“Got it,” I say, climbing out of the car.
I hurry across the street and into the building. Since I sent my letter to HR, I’m worried that my key card won’t work. But they haven’t gotten around to locking me out yet, which says more about their lax security than it does about my luck. I wave to the security guard, anyway, pretending that it’s just a normal day at work. He waves back, thinking nothing of it.
I hop in the elevator and ride up to my floor. When the doors open, I shake my nerves out and head straight for Mr. Harlan’s office. He’s on the phone again, but he puts it down as soon as he sees me. There’s a strip of glass just beside the door fordecoration that allows people to see inside. He waves me in, standing up to greet me.
“I’m glad to see you,” Harlan says. “I hope you’re reconsidering your resignation.”
“I am,” I agree.
“Good,” he snaps, “because I was concerned when I heard from HR yesterday.”
He didn’t try to call me, so he couldn’t have been too concerned, but I don’t mention that. I’m trying to win him over this time, so confronting him about his motivation doesn’t seem like the right move.
“You know I’ve been working on the story about the Corello family,” I say.
“Yes, and you lost your research,” Mr. Harlan reminds me.
“Yes,” I say through gritted teeth. “I decided to go back to the drawing board, and I invited Frankie Corello over to my apartment.”
Mr. Harlan’s face goes white. His jaw drops open, and for a moment, he’s speechless. “That was extremely dangerous.”
“I know,” I reply quickly. “But I think it’s worth it. I have a confession from him on tape.” I pull out the flash drive and hold it up.
“Let me see that,” Harlan demands.
I hand it over, knowing that I’m within firing distance of a clean shot. All I have to do is keep the momentum going, and he’ll do the rest of the work on his own. Gio explained that the programis designed to run in the background, so that Mr. Harlan won’t be aware until it’s too late.
“Frankie Corello is working for his father laundering money,” I say, quickly. “He also collects for his father when someone doesn’t want to pay too.”
“Frankie Corello?” Mr. Harlan asks, as if fact-checking before diving in. He holds the device between his thumb and forefinger, studying it as if the red plastic casing holds all the answers. “I wasn’t aware that Frankie was a hands-on kind of guy. Isn’t he studying to become a lawyer?”
“Apparently, he has other functions in the family,” I say, pulling up a seat. I plant my butt, giving Harlan an unspoken cue to sit down himself.
He follows my lead, just like I planned, but he still doesn’t fit the drive into his port. I wait anxiously, trying not to look like I’m dying to get out of here. “I’m not sure if I believe it,” Harlan says finally.
“Why?” I demand. “Do you thinkIwould do something like this?”
The question is just close enough to an accusation to give my former boss pause. He looks at me critically, trying to figure out what I know. I stare back at him, not backing down.
Finally, Harlan looks down at his laptop. He puts the flash drive into the USB port and clicks the folder open. The moment the video begins, I know that we’ve won. If I can just keep Mr. Harlan talking so that he doesn’t notice the secret program running in the background, we’ll be good.
Frankie’s voice comes over the laptop’s embedded speakers. It sounds distant until Harlan turns up the volume. I have Frankie’s ‘confession’ memorized. It was short and to the point. I keep imagining Danny as I found him, lying dead on the couch. It’s all I can do not to cry, but I have to keep it together. This is all for my brother.
Mr. Harlan looks up at me with a look I can’t quite read. “How did you get this recording?”
“I confronted him about his family,” I say, allowing my voice to quiver. “He thinks I’m his girlfriend, so he was motivated to tell me the truth.”
Mr. Harlan considers what he’s just learned. I can see the wheels turning in his head; he wants to tell Carlo Andretti as soon as possible. “May I keep this?” he asks.
I freeze. I don’t want him to have the drive because if he looks at it too closely, I’m worried he’ll see evidence of the hidden program. “I need it back,” I say. “I’m going to nail him to the wall just as soon as I figure out how I can get him to confess his father killed my brother.”
“I think the paper would be a safer place for it,” Harlan pushes back.
“Excuse me, but I no longer work for the paper,” I reply.
“But you said you were going to come back,” Mr. Harlan argues. “I can call HR right now and tell them to delete your email.”
“Let me think about it,” I insist, holding my hand out for the drive.
