“Betsey?”
“Remember on Monday when she trashed my office?” How could she forget? She was the one who told me Maintenance had finished.
“Betsey wasn’t in your office on Monday.” She talks slowly like she can’t believe she’s explaining this to me.
“Are you sure?” I stammer.
“No, but I am sure that the maintenance guys were here about something in the HVAC system, and it got a bit messy, so the custodians came in to clean up.”
“No one trashed my office?” A screech grows in pitch as I take hungry glances around my office. Betsey didn’t attack my refuge. She didn’t shove me over the edge.
“Of course not. I can’t believe you thought that. Why would you assume...?”
Wasn’t it the wall dweller in Hardwin’s office who said Betsey trashed my office? What did he actually say? Had he used her name, or had I assumed? I shake my head, dismissing Alyssa’s question. Doesn’t matter. Betsey’s threats about Lucas are real. “Then what happened to my frame?” I say with a lot more fervor than I feel.
“I have no idea, but it wasn’t because anyone trashed your office.” She moves toward the door.
“One more thing,” I sputter, still trying to reassemble the narrative in my head.
As she turns, Alyssa straightens the silver mirror by the door.When she pulls her hand away, something flutters to the floor. She picks it up and hands it to me, her eyes wide. She probably recognizes Betsey’s loopy handwriting as well as I do, but all that’s written on the folded paper is my name.
My heart quickens as I shove the paper under my opened notebook, as if hiding it will make it like it doesn’t exist.
Alyssa’s eyes snap back to mine as I clear my throat.
“The thing is...” I lay my hand on my notebook and then move it to my lap. I’m way overthinking this. I had planned to ask her about her ambition, her willingness to take on a larger role, but if I ask her that now, it may look like I’m tying it to her silence. Or maybe not. A note simply fell to the floor. Odd but not worth a career boost. But now that I’ve delayed speaking, it looks worse.
I inwardly groan. “Could you work a bit with Temor? See how we might use him more effectively on the ETFs. Perhaps he can explore possible cost savings as competitors enter the field.” Yes, that sounds reasonable and gives Alyssa opportunity to begin to create her own team.
I’m applauding my quick thinking when she says, “Sure. And I’ll keep quiet about secret notes falling from hidden places.”
I wait until she’s gone to get up and close the door.
Tucked into the corner of my velvet couch, I lay my head along the soft rise of the curved back. As close to an embrace from my buxom grandmother as I can get now. She was quick with prayers, hugs, and swats. Right now, I feel like I need all three, and she would know that. My body slackens against the plush cloth as I stare down at the folded paper. Was this placed by someone else in the building working with Betsey? Is this some kind of coup to overthrow Phil’s leadership? Or does Phil know more than he’s letting on?
I pick up the note and read.
Hey—
They’re coming for me. I thought we’d have more time.
Came by your house yesterday, and suddenly Candace and her goons showed up. You won’t answer your phone, and if you’re reading this, I’ve likely been escorted from the building. I kick myself for not connecting you in earlier.
Meet me on the corner of Nassau and Cedar at 3p.m. I have something for you.
Betsey
I’m starting to feel like one of those poor women in a Netflix suspense miniseries. I rub at my still-sore arms and grunt. I am not weak. So, maybe it’s time to be the heroine who learns to hide duffel bags under stair treads, procure fake passports, or at the very least start to see patterns in the deliberate acts of those around me.
I return to my desk and start making a list of what I know versus what I have been told. I know I was handed an envelope at the NYSE event. I know it came from Betsey based on the note and her follow-up at Grand Central. I was told she trashed my office. I know I signed a restraining order.
As I continue to categorize my thoughts, I start adding people to my list. Hardwin and Terrence both believe the data is legitimate but want me to think otherwise. Remembering the Word document I’ve already started with notes about the data, I decide to get organized. I open a new Excel spreadsheet and label the columns to categorize who knows what information. I realize I have no idea what Dave actually believes. The investment information on the thumb drive against the demand for the securities lending agreement still makes no sense. There has to be a relationship I’m missing. Maybe there’s something hidden in the data itself?
An hour later, I’m head down scouring the thumb drive spreadsheet for secret codes or patterns of trading. I thought perhaps someone was buying up shares, indicating prior market knowledge, but none of the pivot tables I’ve run found any significant relationship between sales and share price.
A staccato knock on my door.
“Come in.” My neck crackles. I raise my arms to press into my muscle, and they both scream at me. I drop them quickly to my sides.
