So either Beckett’s in trouble?—
Or Midtown is.
I grab my phone and enter “Midtown Investments.”
A shiny corporate page comes up. The Press tab won’t load.
I switch to the News tab.
Kyle Kemper, Midtown’s CFO, resigns for “personal reasons.”
Wait.
Kyle? Beckett and I met him and his wife at a party a little over a year ago.
He and Beckett were joking about golf scores or scotch—I don’t remember exactly. And then Kyle’s wife even suggested we grab dinner sometime.
We never followed up.
And now he’s resigning?
Right when Beckett says he’s getting fired?
That’s not a coincidence.
It can’t be. Is Midtown going under?
I go back to the company website and on a hunch, click on the banner to enter the client portal.
Instead of a prompt for account and password, it just says: “scheduled maintenance.” On a weekday afternoon?
What does that mean?
I lock my phone and stare at the screen reflection.
None of this is a coincidence.
And I feel a shift inside, like I’m changing gears.
If Beckett won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll find out myself.
Still mulling it over, I turn the shower on and wait for it to go from freezing cold to something I can tolerate.
I’ve still got Luna’s bachelorette party to finalize, but I can spare a couple hours to get a crash course in Beckett’s world. As soon as we get back on the ship.
Because as much as I want to believe him, I need answers.
Standing under a stream of gloriously hot water, I picture his face again—the way he looked at me when he said he’d tell me more, the quiet desperation in his voice.
And,Oh God.
The weight of… everything, lands hard.
Whatever is going on, it didn’t start today. It’s been unraveling piece by piece, and I couldn’t see it.
I kept asking for answers—and when he wouldn’t give them, I just… turned away.
What is wrong with me?
