Chương 8
“Mark?”
“I’m saying you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Neither did you last night.”
I ended the call.
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Priya looked at me.
“He knows.”
“Knows what?”
“That the documents are out.”
Arthur tapped his pen against the legal pad.
“Not necessarily.”
“He knows someone talked.”
“Yes.”
“But not who.”
Priya looked toward the storage bin.
“He’ll assume me.”
“Probably.”
Her face tightened.
“I have a mother who depends on my insurance.”
Arthur stopped tapping the pen.
That was the first consequence that seemed to land on him personally.
“You may have employment claims depending on what happens next.”
Priya shook her head.
“I don’t care about suing him.”
“You may care about health coverage.”
She looked down.
“Yes.”
Arthur leaned forward.
“Then we deal with what is in front of us, one thing at a time.”
My phone chimed.
A new email had arrived.
The sender was a name I did not recognize.
The subject line contained only four words.
Northline Consulting Payment History.
I opened it.
There was no message.
Only a PDF attachment.
Arthur saw my expression.
“Don’t open the attachment yet.”
“Why?”
“Unknown sender.”
I read the address aloud.
Priya’s head came up.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I know that name.”
“Who is it?”
She stared at the screen.
“Daniel Cho.”
Arthur straightened.
“The controller?”
Priya nodded.
Another email arrived from the same address.
This one had text.
If Clara is with you, tell her not to trust the Northline vendor records in the office.
Mark changed them last month.
I felt my pulse in my throat.
A third message appeared before any of us moved.
The real beneficiary is not Northline.
Arthur read it over my shoulder.
Priya whispered, “Then who is it?”
The fourth email came seconds later.
It contained one sentence.
Ask Diane Mercer why she has been receiving fifty thousand dollars every quarter.
For a few seconds, nobody reacted.
Then Priya said, “That can’t be right.”
Arthur looked at her.
“Why?”
“Because Diane doesn’t work for the company.”
“Exactly.”
Priya rubbed both hands over her face.
“I’ve approved payments tied to Northline.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Estimate.”
She looked at the ceiling.
“Eight, maybe ten.”
“And you never saw Diane’s name?”
“Never.”
Arthur pointed toward my phone.
“Reply to Daniel.”
“What do I say?”
“Ask him whether he is somewhere safe to speak.”
I typed the message.
His answer came almost immediately.
Not by phone.
Meet in person.
Arthur read it.
“Good instinct.”
Priya shook her head.
“He’s terrified of Mark.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Daniel has been trying to leave for months.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“He has two kids in college.”
Arthur glanced at me.
There it was again.
The ordinary machinery that kept bad systems operating.
Mortgages.
Insurance.
Tuition.
A parent who needed care.
Nothing cinematic.
Nothing simple.
My phone buzzed.
Daniel had sent an address for a coffee shop near the interstate.
He added:
One hour.
Come alone if possible.
Arthur read that and snorted.
“That part is not happening.”
“I can go.”
“No.”
“You told me the outcome has to involve my decisions.”
He gave me a flat look.
“I have never said anything remotely like that.”
I almost smiled.
“Still going.”
Arthur sighed.
“Then I’m going too.”
Priya stood.
“So am I.”
“No,” Arthur said.
She stared at him.
“Why not?”
“Because if Mark already suspects you, three people connected to the company walking into the same coffee shop together is unnecessarily visible.”
“That sounds paranoid.”
“That is literally my profession.”
She sat back down.
I went upstairs to tell the girls I needed to leave for a little while.
Emma was sitting cross-legged on the bed with Lily curled beside her watching cartoons on a tablet.
“You’re going somewhere.”
It was not a question.
“Yes.”
“With Arthur?”
“Yes.”
“Is it about Dad?”
I hesitated.
“Yes.”
Emma muted the tablet.
“Are you going to fight with him?”
“No.”
“Promise?”
“I’m not meeting him.”
She looked relieved.
Then embarrassed that she looked relieved.
“Can I stay here?”
“Priya will stay with you.”
Emma glanced toward the hallway.
“Does Dad know where this house is?”
“I don’t think so.”
That answer did not satisfy either of us.
I sat beside her.
“If he comes here, you do not open the door.”
“I know.”
“You call me.”
“I know.”
“And if I don’t answer—”
“Call 911.”
I nodded.
Emma touched the bruise on her cheek.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Grandma used to tell Dad he was supposed to take care of her.”
I looked at her.
“When?”
“All the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’d say stuff when she thought we weren’t listening.”
“What stuff?”
Emma shrugged.
“That he owed her because Grandpa left.”
My pulse shifted.
“Grandpa didn’t leave.”
“I know.”
Mark’s father had died when Mark was seventeen.
A sudden heart attack.
Diane had spent years speaking about widowhood as though it were an unpaid debt everyone else owed her.
“What else did she say?”
Emma stared down at the tablet.
“That Dad promised she’d never have to worry about money.”
The sentence stayed with me all the way to the coffee shop.
Arthur drove because my hands were still unsteady from lack of sleep.
We took his sedan instead of mine.
He said nothing about that choice.
He simply handed me a travel mug and told me the coffee was terrible.
It was.
We arrived twelve minutes early.
The place sat beside a gas station and a tire shop.
Truck noise rolled across the parking lot every few minutes.
Arthur chose a booth where we could see both entrances.
“You do this often?”
“What?”
“Sit facing doors.”
“Your grandfather liked gangster movies.”
“That is not an answer.”
“No.”
Daniel arrived three minutes before the hour.
I recognized him from company holiday parties.
Forty-something, compact, always overdressed, even when everyone else had loosened their ties.
May you like
Today he wore jeans and a gray quarter-zip.
He looked younger without a suit and much older around the eyes.
