She laughs bitterly. “I think it’s clear, Finn, that the only thing either Oliver or you care about is Imperium and the billions you stand to make when it goes public.” She zips up her coat. “Don’t call me.”
We watch her walk out of our lives.
41
Miki
If your heart is a volcano, how shall you expect flowers to bloom?
Khalil Gibran
It’s almost four in the morning when I get back to Wendy’s apartment. I’ve lived here since November. My clothes hang in Wendy’s closet, and those are my shoes scattered all over the bedroom, but the place feels like it belongs to a stranger.
I curl up in the unmade bed. I slept here only four days ago, on Friday night. That day, I’d been alone and restless, but when I couldn’t sleep, I’d reached for my phone and chatted with Lancelot and Merlin.
The betrayal cuts bone-deep. I haven’t just lost the two men who’d become important to me. I’ve also lost two of my best friends.
I toss and turn, trying to fall asleep and failing. Finally, I get up and find a bottle of wine in the kitchen. I don’t bother with a glass. Taking it back to bed with me, I down its contents over the next hour, feeling tearful, lonely, and sorry for myself.
In the morning, I can give myself a pep talk and try to make a list. In the morning, I can figure out what to do with the wreckage that once again surrounds me.
Tonight, there’s just pain.
When I wake, the sun’s shining through my window, and the radio clock on the bedside table tells me it’s noon.
My head throbs and my mouth is dry, and I feel terrible, both physically and mentally. I get up and gulp down a glass of water. There’s no aspirin in the apartment, and I blearily contemplate going to the convenience store at the corner of the block to get some.
Last night, I turned off my phone in the cab. I’m not ready to turn it back on, but bracing myself, I do it anyway and navigate to DefCon’s forums. I don’t want to hear from Lancelot and Merlin—no, from Oliver and Finn—but I’m morbidly curious about whether Kent’s reached out again.
He has. There’s a message from him, sent at eight in the morning. Do you have the list?
Another one, sent at ten. What the hell is going on?
By this time, Kent probably found out I wasn’t at work. Are Finn and Oliver going to tell him I’ve quit? Somehow, I doubt that. The two men haven’t discovered what the CFO is up to, and until they do, I’m sure they’ll play their cards close to their chest.
It’s none of my business anyway. I don’t work at Imperium. My relationship with Oliver and Finn is over.
There are about a dozen messages from the two men. They’ve tried repeatedly to reach me.
I don’t know why. There’s nothing to say.
Once I shower, I make my way downstairs and go to the store at the end of the block. It’s an independent store in an ocean of chain retailers, but somehow, year after year, it survives. Maybe because the owner, Mr. Greene, is one of the nicest, friendliest people in the city.
He’s working the cash register today. “Hello, Mr. Greene,” I greet him. “You’re not usually at the front.”
“Camille quit,” he says. “She’s moving back to England. I just put up a help-wanted sign. You wouldn’t know anyone who’s interested, would you, Mackenzie?”
I have no job. No direction. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I should start making a list about what to do next, but I can’t think of anything. Part of me wants to flee Manhattan, where everything reminds me of Oliver and Finn. Maybe another city will provide me a fresh start.
“I can’t pay much,” he says. “Thirteen dollars an hour.”
I have a habit of leaping before looking. I jumped into my relationship with Aaron too soon. I took the job at Imperium even though I shouldn’t have. I got involved with Oliver and Finn against my better judgment. This time, I’m going to do things differently.
And until I figure out my next steps, thirteen bucks an hour is a start.
“I might be interested,” I reply. “Can I fill out a form?”
I’m closing a door. On Imperium. On User0989/Lawrence Kent. On Finn and Oliver.
It’s the smart, sensible thing to do.
Yet, I feel as if someone’s taken a baseball bat to my heart.
42
Oliver
I finally get into the office at two o’clock on Tuesday afternoon. Janine looks up at me. “How’s Finn’s grandmother?” she asks. “Your message didn’t give me any details.”
“She fell and broke her hip. She had surgery last night.”
She inhales sharply. “That’s terrible. Is she going to be okay?”
“I think so. Finn’s going to be out the entire week, so cancel what you can, and I’ll pinch-hit for him.”
“No worries. Miki’s going to be out today, I assume? She’s got a couple of meetings on her calendar. I can reschedule those for her.”
It’s no surprise that Janine’s deduced that we’re seeing Miki. Not much gets by our assistant, but she’s both loyal and discreet, and we have nothing to worry about.
When she asks about Miki, a sharp stab of pain pierces through me. I open my mouth to tell her that Miki’s never coming back, but I can’t yet face the chasm of grief that looms in front of me. “She’ll be out for the next week as well,” I tell my assistant. “If someone asks, she’s out sick.”
“Okay.” To my relief, Janine moves on to the next item of business. “The only meeting I couldn’t reschedule was with Gabriella Alves from Aventi; I couldn’t get in touch with her. She’s due here in ten minutes. Do you want to see her, or should I apologize on your behalf?”
Gabby is Miki’s friend. She has no reason to help me, but I cling on to that last straw of hope. “No, I’ll meet with her.”
“Oliver, you look like hell.” Gabby doesn’t mince her words. “Did you get any sleep last night?”
She doesn’t know. “Finn’s grandmother fell and broke her hip,” I explain. “We spent most of the night at Mount Sinai.” Before she can jump in and ask me questions about whether she’s okay, I forestall her. “There’s more. Something else happened yesterday.”
Her eyes narrow at my expression. “What?”
I tell her everything. Miki’s hack of Lippman’s information, which led to our plane journey. I confess that our online friendship was initially motivated by our need to keep an eye on her. “But things changed,” I end unhappily. “Miki thinks that everything we had together is a lie. It isn’t. I’m in love with her.”
“Oliver.” Gabby shakes her head helplessly. “What a fucking mess. Why are you telling me this?”
“She’s not picking up her phone,” I reply. “I’ve tried all morning. She’s not answering her texts. I was hoping you’d talk to her.”
She gives me a troubled look. “You were one of her online friends, and I know she told you everything, even more than she told us. You know how badly she took Aaron’s lies. You know she felt like a fool, like everyone around her was laughing at her and pitying her. And you still didn’t tell her the truth.”
“I screwed up.”
Gabby gets to her feet. “I think you’re a good person, Oliver,” she says. “I admit I formed a snap judgment about you, and I was wrong. But I’m not going to help you with this. Miki has every reason to feel betrayed, and she needs to work through her feelings on her own. Without pressure from her friends, and definitely without pressure from Finn and you.”
She looks at me steadily. “If you care about Miki, then the kindest thing you can do is leave her alone.”
43
Miki
If you can't fly then run, if you can't run then walk, if you can't walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.
Martin Luther King Jr.
The rest of the week, my only focus is putting one foot in front of another. I wake up at the crack of dawn. I shower and get dressed, and I head to my morni
ng shift at Mr. Greene’s convenience store.
My evenings I fill with sappy TV. I avoid my laptop, and I don’t log in again to the DefCon forums.
Gabby drops by on Wednesday evening. “I met Oliver yesterday,” she says, settling down on the couch and giving me a concerned look. “He told me everything.”
“Did he?” I can’t seem to summon up the energy to care. “Did he send you here to check up on me?”
“He suggested it. I told him to leave you alone. I just came by to see if you were okay.”
“I’m not,” I reply. “But I will be, eventually.”
She nods. “Oliver told me once that you were stronger than I gave you credit for. He’s right.”
A warm rush of pleasure fills me, and I suppress it ruthlessly. Nothing Oliver Prescott or Finn Sanders did was without an agenda. “When?”
“It was when I went to apologize for assuming the worst about him. I told him you were in a fragile place after Aaron. At that time, I remember thinking that he was being presumptuous. After all, he’d only known you for a week or so at that point.”
“I think they knew me better than anyone,” I reply sadly. I’d poured my heart out to Lancelot and Merlin, night after night. “I’ll have to be more careful about who I talk to online.”
“So you’re not working there anymore?” Gabby probes. “You’re done? You don’t care what Lawrence Kent is up to?”
“Oliver really did tell you everything, didn’t he?” On TV, a kitten jumps on the lap of its owner and falls asleep. I never did get a cat, even though it was on my list. And I went and fell in love, even though I’d sworn to myself that I wasn’t going to do that. “That’s not my problem anymore, Gabby. I have another job now. I’m working at Mr. Greene’s store.”
I can tell she wants to comment on my life choices, but she holds her tongue. “Okay,” she says agreeably. “Will we see you on Monday for girl’s night out?”
“Maybe,” I lie. “I get up at five to open the store at six. I don’t want to be out too late. Come to think of it, it’s almost bedtime.”
Gabby gets the hint. She rises to her feet and folds me into a hug. “I know things feel terrible right now,” she says gently, “but time really does heal all wounds.”
She’s almost out of the door when she pauses. “I thought you’d want to know that Finn’s grandmother is recovering well,” she says. “She’s going to be discharged from the hospital the day after tomorrow. Janine told me.”
A flood of relief fills me. “Thanks for finding out.”
She squeezes my hand. “Whatever decision you make, Miki,” she says seriously, “don’t make it out of fear. Okay?”
44
Finn
“Welcome back,” Mary greets me with a smile. “How’s your grandmother?”
It’s Monday morning. I’ve taken four days off work, probably the longest stretch of my life. On Friday, my grandmother was discharged from the hospital, and I moved her to my apartment. “It’s just until you recover, so don’t argue with me,” I’d told her.
“I wasn’t going to,” she’d replied, to my surprise. “It’ll be nice to stay with you for a week or two until I’m back on my feet.”
It’ll take more than a week or two, and both my grandmother and I know it. She faces weeks of rehab before she can walk again. Still, things could have been so much worse.
“She’s in my apartment,” I reply to Mary’s question. “I asked her this morning if she was sure she didn’t want me around, and she shooed me out. Thank you for finding me a home care worker.”
Mary pats my hand. “I was happy to help,” she says. “Shayna took care of Bob’s mother when she was bedridden. She’s wonderful.”
“My grandmother really likes her.”I transfer my attention to Imperium. I’ve tried to reach out to Miki a hundred times in the last week, but she won’t return my calls, and she won’t reply to my texts. I don’t blame her for her decision.
My life is in shambles, and there’s a gaping empty hole inside me. The only thing I can do is try and fill it with work. “You wanted to see me about Alessandra?”
“I talked to her on Friday,” Mary replies. “She’s itching to get back to work, but she was hoping to ease back into it by working from home four days a week. I told her I didn’t think it would be a problem, but Sachin wanted to check in with you.”
“As long as she’s ready. I don’t want her to feel pressured into coming back. The most important thing is her recovery.”
“I checked with her,” Mary says. “She assured me that she’s ready. I think she’s bored. But if you’re really concerned, you could visit her and ask her yourself.” She gives me a stern look. “It would be a nice thing to do. Sachin visited her in hospital, as did I.”
The only thing that’s left intact in my life is work. I might as well do it properly. And Mary’s right. I should have visited Alessandra after she got back from the hospital. “You sound like my grandmother,” I tell our HR Head with a grin. “She tells me off with exactly the same note in her voice. You’re right; I should have dropped by to see her. Can you set it up for me? I’ll drag Oliver too.”
“I already did,” she says smugly. “Janine put it on your calendar. Five this evening.”
I shake my head at her fondly. “Sounds good. I’ll drop by on my way home.”
Oliver and I have seen plenty of each other in the last week. He’s dropped by to check on my grandmother every single day. We’ve had several conversations about everything under the sun.
But we haven’t talked about Miki. That wound is too raw.
He’s in our office when I return from my meeting. “Mary’s arranged that we visit Alessandra this evening,” I tell him.
He winces. “We should have done that earlier.”
Miki. Lawrence. Claudia. Fitzgerald. The IPO. There are a thousand reasons why we haven’t, but none of that matters.
Alessandra’s husband Yuri opens the door of their Queens apartment. “Oliver, Finn, it’s good to see you.”
We’ve met Yuri several times at happy hour. He’s a nice guy, friendly and interesting. “Sorry it’s taken us so long to visit.”
He waves away my apology. “I’m sure you’ve been busy,” he says. “Come on in. No need to keep your voice down. Alessandra’s mom took the baby for a couple of hours.”
We remove our coats, and Yuri takes them from us. “You didn’t have to send Sofia away on our behalf,” Oliver says, walking into the living room. “I’m good with babies. Really.”
Alessandra waves from her spot on the couch. “Hey, you guys,” she greets us. She’s got a plaster cast on her leg but looks otherwise well. “Sorry I can’t get up.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” I sit down on the couch. “How are you, Alessandra? Mary tells me Yuri’s driving you crazy and you can’t wait to get back to work.”
She grimaces. “Something like that.” She takes a deep breath and forces a smile on her face. “It’ll be good to think about something else other than the accident.”
I exchange a glance with Oliver. Mary had made it sound like Alessandra was in great spirits, but the woman in front of me is distinctly subdued. “Is everything okay? You seem upset. Did we come at a bad time?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s not you.” She sighs heavily. “NYPD assigned a detective to investigate my accident. It was a hit-and-run, and they finally made an arrest.”
“That’s good, isn’t it?” I ask her.
“I thought so,” she replies. “But Detective Larson said that two days before the guy ran into me, someone wired fifty thousand dollars into his account.”
“He thinks someone paid the guy to hurt or kill Alessandra,” Yuri says. “Ever since he left, we’ve been freaking out. I mean, who would want to hurt her? It doesn’t make any sense. We’re normal people. We’re not mixed up in anything.”
I stare at the young couple, not knowing what to say. “Anyway,” Alessandra says, after a minute or two of
uncomfortable silence, “I’m totally looking forward to work. I told Mary that I couldn’t deal with the J-train with my cast, but she didn’t think there would be a problem with me working from home.”
“There isn’t,” I assure her. “If you’re ready to get back to work, we’ll make it happen.”
Her smile lights up her face. “Thanks, you two,” she says. “I really appreciate it.”
“I want to see this Detective Larson,” I say when we’re back in my car.
Oliver’s already on his phone. “You want the 105th Precinct,” he says, punching the address into my car’s navigation system. “What’s bothering you?”
“Alessandra’s right. Someone putting a mark on her head doesn’t make any sense.”
“And?” Oliver prompts.
“And Alessandra got hurt two days before the party at the Waldorf Astoria. I’m going on gut feel here, Oliver. This feels off.”
His face wears a thoughtful expression. I drive to the precinct. We find a parking spot, feed the meter, and enter the nondescript two-story brown brick building. Inside, we ask for Detective Larson. “My name is Finn Sanders,” I introduce myself. “Detective Larson is investigating a hit-and-run involving one of my employees, Alessandra Mirova? I was hoping I could talk to him.”
“Take a seat,” the woman behind the counter says, gesturing to the scratched, dented plastic chairs against the wall. “I’ll see if the detective is in.”
He is. The cop, a burly, balding man, shows up three minutes later. “This is quite the coincidence,” he says, leading us to a small conference room at the corner of the building. “I was going to trek into the city sometime this week to talk to the two of you.”
“Why?” Oliver sits down, his elbows on the table, and leans forward. “Are we under suspicion?”
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