Aaron is another anomaly in my life. He’s a senior copywriter with our marketing agency, and he’s the only person here who speaks to me about anything other than work. I’ve probably said seven words to him in the last three years—okay, maybeslightlymore than that—but he does enough talking for the both of us.
“Sure.” He leans on my desk with both hands, hovering. “Did you hear about Sue?” he says in a conspiratorial whisper.
The muscles in my neck and shoulders immediately knot themselves. I shake my head. I’ve only just arrived, but I can guess.
“Found a pile of money on her desk this morning—hundreds stacked up in a fat, tidy column beneath an overturned printer-paper box. All twenty-nine thousand she needed for the out-of-pocket on her son’s heart surgery.”
I suck in air, my nerves exploding. After everything else last night, I’d all but forgotten.
Aaron looks pleased. I think he sees it as a personal challenge to get a reaction out of me. “Management says the security cameras were turned off. They’re calling it ananonymous donation.”
I instantly deflate. I don’t know what happened to the cameras, but I’m grateful. I glance past Aaron’s baby aspirin–coloreddress shirt to where Sue stands at her desk, dabbing her eyes with a tissue as coworkers surround her. Her husband left her last year with their three kids—the youngest is four. Just vanished like a ghost in the mist. The police finally tracked him down in Nevada where he was living with hisotherwife and their two children, even younger than Sue’s. Sue Ward and I aren’t friends, but when you’re practically invisible, people will say all kinds of things within earshot.
Of course, I hadn’t anticipated living past last night. They say some people make plans when contemplating suicide, that they might give things away or even seem relieved. I certainly did. Once I made up my mind, I decided to cash out my saving account for Sue’s sake, but I still came up short. My grandfather’s money—which I’ve vowed to never touch—can’t be accessed without doing the unthinkable, so I delayed my departure and my fingers started twitching. Our vice president of operations, Calvin Carr, has a corporate card he’s been using to embezzle money for months now, maybe years. I caught him last winter when he made the mistake of using my name on one of his bogus expense reports and accounting came to clarify why I needed six-hundred dollars’ worth of Macallan single malt Scotch. I’m not even in accounts; I’m creative. But instead of turning him in, I lied.
At the time, I wasn’t sure why I did it. Calvin is practically unbearable on his best days. I feel no loyalty there. Maybe I’m just so used to covering my own ass, it was second nature to cover someone else’s. Or maybe it was honor among thieves. But several nights ago, when I was standing over a pile of money on my bed, it came to me. Pocketing the card from his desk drawer the next day was almost too easy. I paid the hot barkeep at the pub next to my building a hundred in cash to show up with a fake lunch delivery. He must have lingered in the lobby trying to get her number for thirty minutes. More than enough time for me to head to the restroom, duck into Calvin’s office, find the same card I’d seen listed on the expense report, and look up the PIN on his computer, where he stupidly keeps his passwords saved in hisGoogle account. After, I made a cash advance to the tune of seven grand. By the time accounting got the notice and Calvin realized what had happened, the card would have been at the bottom of Lake Washington, I would have been dead, and Sue’s kid would have been recovering from surgery—thatwas the plan.
But thanks to last night’s unexpected encounter, I’ve been upgraded to a felon, operating without a safety net or future prospects of any kind. Except those I can’t bring myself to use. I have enough blood on my hands.
I glance again at Sue. It was worth it if it means her son is going to be all right.
“So mysterious,” Aaron quips in a dramatic tone.
I shrug.
“Say, didn’t you work late last night?” he asks, glancing from Sue to me.
I school my features as I drop into my chair. I did, in fact, work longer hours than usual last night. So that I could, in fact, leave all that cash on top of Sue’s desk in the near-exact amount I overheard her fretting to Sita, one of our designers, about needing to treat her son’s condition. But Aaron doesn’tknowthat no matter how he lets on.
Aaron watches me, puckering his face as if he’s sucking on something sour. “Reminds me of last year when Julia left her ‘freelance’ laptop on the floor of that café during her lunch break. Remember? And when she went back, it was gone. She was practically hyperventilating because it was Christmas, and she couldn’t afford another one unless she skipped buying presents for her kids. And thenbam!The next day she found one in the front seat of her car, brand-new, factory settings and all.”
One of my weaker moments—that big-box store will never miss it. Julia’s a staff illustrator whose constant money woes give new meaning to the “starving artist” trope. She really should stop leaving her spare car key in that magnetic box under the fender. Or upgrade to a car with keyless entry like the rest of us. That Volkswagen is ancient.
I look up at Aaron and say, “Don’t you have work to do?”
His mouth curls up on one side.
“Jude!” Aaron and I both start, looking to where Calvin is standing impatiently, the skin across his forehead taut like a drum. “HR and I would like to see you please. In my office.Now.”
“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,” Aaron mumbles under his breath with a cutting glance at Calvin as he straightens and saunters away.
I rise and run my hands across the twill of my skirt before nervously stepping out from behind my desk and stalking across the room like a child called in to see the principal. When I enter Calvin’s office—senior execs get the privacy of real walls—I find Jessica from HR sitting and kicking her leg amiably, a pen tucked behind one ear.
“Please,” Calvin says, gesturing to the only other open guest seat before closing the door, “sit.”
I perch on the chair edge like a parakeet, and he sidesteps around his desk, landing in his own chair with a thud.
“Jude,” he says as if my name leaves a bad taste in his mouth. I wouldn’t say Calvin isfondof anybody, but he reserves a special disdain for my plain clothes and wallflower presence—my lackluster performance—that’s hard to miss. It’s something I grew used to with my grandfather in Oregon. “I think you know why we’ve called you in here this morning.”
“I truly am so sorry for being late,” I begin. “It won’t happen again. There was a power outage at my complex and my alarm didn’t go off. By the time I woke up, it was half past seven.”
Calvin smiles like a wolf staring down a sheep.
“No, Jude. That’s not what we’re talking about.” Jessica cuts in before he can say anything. “There was an incident here in the building last night. It’s being handled, but—”
“An incident?” I question innocently. “Is everyone okay?”
“The thing with Sue,” Calvin blurts. “Obviously.”
