At the time, it was superstition.Now, with the club under threat and Brie back in my orbit, it feels like prophecy.
What if her draw was indeed genuine?Is it a sign that this irrational lust will lead somewhere?Or that my investment is about to implode?That striking out on my own will lead to a blowback on my sister and father?
A knock interrupts the thought.The traitor enters—lazy charm, practiced ease, blissfully unaware that I know what he’s done.The gold cross at his neck glints under the recessed light, a saint’s token worn by a sinner.
“Good weekend?”he asks.It’s Thursday, but in our world of endless work, the question passes for polite.
“Good.You?”
“Bella had a dance competition that took all of Sunday.Should’ve been called a marathon.”
He’s complaining in the way he does, about everything and anything.If he didn’t complain about the length of his kid’s competition, it would be the temperature outside, the idiot broad who effed his breakfast order, or the blooming traffic and the fucking idiots who scheduled road construction during rush hour.
“Did she win?”
“Nah,” he shrugs his shoulders.“There’s no real winning.Got a ribbon.You know, participation kind of thing.Judges gave feedback.Maybe someone won, but it wasn’t her.”
Perhaps I should feign interest, mirror small talk, but I can’t make myself perform civilly.Eddie and I were never close, so my detachment shouldn’t raise suspicion.
“Last night’s show was a hit,” he says.“Members are already asking for another.”
“She’s unforgettable,” I reply, meaning Brie, not Miley Cyrus.“Everything in order for Saturday’s event?”
He gives the expected report.Everything’s handled.Always handled.And yet, I can’t help staring, wondering how long he’s been siphoning secrets beneath my nose.I’d once admired his competence.Now I study him like a contagion that’s already spread.
“Do you have any priorities I should address?”
It takes me a beat to process.My mind’s already written his obituary.He’s a liability I can’t excise yet.
My phone rings.It’s my personal cell, a number I give out to few, and I glance at the screen and read Alicia Morgan’s name.
“I’ve got to take this,” I say to Eddie.
“Will you be at the marketing status this afternoon?”
“Plan to,” is what I say, but he knows that I like to pop in to those meetings and not stay for the duration.
“I’ve got a meeting this afternoon so I might miss it.”
He’s up and close to the door.He glances back, looking for permission he doesn’t need.I don’t micromanage, and after three years, he’s well aware, but when he glances over his shoulder at me, I sense he’s looking for a response.
“If anything’s awry, I’ll let you know.”
I find myself thinking of the Tower card again.Structures built on false foundations always fall—the question is whether you’re crushed beneath them or whether you’re smart enough to step aside.
I lift the phone to answer, and Eddie gestures at the door.“Open or closed?”
“Closed.”Like you found itdies on my lips.
I answer the call, but wait until the door clicks closed to say, “Alicia.”
“Is this a good time?”
“As good as any.”
“KOAN has eyes on your building,” she says.“If Eddie leaves, we’ll know.”
“He’s got a meeting this afternoon.Location unknown.”
