“Of course I showed them. We filed a restraining order. I can have you arrested.” I lift my hand still clutching my phone.
“This is so past any restraining order.” She slowly shakes her head like she’s dealing with a toddler who’s spilled her Cheerios. The only fissure in her now-controlled demeanor is the slight tremor in her hands. Her mauve-painted fingernails look like they’ve been gnawed. “We have to work together. Like we started.” She takes a step toward me.
My heel stutters on the slick tile and I brace myself against a rolled ankle. At a minimum I need to remain upright. “Betsey. I don’t understand you. You missed a conference. You’ve been visiting offices not on the schedule.” I take a quick breath. “You stalked my home. You trashed—”
“No. You don’t understand. We have to talk.”
“I’m not talking to you. I can’t. I signed a restraining order. I’m under strict instruction. Not just by the firm but by the police.” I sigh. “You need to figure yourself out, before you lose everything.” I shift again to try to get around her. “I urge you to talk to someone. Call Terrence or Hardwin. I think they’d be open to helping you.”
“When was the last time you looked at the custodian contract?” She raises her eyebrows and waits. “You haven’t since before we launched, have you?”
“Betsey, the data you created—they’re talking legal action.” Whether or not they’re still considering it, I have no idea, but I need her to back off. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Me?” She puffs out a laugh and then lunges toward me.
The lip of the sink bites into my spine. “Step back. Now.”
She raises her hands and turns toward the door.
My thigh muscles tense. As soon as she opens that door, I’ll be at full sprint.
She suddenly spins, her eyes mere slants. “Is it you? Tell me it’s not you!” Her shrill tone bounces off the dull wall tiles.
“I’m calling 911.” I raise my phone.
“Wait.” Her white dress shirt flutters under her suit jacket as she takes a deep breath. “You’ve always trusted me.”
“I always trusted you, but I think we’re a bit past that.” Now it’s as if I’m the one speaking to a child.
“You think I chose this? You just don’t see.”
“I see plenty.” Whatever is going on with Betsey, she needs help. Trashing my office, threatening my marriage, and now cornering me in a bathroom is not the way to get mine. “Do you need a doctor? Someone you can talk to?”
She shakes her head, more in exasperation than denial. “I know what you’re thinking. I haven’t been sleeping. But neither have you.”
I recoil.
“The dark smudges under your eyes.” She points her now-trembling finger at me. “But it’s not about that. I need you to give me the latest securities lending agreement. I can help you. We can help each other.”
I was right about the note—that she was pointing me toward the agreement—but it hardly matters. I speak slowly and with an edge. “I’m not giving you anything.” But why in the world would she want the securities lending agreement? It’s a standard contract we have with our custodial bank.
“Don’t say that. I don’t want to hurt you. But—”
“Enough.” I raise my phone and dial. “Let me out.”
“Fine. You can go, but let me give you something.” She fishes around in the slate-blue purse hanging on her shoulder and pulls out a small white envelope. “Take this.”
I glance at my screen.Call failed.I have no signal. “Yes, my name is Meredith Hansel,” I say into my phone, with a slight tremor in my voice.
“Don’t make me ruin you,” Betsey whispers.
My chest tightens with a feeling of déjà vu. “I’m having a situation at Grand Central,” I stutter into the phone.
“There’s a number. On the back. Call it. Ask for me. But either way, I’ll see you or your husband on Friday.” Betsey thrusts the envelope at me.
Both my hands flatten my phone against my ear as I speak to Betsey. “I’m not taking that.”
“You’ve made this so much harder than it needed to be. Unless, of course, you already know.” She continues to hold out the envelope.
