I was sensible. I was smart.
I stopped walking and hailed a cab.
I rode the rest of the way home in silence. But it was not quiet.
My mind was filled with more thoughts than usual. Like someone poured everything in my brain and shook it up. Usually my brain was like a filing cabinet. Neat and orderly. I thought of Max and his lips. I thought about the talking points I came up with for dinner. I thought about what I should wear to dinner. I thought of Max and the way he looked in that leather jacket last night. I thought about that creepy feeling I had and wondered if it was safe to go into my apartment and be alone.
By the time I pulled up to the building, paid the driver, and trudged inside I didn’t really care if there was an army of angry bears in my home. I was pissed, frustrated, and mildly frightened. If anyone was waiting upstairs for me, I would clobber them with my briefcase and call the cops.
I knew Max wouldn’t be home—it was still too early—but I anticipated seeing him again. I wondered if he would give me that fluttery feeling inside. I wondered if he would touch me… and what the effect of that touch would be.
I barely noticed the little note stuck to the front door as I unlocked it and let myself inside.
It was white and yellow with the words “first attempt” circled on the side. I rolled my eyes and snatched it off the door before I shut it and threw the lock.
“Mom,” I groaned out loud. “How many times have I told you to send me stuff at work?”
I might as well just stop telling her; she wasn’t going to listen. She didn’t understand the amount of hours I worked. The fact that I was never home when the UPS guy came by with deliveries and then had to trek to the UPS store to claim my package was something she would never grasp.
I giggled on my way to the bedroom. She probably did it on purpose. It was her own way of making me leave work early at least once in a while to get to the post office before they closed.
“Well played, Mom,” I said to no one. “Well played.”
I jammed the UPS claim ticket in my purse and tossed it on the bed. I didn’t feel like showering again today so instead, I changed into a black pencil skirt and jacket and reapplied my makeup so it looked fresh. The bun I styled my hair in was still in place so I didn’t bother to restyle it.
I looked professional. I looked like a woman to be taken seriously.
I pulled out my notes to go over before the meeting. Knowing general personal details and such always helped close a deal because it showed that the firm did their homework and was thorough.
The whole time I read, my eyes would stray to the front door. I kept wondering about Max, about what time he would be home tonight.
I wanted to see him again. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but something was different about Max, something had changed. Not only that, but there was a tension between us that I never felt before. When we were together, the air in the room seemed hotter, seemed to crackle.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Was he angry at me?
Had I done something wrong without realizing it? Was Max thinking of ending our relationship?
That would explain his gruff demeanor, his delayed replies when I asked him a question. And when he did speak, he was sometimes so vague that it was like I was having a conversation with someone else completely. Max had never been vague. He was straight to the point. He hated wasting time on details that didn’t matter.
And the way he kissed me this morning…
His lips seared me to my very core. He’d never kissed me like that before.
Even on a Saturday.
Maybe it wasn’t desire I’d been feeling. Maybe the heat, that spark, was anger.
Maybe there was someone else. Maybe Max had fallen madly in love with another woman and just didn’t know how to tell me.
I packed up my notes and smoothed out my clothes. My stomach felt queasy. Yeah, Max and I never had a great romance or epic courtship. Neither of us had time for dates, lazy days, or weekend trips. This wasn’t a movie. This was real life and we both had lofty career goals. We both knew what we wanted.
It was only natural that two up-and-coming professionals in the New York City corporate world would be a perfect match. His connections became my connections and mine his. Everyone always said what a perfect pair we made when we were out at events and corporate dinners.
I thought he was happy.
I thought I was happy.
I barely noticed the cold when I stepped out onto the sidewalk and raised my arm to hail a cab. My swirling thoughts were far more chilling than the wind could ever be.
If I was so happy, then why on Earth did the idea of Max ending our relationship not reduce me to a pile of tears?
11
Tucker
The tall building was all glass and steel, standing over the sidewalk and busy street like some kind of castle among peasants.
It didn’t make me feel inferior; if anything, it pissed me off.
This was the building where my brother found his demise. This was the building that in some aspects ultimately claimed his life. Yeah, okay, so buildings couldn’t kill people… but the things that went on within walls of buildings certainly could.
The dress shirt and tie around my neck felt like a noose, and I rolled my shoulders back, trying to shrug off the feeling and the thoughts of my brother’s death. I wished I could walk in there and smash some heads and bust some jaws… but I couldn’t.
Yeah, it would be satisfying, but it wouldn’t help me get Max’s killer.
I tilted my head and glanced at the building once more, seeing it in a new light.
Max’s killer was inside.
I stepped up to the wide glass doors leading in from the sidewalk and as I did, it swung open, a doorman appearing in a pressed suit and a smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Patton!”
I wasn’t used to being called Mr. Patton. I was used to just Patton. But he wasn’t talking to me. He was talking to Max.
“Morning,” I said, inclining my chin. “Have a good day.”
“You too!” the doorman called after me as I pressed the button for the elevator to take me to the twelfth floor. Unfortunately, I wasn’t the only one in the car on the way up, but no one spoke as we all rode up in silence, making several stops along the way.
When we reached my floor, the doors slid open silently and I stepped out in the reception room of the office onto a buffed, light-colored tile floor and cream-painted walls. The reception desk was large and took up a huge amount of floor space, and as I walked, a dark-headed receptionist in a bright-red suit looked up.
She did a double take.
“Mr. Patton!” she said, standing up, her dark hair falling over her shoulders.
“Morning,” I said, gripping my briefcase a little tighter. I hoped she didn’t expect small talk because I planned to make a beeline for my office and shut myself in. I did not want to deal with anyone that I didn’t have to. The less I talked, the easier being Max would be.
The receptionist watched me with this odd look on her face and I started to feel little tingles of warning. Was she not expecting me today? Because if she wasn’t, then that meant she was in on the plot to kill Max.
“Is something wrong?” I asked coolly, glancing around for some sort of name tag or desk plate. I didn’t see one.
“No—I…” she stuttered and I stopped walking toward the hall that I knew led to Max’s office and turned to look at her directly.
“That didn’t sound very confident.”
She fidgeted in her chair. “I just didn’t expect to see you…” Her voice faded away.
“Why?” I asked point blank.
“Because…” She began wetting her lips with her tongue. “They told me you weren’t coming back. They’re cleaning out your office.”
Motherfuckers.
I felt my eyes narrow and anger darken my vision. Those assholes had no clue who they were dealing with. “A
re they?” I asked, my tone taking on a dead calm. “I hadn’t realized I’d been fired.”
The girl looked at me with a mixture of sympathy and alarm in her eyes.
“I’ll go find out what’s going on right now.”
She didn’t try to stop me as I strode down the hallway, passing offices and cubicles as I went. Several people called out greetings and I returned them, but as I drew closer to where I knew my office to be, I started getting mixed looks. Looks of surprise. Looks of confusion.
If I had any doubt that someone in this company killed my brother, I sure as hell didn’t anymore.
I wondered what these people had been told when he didn’t show up yesterday, and now someone was in his office, clearing out all his stuff.
The thought made my heart begin to pump furiously. They were probably searching his office, looking for that flash drive.
I had to find it first.
Quickening my steps, I approached the small office that Max occupied. The door was slightly ajar and inside I could hear someone rifling through papers and opening desk drawers.
I laid my palm on the front of the wooden door—the door that still had Max’s name on it—and pushed it open.
The man standing behind my desk looked up in irritation.
The irritation quickly vanished and I was very pleased to see blatant shock ripple through his entire body.
I knew then that this bastard had a hand in murdering my brother.
Red spots that looked suspiciously like blood swam before my eyes, blocking a lot of my vision and making me think of causing him serious pain. I’d never hated someone just on sight until now. Even if he hadn’t given such an obvious look of guilt, I would have hated him.
He looked smarmy. He looked dirty. He looked like a corrupt businessman that cared about no one but himself.
It was going to be an absolute pleasure to make this asshole suffer.
I cocked my head to the side and did a sweeping glance at the box on my desk, the messed-up papers, and the guilty look written across his ugly face. “Did someone forget to tell me I was fired?”
“Maxwell,” the man said, casually pulling his hand out of the drawer he had been searching. He gave a nervous laugh and then glanced at the door—the door which I was blocking. He glanced back at me, plastering a fake smile across his face. The little beads of sweat that gathered at his hairline gave me an immense amount of pleasure.
“Who said you were fired?”
“Well, the receptionist sure seemed surprised to see me. Along with several other employees. Why else would you be going through my desk and boxing up my belongings?”
He cleared his throat. “You certainly are not fired!” He tried to laugh. It sounded more like he was being strangled. “We became worried yesterday when you didn’t come into work. We tried to call, but you weren’t answering. We were very afraid something was wrong.”
“So you automatically come in here to box up my stuff?”
“I just didn’t want anything to happen to your items while we were figuring out where you were.”
What a lying sack of shit. I sincerely wanted to plow my knuckles into his garbage spewing mouth. This son of a bitch thought my brother was dead.
I took a breath, reigning in my extreme temper. “So I’m not fired?”
“Of course not! We would never fire one of the most bright, young, and promising men at this firm.”
Uh-huh.
And mother’s liked watching their sons go off to war.
“What happened yesterday? It’s not like you to not show up. To not call. Is something wrong? Is Charlotte okay?”
My back teeth slammed together. I did not like hearing Charlotte’s name on this scum’s lips.
“Charlotte is fine,” I said, short. “I had a bit of an accident.”
“Oh?” he said. The sweat on his forehead was much more pronounced now.
“Someone ran my car off the road,” I said, watching him very carefully.
His eyes widened and his lips parted. It was a good impression of being surprised. “My God! You weren’t hurt?”
“No, but my car was totaled. It was quite a mess to clean up,” I said, flat. “And my phone was destroyed so I couldn’t call in. I’m sure you’ll understand.” I looked directly into his eyes, not backing down, not so much as glancing away.
“Of course, of course.” He came around the desk and motioned to my office. “So glad you’re okay.”
I almost laughed. I considered picking up the stapler on the end of the desk and hitting him upside the head with it. I considered confronting him here and now about his dirty, underhanded dealings.
But I didn’t.
I needed to control myself.
Self-control wasn’t something I was good at.
“Was there something you needed?” I said, changing the subject abruptly. I wanted to keep him on his toes.
“Excuse me?”
“You were going through my desk. Is there something that you needed? A file? A phone number?” A flash drive.
“Oh, yes,” he said, his eyes darting around. “I was looking for the Matthews account file.”
“It was likely in my car the other night. Nothing was salvageable.”
His face paled. “You’re very lucky to have not been hurt.”
“Oh, I don’t know about luck,” I said, walking around and taking a seat in the black chair behind my desk. After getting comfortable, I glanced up. “I’d call it more divine intervention.”
“You would?”
“It’s not my time to die. There are still some things here on Earth that I need to do.” I enjoyed the ominous undertone to my words. I hoped he understood exactly what I was saying.
I’m coming for you, fucker.
“Well, we’re certainly glad to have you back, Maxwell,” he said, turning to leave.
“Mr. Wallace,” I called and he turned back. Thank God the Feds made me learn some of the names of people who worked here (or rather the suspects).
“I’ll get another copy of that file you were looking for and get that over to you ASAP.”
“The file?” he said, like he had no clue what I was talking about.
“The Matthews file?” I said like it was obvious.
Idiot.
“Oh, yes. Please get that to me. I need it right away.”
“I’ll just get the info off my flash drive here and print it out.” I patted my briefcase as he walked away.
My words halted his steps.
He turned to look at me.
“What did you say?”
“I said the information you were looking for is on my flash drive.”
Our eyes locked.
In the moments that passed, we both knew exactly what we were talking about.
“You son of a bitch,” he breathed out.
I smiled.
It was a real smile. The smile of a predator. “Something wrong, Mr. Wallace?” I asked innocently.
His face flushed and he took a step forward. I couldn’t wait to hear the threat he was about to let loose. It made me wish I was wearing a wire.
Before he could speak, someone walked into my office behind him. It was a man of about sixty with gray hair and a crisp suit.
“What’s going on—” His words halted.
He looked at me.
He looked at Mr. Wallace. His son.
Mr. Wallace Sr. was the driving force behind this company. He had been at the helm for almost thirty years. In the past five years, his son, Johnathan Wallace (the little puke I wanted to punch), had come aboard and that’s when the money laundering, the fraud, and the espionage began to take place. Or so the FBI told me.
Looking at the two lizards now, I would surmise the Feds were right.
“Maxwell,” Wallace Sr. said, “we were concerned about you.”
I smiled and leaned back in my seat. “I was just telling your son here that everything was fine.”
Wallace Sr. looked at Wall
ace Jr. They exchanged a silent word.
“Wonderful!” Wallace Sr. said.
“If either of you need anything I’ll be in my office all day, catching up.”
“Well, then.” Wallace Sr. began. “Have a great day.”
I watched them leave the room and then got up to shut my office door. Before I did, I watched the two men walk into a large corner office and shut the door.
I smiled.
They were likely calling up their hit men right now and demanding to know why I was still breathing.
I chuckled and shut the door to my tiny office. The walls were bare and it was literally shaped like a box. It made me feel claustrophobic. I couldn’t understand how Max spent so much time in here.
I didn’t have to understand. I just had to do what I came here to do.
Judging from the look on Wallace Jr.’s face, he hadn’t found the flash drive. Which meant I still had time to get to it first.
I yanked off the navy suit jacket and tossed it on a nearby chair. Then I rolled up the sleeves of my white dress shirt and got to searching.
12
Charlotte
The hours in today seemed endless. As if this were some twisted form of Groundhog Day and I was doomed to live this day for all eternity.
Or maybe I just needed to take off these stupid heels.
Heels were like acceptable modern day torture for women. What was worse is that women everywhere actually paid for it. But nothing quite complimented a pair of legs like a hot pair of heels.
It was dark and I was exhausted so I hailed a cab once I left the restaurant and sank into the back of the yellow car, trying to ignore the pungent smell of onions. My stomach lurched. It reminded me of the man in my apartment.
The cabbie took off, veering wildly down the street and swerving around some walking bystanders who started yelling at his insane driving. I didn’t even blink. All the cabbies in NYC drove like this. I used to pray every time I got in the back of one. Now I barely noticed. One time my driver actually hit a pedestrian on a bike. He didn’t stop. In fact, he started muttering in some language I couldn’t understand.
My business dinner could be categorized as a success. The clients would be coming by the offices tomorrow to sign the final papers. I already emailed the partners and their assistants so they could ready the paperwork so all it needed was some signatures.
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