I fear what it will wreak.
I get a little bit of legitimate work done, but I spend most of the day googling the Antichrist. Unfortunately, it doesn’t reveal much that I find useful.Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for the number is that of a man; and his number is 666.Most assume “the beast” is the devil himself. But according to my research, scholars widely believe666was a coded reference to the Roman emperor Nero. And as I’ve already visited nearly every church of significance in the city, I don’t think repeating that particular tour will yield anything of value. I try to determine if there are any art exhibits or museum pieces connected to Nero in Seattle, but don’t uncover a thing except an underground rock band I’ve never heard of throwingan end-of-the-world bash. And of course, none of that explains the second part of the card—AV.
I’m fruitlessly continuing my deep dive into the Book of Revelation instead of finishing the copy for a health care website we’re contracted with when a shadow looms over me, blocking out the fluorescents and bringing a sudden, unexpected chill. I look up into the pressed front of Calvin’s slate chinos.
Before I can blink, he leans over, his broad face uncomfortably close to mine. “Don’t get up, Clark.” His voice is tight, like something constrained in his throat, leaking out. A wide, starched smile cracks his face, and I realize he is speaking through his teeth. “We’re just having a quiet word, a little tête-à-tête in the office, nothing unusual.”
“Okaaay.” I comply, my fingers gripping the arms of my desk chair.
“Now, with Jessica no longer in earshot, there’s something I want to communicate to you.” His voice is too steady, a monotone as he bites back the emotion he is obviously feeling. “I know it was you, Clark.”
“Me?” I squeak out.
“I don’t buy your dormouse bullshit, this timid little act you put on.” He inhales deep and loud, like he’s smelling me. “I know that underneath all that bookish modesty you are a wicked little bitch.”
My eyes widen and my lips part. I feel the breath flow out of me, and I can’t seem to retrieve it.
His smile broadens by a hair. “That’s right. I’ve got your fucking number, Clark. I know you left that money for Sue. And I know you think the good deed charade will protect you, but it won’t.”
“It won’t?” I repeat, my brain suddenly incapable of forming its own thoughts, my mouth its own words.
“No, it won’t. Because I know something the rest of them don’t. Youstolethat money. You stole it and you stole a lot more. In fact, you’ve been stealing from this company for years.”
Understanding begins to dawn on me. Calvin isn’t just accusing me of stealing the money I took for Sue—he’s trying to pinallhis years of embezzlement on me. He must be afraid the investigation into this incident will uncover other indiscretions. Maybe he realizes I already know about them.
“So, I want you to know that I don’t care what this investigation Jessica is heading discovers. I know the truth, Clark. And I will bury you with it. Video or no video, I’ll find a way.” His eyes glide menacingly to my screen—where my procrastination is laid out in black and white—and back again. “Now get to fucking work.”
He rises with such force it causes my chair to spin. I drag it to a stop with my feet as he walks away, but my mind continues looping. I am so fucked. Even if they never uncover any evidence of their own, Calvin will plant some. I should have reported him when I had the chance. Lying low has always gotten me by, but lately it seems to be backfiring. The realization that I am squeezed between Calvin at my front and Arla at my back has barely had time to register when Aaron makes a wide loop around the office, sneaking up beside me. I don’t even realize he’s there until I hear, “Christian fundamentalism…cool.”
I jerk and instantly minimize the page.
Aaron frowns. “Don’t stop on my account. We’re all just pretenders here.”
I scowl up at him.
“Seriously,” he continues, “carry on with your demon summoning or whatever it is the kids are doing these days. Don’t let work get in your way. I certainly don’t.”
“I’m not summoning a demon,” I argue, feeling idiotic the second it leaves my mouth. “It’s research.”
“Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he says, nodding rapidly. “And what did that troll in loafers want?”
“Who, Calvin?” I stare across the room toward his office. “Nothing,” I lie. “He wanted to talk to me about the Blueton account.”
“Riiiiiiiiight,” Aaron drawls. He narrows his eyes but moves on, realizing he’s not going to get more out of me. “And we’re researching the Rapturewhy? I always knew you were a treasure trove of secrets, but I never took you for the married-to-Jesus, Bible-thumper type.”
“We’renot researching anything,” I correct him. “And I’m not a Bible thumper. I don’t believe in this stuff. I’m just trying to figure something out.”
He sits on the edge of my desk and folds his arms over his chest. “So, you didn’t grow up in church, sipping that Communion wine or whatever your people did?”
I shake my head. “No.” My mother’s reasoning for avoiding church drifts back to me, and I bury a secret smile. “My mother didn’t really believe in any higher power except her own.”
His eyebrows arch comically. “I like the sound of her. When can we meet?”
“You can’t,” I tell him, pulling an emotionless face. The same one I’ve taught myself to pull every time the question of family gets raised. “She passed. Seventeen years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” he says, squeezing my shoulder. Suddenly, his face brightens. “Gosh, I feel like I’ve learned more about you in the last few minutes than I have in years of working together.”
He’s right. I keep a tight lip on purpose.Usually.Something about last night has me rattled, off my game. Calvin’s shakedown didn’t help. “What about you?” I ask to change the subject. “Did you ever go to church?”
