We look at the sleek, modern building. The building sits at the far end of the block, its polished windows catching the sunlight. It looks totally harmless from here. Like a place that wants you to believe it has nothing to hide. And maybe it doesn’t. I won’t know until I snoop around.
The company’s logo is emblazoned across the front door. Everything seems like it’s on the up and up. This kind ofperfection always puts me on edge because companies that provide humanitarian aid never look this pristine.
A fake press pass falls out of my notebook when Rivera turns another page. It’s not fake necessarily. It just doesn’t belong to me. I picked it up at an event once and forgot to turn it in at lost and found. It might be just what I need today to keep from giving my real name.
Rivera watches me from the driver’s side, brow furrowed. He’s been uneasy since the moment I suggested this trip.
“You should call Slate and tell him what you’re up to.”
“You must be joking. Why would I ever do such a thing?”
“Look, I’ve seen what can happen when civilians get in over their heads. They get mangled, like meat. Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.” I tell him with barely an ounce of hesitation. “We need to run down all the leads. This might be our only chance. Slate’s out there handling his lead. I can handle mine.”
His jaw tightens. “When the time comes, be quick about your business. Get in, gather what you can and get out.”
“Asking probing questions is part of being an investigative journalist.”
“Fine. Ask your questions and then you walk back out that door and we leave. Understand?”
I nod. “Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing. If you remember, I used to be very good at my job. I could be again.”
He gives me a shaky nod. “I’ll go in with you but hang back. Maybe I can hang out in the lobby while you do the tour. If anything feels off, you walk straight back to me. Slate will kill me if anything happens to you.”
Personally, I don’t think Slate is my biggest fan right now, but I don’t get into all that with Rivera. We talk for a bit, get food, and time drags on. I spend most of it working on my book, adding things I just remembered. I even catch a quick nap while Rivera does his protector thing. Finally, it approaches four in the afternoon.
When I reach for the door handle, he quickly tells me, “If anything feels off, we abort the mission.”
“Agreed. Let’s get moving.”
He doesn’t look satisfied, but he unlocks the doors with his key fob. I step out of the car, a strange mixture of excitement and anxiety twisting in my gut. I’d be stupid to feel no fear. There is a tiny chance this could be dangerous after all. But I also feel like I’m getting my mojo back. I’m feeling a drive to get to the bottom of this.
I want Slate to see that I can pull my own weight, that I can be part of the solution and not just a problem. I want him to look at me as an asset, not a liability.
I want to be the strong, confident woman he fell for, not the scared person I became.
When we enter, the lobby is bright white from the ceiling to the floor to the walls. Soft instrumental music drifts from hidden speakers. A reception desk sits in front of a frosted glasspartition etched with delicate waves. It’s clearly a nod to the company’s water purification mission.
When Rivera wanders off to look at the art hanging on the wall, I tuck my hair behind my ears and approach the desk.
The young woman behind the reception desk has neat nails and a sweet demeanor. She doesn’t smile, but I can tell she really wants to.
“Welcome to Hydro Relief. How can I help you?”
I force myself to relax, smile and step into the role. “Good morning. I’m Lena Morris.” My voice sounds confident, even to my own ears. “I’m with a local mutual aid group. We’re considering partnering with Hydro Relief for next year’s outreach program. I saw on your website that you give facility tours and was hoping to take one if anyone is available.”
The receptionist hesitates. Her fingers hover above her keyboard. “We offer tours for walk-ins every weekday Monday through Friday at four PM sharp.”
“I am really excited to see what your company has to offer,” I say brightly.
Her face finally lights up with that smile she’s been suppressing. “I’ll call and let our HR department know you’re here.”
It makes sense that HR would conduct the tour. Their job is to cultivate a good public image after all.
“Do you have identification?”
I hand her the alias ID with a steady hand. She scans it and enters the name into the system. The digital log asks for a reason for the visit. She types in ‘potential customer’.
