But Aaron still hasn’t responded.
IFORCE MYeyes to open wider as I walk into the office, scanning the room for Aaron’s tall, lanky frame, his crop of dark hair. He never replied to my text last night, never even read it. The photosensitivity I experienced yesterday has lessened enough for me to drive to work after Levi dropped me off at my car, still parked near the store, but it causes me to squint. Almost immediately, Calvin is in my face, standing a smidge too close, his breath a brew of stale coffee and cheap mints.
“Jude, so nice of you to join us. I guess lunch breaks are open to interpretation now.” When I don’t immediately clap back, he says, “Or should I call you Judeth?” His smile has his teeth straining so hard against each other, I think they might crack.
“What?” My heart lurches, does a free fall inside my chest.
“You heard me,” he says savagely. “And in a minute, so will everyone else.”
“Calvin.” I reach for my most soothing voice, the one I’d use when new animals came into the shelter, terrified and unsure. “We should talk. This has gone on too long. Let’s go somewhere, sort this out.”
“No,” he says flatly. “I don’t think so. I want to talk in my office. With Jessica and Doyle.”
David Doyle is our CEO, a man I rarely have the privilege of seeing, much less speaking to, being a low-level creative hire. I should have left this job. I should have quit the day after I put that money on Sue’s desk. But it would have made it all the more obvious it was me. At least, being here, I’ve had something of a heads-up on the investigation.
“I’ve found some fascinating documents I think you’ll be interested in,” he says now. “And Eric in accounting has providedme with copies of some very intriguing records. I believe Jessica has some footage to show us as well.” He gleams with spite. “Did you know Eric and I spend Saturdays at the golf club together?” Calvin leans in. “Between you and me, his swing is garbage, but he could never afford a membership on his salary.”
Heat rushes through me, but it’s not shame or fear this time. It’s anger. I am sick to death of this man’s shit. And I have much bigger concerns than Calvin’s embezzlement scheme. Like finding my coworker who’s gone inexplicably missing (the story in theSeattle Starbuzzes at the base of my brain stem) and breaking into my new friend’s penthouse to steal a century-old journal so I can release the primeval entity she’s keeping in her basement—withoutwiping this city and its surrounding coastline off the map.
“I’m not surprised,” I say dryly, something searing and sticky pumping through me, taking control. “You always looked like the kind of man who masturbates into a golf towel.”
Calvin’s face puffs out like an adder, a red wave creeping over it. “In my office.Now.”
I fold my arms, feign surrender. “Sure, if that’s how you want it. But you should know, this may not go well for you,Cal.”
He narrows his eyes and points toward his office, unable to utter a response.
With a satisfied smirk, I turn and march down the hall to his waiting door. His clopping footsteps are behind me, feet punching down like the hooves of some oversize draft horse. I don’t know what I’ll do to get out of this or where my assurance is coming from, but I woke up on the other side of the moon this morning, feeling stronger than I have since I was a little girl in San Francisco. Whatever the Fathom tore open inside me has been knit back together in my sleep, stitch by painstaking stitch, into another person entirely. Things will never be the same again.Iwill never be the same. I am different today than I was yesterday. I am new. And I am better than this six-foot lying sack of shit behind me.
And I’ll make sure everyone knows it. Especially him.
Maybe I did steal from the company, but I didn’t do it to buyexpensive scotch or an impressive watch. I did tohelpsomeone. One of our own who desperately needed it. And if management weren’t so blind, they might have figured out a way to beat me to the punch. The painting is another story; call it severance pay.
Inside, Jessica is waiting with David Doyle, seated before Calvin’s desk, my chair empty on the other side—the hot seat. Jessica’s laptop is perched open, ready to clamp down on my future and cut off the circulation.
“Jude,” she says with a short, ill-fitted smile. And I know immediately that I’m screwed. She must have the ATM footage already, and Calvin has sealed my doom with his doctored reports and evidence of my false identity. I wonder what he has. Police reports? Hospital records? Just how much money will I be going down for, how many years in federal prison is it going to earn me?
“Mr. Doyle,” Calvin begins. “Thank you for coming. Jessica and I have arrived at some pretty compelling conclusions about what’s been going on here at Pacific Creative without your consent.” He flashes me a mocking grin.
Mr. Doyle eyes me speculatively. “Yes, well, let’s get on with it. I’m a busy man.”
I want to wither to the floor and hide, but I refuse to give Calvin the satisfaction.
He slides a stack of papers across his desk. “First, we came across these expense reports in accounting. You’ll note the charges are, in some cases, quite extreme. Many have been attributed to Ms. Clark. Or should I say, Ms. Cole?”
My face reddens. If anyone cared to check, I’m sure they’d see that the bogus reports began long before I got here, but I’m an easy target, and Calvin has probably gotten his buddy Eric to scrub out anything suspicious prior to my hire date. I make a mental note to pay Eric a little visit soon, to give him my personal thanks.
But Mr. Doyle doesn’t touch the papers. Instead, he glares at Calvin. “Don’t speak in riddles, man. Say what you mean. And, as I heard it, there are other names on some of those reports as well, yours included. We’ll need confirmation to charge anyone.”
Calvin looks befuddled. “Uh. Yes, sir. I mean that Jude Clark is not her real name. She’s been posing as someone she’s not. Her real name isJudeth Cole, and she has a criminal record. Something we don’t tolerate here at Pacific Creative.”
It takes everything I have not to drop my face in my hand. Criminal record?Please.They were minor shoplifting and possession charges. I was nineteen. Barely graduated, with no income, no family, no help. But Calvin makes it sound like I spent my twenties robbing gas stations. It certainly makes me look a heap guiltier than him by comparison.
David squints. “You have proof of this?”
Calvin smiles victoriously, back on top. “Yes, sir,” he says tapping a second, smaller stack of papers.
“I’m not posing as anything,” I try to explain. “I made a legal decision to change my name for personal reasons—” But Jessica interrupts before I can finish, her previous ambiguity conveniently dried up.
