by Myers, Kelly
“Anything for you, Gabe.”
“It might be something you’ve never done before.”
“Sounds exciting. After my last raise, I’m due for additional responsibilities anyway.”
“I’ll see you at the office.”
“See you, dear.”
I check my emails again, hoping for an update—alas, nothing.
After my shower, I get dressed quickly while listening to some heavier music than what I would usually pick in the morning. Industrial metal blasts from the speakers and soon from the ear pods I wore during the car ride to the office. I decide to text Patel.
Good morning. Remember that fishy information exchange? Any updates?
I launch the message and stare out the window, wondering who the Gazette’s source may be. If it’s not someone from our camp, then it might be in Quentin’s office. Now, that’s a notion he would fight to the death for, to never reveal it.
A few minutes later, Patel responds.
They’ve gone dark.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
No. Their messages have disappeared, and they definitely switched to a different communication channel because our guys see nothing.
Do you think they’re hackers?
Possibly.
Can you locate them?
If we’re taking this seriously, I’ll allocate the necessary resources.
Handle it like a side-project, but don’t waste anyone’s time.
Got it.
Thanks.
I walk into the office and grab the coffee from Gloria’s hand. “Good morning. Changed your hair?”
She titters. “Uh—Yeah!”
“So much better now.”
“Thank you,” she gives me a coy gaze before looking away.
“Amanda? A word, please?”
I continue walking as she leaps up from her chair and follows me in, closing the door behind her.
“Listen,” I put down the coffee and my laptop sleeve, turning to her. “The sort of assistance I may need might make you uncomfortable.”
“I highly doubt that,” she innocently tilts her head.
I dip my head an inch, raising an eyebrow. “You’re questioning my judgment?”
“N—No!” she quickly shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It will be highly confidential and may border on illegal.”
Her expression freezes for a second as she stares at me, then at my coffee, then back at me. “How?” she whispers.
“Just to get this out of the way, relax,” I wave a hand in the air. “I won’t ask you to kill anyone for me.”
She instantly lets out a relieved titter.
I furrow my eyebrows. “Seriously?”
“Of course not, Gabe,” she takes a step closer. “But put yourself in my shoes. You’re coming off a little intense.”
“Haven’t I always?”
“And I love you for it,” she presses her palms together under her chin. “Your passion, it plays a huge part in why I’ve never considered looking elsewhere. But can you maybe explain a little bit?”
“All in good time,” I sit down, grabbing the warm takeout cup. “But I’ll put your mind at ease and tell you that you won’t be torturing anyone, either.”
“What?” she chuckles, her face still in shock.
“I don’t have a lot of people to trust, Amanda,” I soften my tone. “You know that.”
She parts her lips to say something but doesn’t. Instead, her eyes roam around the floor of the room, unable to meet mine.
“Everything that I’ve worked for this past decade is under threat now… by an enemy, we can’t see. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispers.
“And what did you always say to me?”
She hesitates for a second. “You’re… the greatest mind I’ve ever encountered.”
“If this project falls apart, there won’t be much to fuel this mind to go on anymore.”
Her eyebrows wrinkle with worry. “Are you trying to scare m—”
“No,” I firmly interrupt her. “I’m trying to tell you the truth that no other human knows. This project is everything to me, Amanda. It’s my one and only attempt at… not creating a legacy, but saving one.”
“Are we in trouble?”
Poor, simple Amanda. If the world around us is sinking, then how would we continue to exist?
“You can say that,” I don’t exactly lie, but I put it in words she can comprehend.
“All I care about is that nobody finds out. Can you guarantee that?”
I look away, touching my chin with my fingertips. “If anything is revealed, it’s all on me.”
Her expression softens. “But—”
“Amanda,” I raise my voice an octave, reminding her of who’s boss. “You’re safe. One hundred percent safe. That’s all that matters now. I can take care of the rest. Understood?”
I see her struggle to swallow. “Yes,” she whispers.
“I didn’t hear that,” I narrow my eyes.
“Yes,” she says louder and clearer.
Taking a deep breath, I try to relax my expression and smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
Her face instantly lights up as she breathes deeply, straightening her shoulders. “Will that be all?”
“For now, yes.”
“Your first meeting is at nine.”
“Gotcha.”
She opens the door, placing one leg out. “Have a nice day, Mr. Palanick.”
“You too.”
All alone now, I chug down a mouthful of coffee. As I swallow, the bitter taste is dwarfed by the virulence I feel inside. Quentin’s name appears again on my phone, but I flip it over and let it ring. A minute later, the phone rings again… and again… and again.
I can’t take it.
Pushing myself up, I march over to the terrace and step into the sunlight. I squint a little as I look at the bustling city underneath. All those people, I wonder what their troubles could be. Debts they can’t repay. Opportunities they’ve missed. Lost loves. Dreams they can’t achieve.
If only that’s all, we needed to fight.
Turning back around, I get inside and pick up my phone. Two missed calls from Galina.
Grinding my teeth, I try Ramone’s phone again. It rings and rings, but this time he picks up.
“Boss?” his hoarse voice proves me right.
“Listen, I’m sorry to be calling this early.”
“No, no,” he coughs and clears his throat. “What do you need?”
“Dina Cormack.”
“What about her?”
“Bring her to me.”
10
Dina
My phone hasn’t stopped ringing for the past ten minutes. Being in a meeting, I had set it to silent mode. But the screen keeps lighting up every two minutes, distracting me with the anonymous beckoning. Sharply exhaling, I pick it up and push myself back in my chair.
“I need a minute, guys, continue,” I instruct my writers and walk out of the room, answering. “Yes?” I let my exasperation show.
“Clever what you did there,” the automated voice returns.
“Oh yeah?” I mock. “Glad you enjoyed it. Now excuse me, I have more work to tend to.”
“You drink coffee,” he sternly specifies. “You’ll enjoy a cup with a representative from Palanick Holdings.”
“Eh,” I scoff. “I don’t think so.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
“No, because decent requests are made the conventional way. You know? A normal phone call from a human being? An appointment through email?”
“There’s nothing conventional about our business here.”
“I find it impossible to believe that your convoluted approach is how you conduct business,” I hiss. “I, on the other hand, am a professional who only works with proper organizations. So if this is what you call a ‘conversation,’ then consider it nullified.”
�
��Tsk, that’s disrespectful, Dina.”
“If you call this number again, you’ll have to deal with the FDC. And since we’re already on a first-name basis now… goodbye, asshole.”
I remove the phone from my ear and press on ‘end call,’ the tip of my finger turning white by effect of the unnecessary pressure. Now they want to meet?
The audacity.
I strut back into the meeting, flipping my hair and drawing a calming breath. As I sit down, I realize that all eyes are on me.
“Is everything okay?” Cusack exaggerates a grimace.
I glance in his direction as I shift in my seat, pulling myself closer to the table. “Yeah, why?”
“You seem a little flushed,” Ellen chuckles. “Boy trouble?”
“You know it,” I smirk, sliding my finger across the laptop pad to unlock. “Where were we?”
“The new park deal,” Melanie explains.
“Right…”
I power through the rest of the meeting with superhuman effort to regain my focus and composure. While we discuss the articles to be published tomorrow, I try to push thoughts of that ominous call deeper into the back of my head.
As soon as we’re done, however, my anger resurfaces as I collect my things. Derek approaches while everyone leaves the conference room.
“Dina,” he speaks with a low voice. “was that really Michael?”
“Yes?” I raise my eyebrows. “Yes, it was.”
He gives me a skeptical look from under his eyebrows. “Do you wanna talk about it?”
“It’s silly,” I titter, waving it off with my free hand as the other holds the laptop, phone, notebook and pen. “We’re double-booked for the weekend. Miscommunication.”
“Oh, that sucks.”
“Right? Relationships, huh?” I proceed to walk away, and he follows me.
“So, I’ve been researching Gabriel Palanick and—
“Fantastic,” I quickly interrupt. “Would you share those files with me?”
“Gigabytes of interviews and documents.”
“Cloud?”
“Already uploaded.”
“Great, drop me the link, just in case.”
“Sure.”
“So, he’s your next subject?”
“You’ll see a draft by the end of the week.”
I stop walking and turn to him. “You’re doing a great job, Derek,” I pat him on the shoulder. “Keep it up.”
His smile seems uneasy. Nonetheless, he nods. “Thanks.”
“You didn’t get another one of those calls, did you?”
“Those calls? It was just the one.”
“Yeah,” I furrow my eyebrows and quickly shake my head. “That’s the one I meant.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Great. If you’re grabbing lunch, bring me back a salad, will you?”
“You got it.”
I wait until he completely disappears into his office before I resume my way, heading over to Armin’s office. When I arrive, his assistant informs me that he’s in a meeting and should be done in a few minutes. As I sit down on the sofa in the waiting area, I stare at my phone and find a few unread messages. Michael… Zoe… Julia… I launch Michael’s chat.
Hey there, gorgeous. How are you?
I’m okay, how’s your day? I respond.
Just walked out of surgery.
How did it go?
Well enough, considering the case.
You’re a saint.
Hardly. Free tonight?
Slowly sighing, I know that he’s making an effort to free up time to see me. But I won’t get another chance to go over the mountain of information Derek just promised me.
I may have to work tonight. Massive research.
I can bring some of mine, and we can co-study.
Sounds good. Bring wine.
Done! See you then.
Armin’s office door parts open, and the people he was meeting with walk out, all smiles. I watch them go and turn to find him at the door, silently eyeing me. “Cormack,” he exhales. “Come on in.”
I follow him inside and calmly close the door, not saying a word until I reach his desk and leisurely sit down. “They want a dialogue,” I say monotonously. “Although the approach is rather comical.”
“Oh, the government?” he raises his eyebrows in visible amusement.
“Palanick.”
“Ah…” his fingers fiddle with the edges of the paper in front of him.
“The same absurd ‘Private Number,’ the same ridiculous robotic voice.”
“That is a little funny. But only if you strip the message away.”
“And what message is that?”
“Voice alteration and number blocking barely fall under the umbrella of ‘technology’ nowadays. You can only imagine what Palanick is capable of if you really step on their toes.”
“I’m not walking into that trap.”
“Oh, absolutely,” he leans forward, pulling a single page from the pile. “I’m not suggesting that in the slightest,” he squints before putting on his reading glasses, focusing on the words in front of him. “In fact, I find it somewhat offensive that they think we operate like some movie they saw in the eighties.”
“I should’ve waited to hear about the proposed location. Perhaps a dark alley off Roxbury.”
He chuckles, and I exhale in frustration.
“Are they also terrorizing Peele?”
“I asked him. He said no.”
“What do you recommend we do? Run the next piece anyway?”
“It’s on Gabriel.”
“There’s not a single blemish on that man’s record.”
“I haven’t reviewed the data yet.”
“I’d be surprised if you found something.”
Mindlessly turning away, I stare out the window. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”
“Well, I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
“Yeah,” I nod, my eyes still fixed on a random faraway window. “We’ll see.” I then turn to him, suddenly remembering something. “You’re not saying: I told you so.”
“I don’t belong to that school, and you know it. You had to figure this one out for yourself.”
“Do you know something I don’t?”
Pressing his lips into a line, he leans back, letting go of the paper in his hand. “I know that I’ve only met Gabriel Palanick once,” he recalls with a pensive gaze. “And he didn’t strike me as the man after money and power.”
“I’m interested to know what drove him, then. Because he’s not a self-made man. With his inheritance, he could’ve lived—hell, his kids could’ve lived—comfortably for decades without working a day in their lives.”
“And you think ‘greed’ is the word?”
“It’s just a theory based on patterns.”
He chuckles, joking. “Perhaps you should take that meeting, after all.”
An inexplicable smile forces itself upon my lips. I don’t know why or how I would be smiling while faced with such an ordeal. Armin must be wrong—he has to be. Otherwise, I have absolutely no idea what I’m up against.
If he’s right about Palanick, then I’m completely in the dark here.
I spend the rest of the workday performing in a less-than-ideal manner, utterly preoccupied with the matter. I can’t wait to get home and delve into the virtual world of Gabriel Palanick, a man who now represented a mystery to be solved.
Finally, I arrive at my quiet haven before I remember that I have invited Michael over. Stepping in, I kick off my heels and quickly tidy up the living room, creating a space where we can both comfortably work. I arranged the couch cushions, resituated the end table to serve as a work surface, and pulled the coffee table closer.
The knock on the door prompts me to rush and open it, greeting Michael with a forced smile. “Right on time,” I take the bottle from his hand, eyeing the hefty textbook he’s carrying. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, taking off his shoes.
“Innovations in Neurosurgery, I’ve been holding my breath in anticipation for months.”
I grab a pair of spa slippers I bought for guests from the shoe locker. “Here.”
“Whoa,” his eyes widen in surprise. “I didn’t know those were a thing.”
“The world’s full of nastiness, my friend,” I watch him glide in his feet. “Innovations in Hospitality!”
“Clever,” he nods in appreciation.
After getting small talk out of the way, we open the bottle of wine and nestle side to side on the sofa. As soon as I click on the link and the page loads, Michael peeks and scoffs. “Still on that guy?”
“Looks like we’re only getting started.”
“How come?”
“Derek needs more help. Honestly, neither one of us expected his piece to come this far.”
“Well,” he plans a quick peck on my cheek. “You’re brilliant, and I’m sure you’ll earn Derek some great credit.”
“I sure hope so.”
I hope I don’t end his career instead, I think to myself.
The photographs in the initial summarized introduction depict Palanick as the sexy, rich playboy, sparsely spotted with random women but never with the same one twice. With his name occasionally linked to the who’s who of arts, cinema and a handful of other glamorous professions, his private life remains a mystery to the public eye, with nothing but speculations about who he’s dating or whether they’re an item at all.
With earphones in place, I move on to the interviews. His statements—while cunningly crafted—hardly seem to reveal his true inclinations or real agenda.
“When something really matters to you, you go for it. It’s not always a calculated move, but you’re driven by something greater than ambition. Call it passion. Call it a personal vision. I don’t care for labeling my motives.”
A quote worthy of a true visionary, I’ll give him that.
“When faced with incessant failures like the ones we’ve been witnessing in the past three decades, we must stop and revisit the approach we’re adopting. We have to be flexible and embrace change because if we keep going down the same old path, then we’re headed for an unprecedented catastrophe that no humanitarian effort would be able to reverse.”
Humanitarian? Is that how he tries to paint himself in the public eye? Other than the dozen charities to which his donations are directed, what does he have to show for it? How much has he really tried? How personal did he attempt to get? Or is money his solution to everything?
