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 beliefs rather than renounce his ideas. He didn't know why, but the explanation made him wonder whether he himself might one day meet his death for similar reasons—that is, die for continuing down his own path without thinking so much about what his country expected him to do. Leon smiled and lowered his gaze. What a ridiculous thing, comparing himself to a man like that.
- What? - he heard Claire say beside him, sounding offended, though the smile on her face made it perfectly clear she wasn't. - That's what he said.
Leon looked at her and 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 shot back, laughing softly.
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... There was no need. Or maybe there was, considering the last time they had disagreed with each other's actions and had chosen to remain faithful to their own principles.
This time it was Leon who brought the Glenfiddich to his lips before turning his gaze back toward the painting, thinking about Claire's last words. It wasn't a scene of death, she had said, but an intellectual victory. Socrates had lost his life, but he had won the argument... and the fact that, centuries later, the two of them were still standing in front of that painting was enough to understand it. Sometimes, he thought, justice really did take its time showing up... How long had that recognition been delayed? Centuries?
Three weeks earlier, on one of those nights when the ghosts inside his head seemed determined to drive him insane, Leon's phone had rung. On the other end, Claire's cheerful voice had cut through the guilty torment with that effortless way of hers, telling him that she would be in the United States in a few weeks and that she had a proposition for him. At first, he assumed it would have something to do with work, or maybe a favor, now that he was with the government, but the surprise came when she 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 for a guest.
And she wanted him to come.
Leon remembered staying silent for several seconds. Claire probably took the pause as an attempt at a polite refusal, because she immediately began listing reasons why he should go, although the truth was that he hadn't answered right away because, in that moment, he had realized something he hadn't expected...
She was one of the few people who still reached out to him without asking for anything in return.
Claire had called him simply because she wanted to see him.
And so he accepted.
He could no longer remember the last time someone had done that.
Leon returned to the present and took another sip of his whisky.
"It isn't a scene of death, but an intellectual victory."
His hand tightened around the glass as memories of his last mission returned without warning. And, as always, the image of Ada forced its way into his mind, leaving him without answers.
- So, what's this guy's name again? - he asked, turning toward Claire. - The one we came here to listen to.
He wasn't going to think about Ada again. Enough was enough. He had accepted that after their last encounter in that hotel room.
Claire, who was already making her way toward the hors d'oeuvres table, stopped when she heard him.
- Come on - she said, tugging gently at the sleeve of his tuxedo.
Leon followed her.
As they walked, he looked at her again. Claire wore her hair pulled tightly back, with a few loose strands deliberately arranged around her face. Her eyes were lined in black, 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, Sebastian Harrington-Alcántara. But everyone here just calls him Harrington - she explained. - 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 global prodigy - she went on. - And he's not even forty!
- Prodigy? - Leon repeated, picking up something at random to eat.
- At thirty-eight, he's already a billionaire. He inherited Alcántara Pharma, a historic pharmaceutical company in Madrid specializing in sleep disorders... 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, visibly enthusiastic.
- A few years ago, his company's stock skyrocketed thanks to advances in sleep pharmacology, and instead of simply letting his fortune grow, he started dedicating himself to more noble causes... - She popped a bite into her mouth and continued. - 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?
He couldn't explain why, but the idea that the invitation had something to do with that bothered him in a strange way.
- No - she laughed, though Leon still felt tense. - 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.
He didn't know what to say, although he didn't have time to figure it out either. A man in a navy-blue suit and red tie stepped up to 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 she deeply admired the man and couldn't wait to see him. Either that, or the alcohol was already affecting her more than he had calculated.
Once inside the gala hall, everyone began gathering together, standing side by side.
The Temple of Dendur was housed inside a structure of glass and steel, with a ceiling and north wall made of leaded glass that softened the light; but at night, warm illumination ran along its base, casting golden shadows over the pink sandstone and making it even more striking. It was a hypnotic meeting of past and present that made him feel calm...
Well, that and the whisky he'd been drinking, possibly.
Leon finished the last sip of his Glenfiddich and quietly cursed himself...
He should have refilled it before coming in.
He smiled.
It was strange to feel like this.
Calm.
Light.
A 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. There was nothing particularly distinctive about the black suit he wore at first glance...
And yet Leon knew immediately that it cost far more than his monthly salary.
And Leon made good money...
Then the newcomer smiled.
The smile was warm, engaged, and seemed genuine. Then he raised one hand in greeting to the room with an easy, careless naturalness. The room answered with restrained applause. Beside him, Leon felt Claire hold her breath and saw a radiant smile spread across her face. She lifted her champagne glass and attempted to clap, which proved impossible, spilling some of the drink.
That had to be Harrington...
- Claire... - he whispered beside her, taking the glass from her with his free hand.
She thanked him and, now free to do so, joined the rest of the room in applause.
Well. Apparently, this guy really had managed to captivate his audience... And his friend. Leon smiled again despite himself. The hand holding Claire's glass tightened around it, and he shifted slightly behind her, perhaps in some instinctive gesture of protection. He turned his attention back toward the billionaire, who had begun delivering a pacifist speech, and wondered how he had managed to captivate Claire despite belonging to that same world of politicians, bureaucrats, economists, and stockbrokers who had made both their lives so difficult so many times in the past.
Maybe this one was different.
And Leon was about to find out...
Claire wasn't usually wrong about people.
She had good instincts.