I was unexpectedly relieved that Charlie was out of town. It was easier to commit to the pace of work with Charlie in Boston.
By the end of the weekend, I knew everyone in the senator’s inner circle so well I could have written a political soap opera.
The investigation was already a top news story. Andre was booked on five different news shows starting the day after Christmas.
We were going at superhuman speed. Each day, hundreds of new documents and emails came in and needed to be reviewed within twenty-four hours. Anything pertinent needed to be added to the “Fact Chron,” a timeline of relevant facts that already topped two hundred pages. If I wasn’t taking notes in a witness interview, I was in the conference room, distilling Elinor’s notes into a cohesive memo, adding information to the Fact Chron, and surviving on saltines, ginger ale, and black coffee. My stomach was in a perpetual knot.
The firm retreat was scheduled for January 4. I couldn’t imagine how any of us could spare the time, but Elinor had said attendance was mandatory, and it was “up to us” to make it work. I daydreamed about sneaking into Charlie’s room late at night. In my daydream, the room was more rustic cabin and less corporate hotel in the middle of Montana. Charlie was supposed to be back from Boston on the 30th.At the rate we were going, it felt like the retreat might be the only way we would be able to spend time together.
It was finally the night of Emilie’s holiday party at Rockefeller Center. Only instead of being excited about getting to leave early, I was exhausted by the idea of socializing with strangers. I wished I could just go to bed early.
At three o’clock, I asked Elinor’s permission to run downstairs for an espresso. I needed a gallon of caffeine to stay awake and help distract Emilie from Stephen.
“Sam is making an espresso run,” Elinor announced two seconds later. “Put in your orders now. I’m feeling a late night, people.”
Everyone put in an order.
“You can handle it, right? We can’t really afford to send two people downstairs at once,” she said dryly.
I spotted a piece of parsley wedged in her front lateral and smiled. “No problem.”
I raced down to Joe’s.
“Five espressos, and can you please make one a double?”
Charlie and I always joked about keeping a flask of sambuca in a desk drawer for late-afternoon espressos. As I waited for the coffees, I imagined us holed up in our office, watching the holiday lights up Park Avenue in the dark. I missed being next to him.
The barista didn’t have tray holders small enough for espresso cups, so I balanced two to a cup holder. I knew I wouldn’t get to sleep until well after midnight unless Emilie decided to leave the party early. It felt like everyone had a say in what time I got to go to bed.
My phone buzzed as I stepped onto the escalator. I juggled the espresso tray in one arm and pulled my phone out of my blazer. As I saw Elinor’s name, I felt my left leg being pulled behind me and automatically jerked to free myself. I heard a loud ripping sound as the hot espresso splashed across my light blue shirt.
“Goddammit,” I muttered, wiping my hands on my black pants. I stepped to the side as I got off the escalator and pulled out my phone to call Elinor back.
Elinor picked up on the first ring. “Where are you?”
Her voice was eerily flat.
“I’m on my way upstairs. Is everything okay?”
I heard her take a deep breath. I’d already seen her explode twice that day on some poor soul on the other end of the phone.
“Forget the coffee. Just get back up here.Now.”
My hands were shaking. I wanted to find the nearest bathroom and try to salvage my shirt, because God only knew the next time I’d make it to the dry cleaner. Instead, I chucked the coffee tray into the nearest bin and sprinted to the elevator.
“Shit,” I mumbled as I inspected the three-inch tear up the side of my $400 Theory pants. I caught a glance of myself in the elevator mirror and burst into tears.
“You do not have time for this,” I scolded myself out loud, wishing the elevator would break down so I could cry for another twenty minutes. My phone buzzed again. There was no way I could answer until I’d pulled it together.
I got off the elevator and ducked into the restroom to inspect my mascara. My shirt was soaked. I took a deep breath and screened Elinor’s third call.
I charged into the conference room looking nothing like I did when I left.
She glanced at my shirt then pointed to her monitor. “Do you know what this is?”
She had highlighted row 2,110 of the Fact Chron. It was an email from the senator’s chief of staff to the senator himself, recapping a phone call with a major Republican donor, venting that the local city council members weren’t “toeing the line.”
“I went through your outline from the chief of staff’s interview, and not onlywasn’tthis document pulled—it appears the outline didn’t even include a question about it.”
