The past month comes back to me in concussive flashes. I see myself running into Frankie in the library, then telling Harlanall about it. I watch myself sitting in the truck with Mario, taking pictures outside the restaurant. What did I do afterward but run right back to my boss to fill him in on my progress. Every step of the way, Harlan has been there, listening to my reports. If he is undermining my research and has been doing so since the very beginning, I’m lucky not to have been killed already.
“I’d like to put in my resignation,” I say abruptly.
“What?” he demands.
“It’s obvious we don’t share the same perspective,” I explain.
“Just because I don’t believe your brother was murdered doesn’t mean I’m unsympathetic,” Mr. Harlan assures me.
“I appreciate your sympathy,” I say with regret.
“Think about it,” Harlan demands. “You said you were going to take some time. Take it. Come back in a week with a fresh perspective.”
I nod silently, letting myself out of his office before I can say anything I regret. I hate that I have to defend my brother’s honor when it should be obvious that he would never do something like that. It seems like all the people who knew him believe that he could take his own life. Not only do I think that’s a lie, but my knowledge of Danny won’t let me even consider the possibility I might be wrong.
“Geese,” I mutter beneath my breath.
I sit down at my computer and email myself the file with all the source names. I look around the bullpen one last time. All these reporters think they’re championing the cause of justice. They imagine that they’re delivering the truth and keeping thepopulation informed of important matters. But if I’m right about Harlan, then we’re all working for the mob.
The more I consider the ramifications of my boss’s actions, the more disturbed I become. Harlan could be manipulating the press, only allowing good stories to come out about Francisco Corello and his friends. They have the police in their pocket, why not the media?
I send a note to HR telling them that I quit. I write a nice little paragraph about how valuable my time spent at the paper was. I finish by telling them that I appreciate the opportunity to work for them, and I’m sorry I must leave. Nowhere do I write any of my suspicions about my boss or his friends.
I wish I still had all the data I collected. I might even be able to publish something on my own or sell my story to a rival paper. I’m leaving with nothing, and I’m feeling more lost than ever before. I don’t even bother to check for hitmen on my way back to the parking garage. If someone attacks me, that will be the least of my concerns.
I’ve failed.
I failed my brother and my parents. I failed in my job and at home. All I have to show for my life now is that one month’s rent I paid in advance. That seems like a small consolation considering everything mounted against me.
Returning home, I dig the cold pizza out of the oven. I’m too depressed to microwave it, so I just eat it cold. It’s rubbery, and yet somehow still oily. I choke it down, sitting on my couch to watch TV.
My mind is running a mile a minute. I can’t focus on the game show that’s currently on. I keep replaying my discovery of Danny’s body, as if there’s some stone I haven’t yet unturned.
When my mom and I were cleaning out Danny’s apartment, we didn’t discover anything incriminating among his things. But there was something that I received about a week later. It was a cardboard box full of Danny’s things from the office. I looked in it once before and thought it was just office junk. Now I’m not so sure.
I get up and go to my closet to find where I stashed the box. It’s underneath a few pairs of shoes and an old winter coat. I pull it out and rummage through, disappointed when I discover I was right the first time.
There are some yellow legal pads with nothing on them, a few pens, and a stapler. One of those black plastic desk organizers holds a few push pins and a photo of me. I take the photo out and stare at it, feeling an overwhelming sense of loss.
Screaming out my frustrations, I hurl the box at the wall. The cardboard mostly protects the contents, but a few miscellaneous items scatter across the room. I’m about to return to my spot on the couch when I notice a small flash drive under the kitchen table. How did I miss it? Was it hidden between some papers? I get down on my hands and knees to retrieve it, my heart pounding in my ears.
This is it. This could be the key to everything I’ve been working on for the past two years. I’m sure that Danny has left a trail for me to follow. Whoever packed this box from the office clearly didn’t realize what was in it. I race to my car to dig the laptop out of my bag. Holding it triumphantly, I return to my apartment to see what my brother has to say from beyond the grave.
CHAPTER 33
FRANKIE
The words on the screen are swimming in front of my eyes. It’s been a long day, and I finally got a chance to study. Despite my best efforts, it feels like I’m not gaining any ground when it comes to the exam. Every problem I work seems to magically disappear from my brain the moment I close the laptop. At this rate, I’m going to fail miserably, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I rub my eyes, determined to continue until something sticks. If I can get just one concept under my belt, then I can call it quits for the day. But the thing I’m working on at the moment has so many moving parts, I feel like I’m going backward.
My phone beeps, and I pick it up. Part of being my father’s eventual replacement means I need to always be available. I don’t want to run the risk of anything going wrong if I’m supposed to be somewhere to talk to someone. I check it out of habit, but I’m not expecting what I see.
Sofia’s name shows up on the screen. My heart sings, but then I lance it with the memory of her betrayal. I’m not supposed to be excited to hear from her. In fact, I should be pissed. I wonderwhy she’s calling me. Surely, she realizes that we’re sworn enemies.
I don’t answer, and the phone continues to ring. After four vibrations, it shuts off, leaving me with a thousand questions. I don’t have to wait long before she texts me.
Sofia: We need to talk. My place in 10. Please.
