and, now free to do so, joined the rest of the room in applause.
Well. Apparently, that guy really had managed to captivate his audience...
And his friend.
Leon smiled again. Unable to help himself, he tightened his hold on both Claire's glass and his own and shifted slightly behind her, out of a simple instinct to protect her, as he turned his attention back toward the billionaire who had just begun his welcoming speech. He wondered what the man had done to captivate her that way despite belonging to the same world of politicians, bureaucrats, major businessmen, and financiers who had made both their lives so difficult so many times before.
‹‹Maybe Harrington-Alcántara really is different from the rest...››
Claire wasn't usually wrong about people.
She had good instincts.