Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, February 15, 2009
Leon S. Kennedy was looking at the iconic work before him: The Death of Socrates. Claire, 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 did not know why, but that explanation led him to wonder whether he himself would someday find 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 foolish thing, comparing himself to a man like that.
"What?" he heard Claire say beside him, in an offended tone but with a smile that made it clear she was not. "That's what he said."
Leon looked at her and smiled again. She decided to explain herself.
"Socrates was accused of 'corrupting the youth.' He was given the choice between recanting or dying... and he chose the latter. 'The unexamined life is not worth living.'"
"Sure..." he murmured. "How could I doubt the words of a man who lived in ancient Greece?"
"Don't tell me you're a skeptic, Leon," she replied, laughing softly.
Claire brought the glass of Veuve Clicquot to her lips and took a sip. Then, almost in a whisper, she added:
"If power is unjust... resist. Even if it costs you your life. Or whatever else."
They looked at each other. Neither of them said anything more... There was no need. Or perhaps there was, considering the last time they had disagreed with each other's actions and had chosen to remain faithful to their principles.
This time it was Leon who brought the Glenfiddich to his lips before letting his gaze fall back on the painting, thinking about Claire's last words. It was not 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 before that painting was enough to understand it. Sometimes, he thought, justice really took its time to appear... How long had that recognition been delayed? Centuries?
Three weeks earlier, on one of those nights when the ghosts in his head seemed determined to drive him insane, Leon's phone had rung. On the other end, Claire's cheerful voice had broken through the guilty harassment with that natural ease of hers, telling him that in a few weeks she would be in the United States and had a proposal for him. At first, he thought it would be about some job or 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 extended an extra invitation for a companion. And she wanted him to be that companion.
Leon remembered remaining silent for a few seconds. Claire probably took that pause as an attempt at an elegant refusal, because she began listing reasons to attend, although the truth was that he had not answered right away because, in that instant, he had understood something he had not expected... and that was that she was one of the few people who still looked for him without asking for anything in return. Claire had called him simply because she wanted to see him.
And so he accepted.
He no longer remembered the last time someone had done that.
Leon returned to the present and took another sip of his whisky.
It is not a scene of death, but an intellectual victory.
His hand tightened around the glass, while memories of his last mission returned without warning. And, as always, Ada's image burst into his mind, leaving him without answers.
"So, what's this guy's name?" he asked, turning toward Claire. "The one we came here to listen to."
He was not 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 walking toward the appetizer table, stopped when she heard him.
"Come on," she said, tugging gently at the sleeve of his suit.
Leon followed her.
As they walked, he looked at her again. Claire had her hair pulled back, tight, with a few loose strands placed with intention. Her eyes were lined in black and her lips marked in deep red. She wore a fitted black dress that fell below the knee, with sheer panels at the waist and hips. Around her neck, a rigid golden collar gave her an almost Egyptian-goddess air. Good thing he had had the good sense to invest in the tuxedo...
"He's a renowned philanthropist, Sebastian Harrington-Alcántara. But everyone here calls him Harrington," she explained. "He's one of TerraSave's main benefactors. Donates millions every year."
"I see..."
The appetizer table turned out to be an excellent idea. They had been drinking for a while as they moved through the galleries, and the alcohol was beginning to make itself felt. Not just in him; she was laughing with an increasingly obvious ease.
"Sebastian is a world prodigy," she went on telling him, "and he isn't even forty!"
"Prodigy?" Leon repeated, taking a random bite.
"At thirty-eight, he's a multimillionaire. He inherited Alcántara Pharma, a historic Madrid pharmaceutical company specialized in sleep disorders... but he didn't stop there. He studied Law at Complutense 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, law... and power."
She paused, enthusiastic.
"A few years ago, his company's shares skyrocketed because of advances in sleep pharmacology and, far from simply fattening his capital, he dedicated himself to contributing to nobler causes..." She brought an appetizer to her mouth and kept talking. "He's a member of TerraSave's board, organizes events like this one, funds humanitarian causes... even small nursing homes. He's very interested in gerontology."
"Of course... elderly people sleep less. Good business."
Claire ignored the sarcasm.
"He's also an environmental activist."
"Europe's most coveted bachelor," Leon said dryly.
Claire laughed.
"Two continents, actually. America and Europe."
"Wow... pressure."
"He's gorgeous and no one knows him to have a partner. Besides, he helped finance the investigation that proved Umbrella's connection to Raccoon City."
Leon raised an eyebrow ever so slightly.
"Quite the hero..."
"That's why TerraSave invited me," she continued. "Because I'm a survivor."
Leon looked at her.
"And is that why you brought me?"
He could not explain why, but feeling that the invitation had something to do with that bothered him in a strange way.
"No," she laughed, although Leon still felt tense. "I brought you because this is fun..." She shrugged. "And because, yes... even if that is what connects us, I'm happy I met you, Leon."
He did not know what to answer, though he did not have time to, either. 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 shone with excitement, which drew a smile from Leon. It was obvious that she deeply admired that man and was eager to see him; either that, or the alcohol was affecting her more than he had calculated.
Once in the gala hall, everyone began gathering side by side, standing.
The Temple of Dendur was housed inside a glass-and-steel structure, with a ceiling and a north wall of leaded glass that diffused the light; but at night, the warm illumination ran along its base, casting golden shadows over the pink sandstone and making it even more striking. It was a hypnotic union between past and present that made him feel calm... well, that and the whisky he had been drinking, possibly.
Leon took the last sip of his Glenfiddich and reproached himself under his breath... he should have refilled it before going in. He smiled. It was strange to feel like this. Calm. Light.
A man with dark hair, sprinkled with the first signs of gray at his temples, approached the podium. He was slender, broad-shouldered, with a neatly trimmed beard framing a firm jaw. The black suit he wore had nothing particularly distinctive about it at first glance... and yet Leon knew at once that it was worth far more than his monthly salary. And Leon made good money...
Then the newcomer smiled... the smile was warm, present, and seemed genuine. Then he raised a hand to greet the room with effortless ease. The room responded with restrained applause. Leon felt Claire beside him hold her breath and saw her draw a radiant smile, lift her glass of champagne and try to clap, but it proved impossible, spilling part of the drink.
That had to be Harrington...
"Claire..." he whispered beside her, and took her glass with his free hand.
She thanked him and, only then, joined the applause with the rest. Well, apparently this guy really had managed to charm his audience... and his friend. Leon smiled once again, unable to help himself, the hand holding Claire's glass tightening with more pressure, and he positioned himself slightly behind her, perhaps in an instinctive movement of protection. He turned his attention back to that multimillionaire, 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 that had so often complicated both of their lives in the past. Maybe this one was different, and he was about to find out... Claire was rarely wrong about people. She had good instincts.