I close the laptop, unplug the power cable, and tuck it under my arm. The laptop is heavy. Company property. If Mags can'tfix this, I just walked out with her career in my hands and no backup plan.
"I'll text you when I drop it off," I say.
She nods.
I turn to the door.
"Tom."
I stop.
"Thank you."
I just nod and leave.
The subway to Williamsburg takes thirty minutes and I spend the entire ride with the laptop pressed against my leg inside my bag. Mags owes me a favor from last year.
"Seized spindle," Mags says, popping the back panel with a practiced twist of his screwdriver. "Recoverable. But it takes time. And time costs."
"How much for Wednesday morning?"
"For a rush? Eight hundred."
Eight hundred dollars. The money I'd set aside for the low-light lens I'd been eyeing for months.
"You sure?" Mags is watching me.
"I'm sure." I slide my card across the counter.
I step back out onto the street. The laptop won't be ready until Wednesday, which means Sam has nothing right now.
I pull out my phone.
Drive is in good hands. Heading back to you now. We can rebuild this.
Her reply comes through fast.
Okay
There's a Thai place three blocks south. The smell hits me halfway down the block—lemongrass and chili oil. I stop. Order Pad Thai, spring rolls, and Thai iced tea.
It's past nine when I buzz up to Sam's again.
Her door opens before I knock.
"I brought food."
She steps aside. The desk is transformed—printouts stacked, legal pad open to a fresh timeline. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday sketched across the top.
"Stop," I say, setting the food down.
She looks up. "I can't stop. I know your guy is working on the drive, but if he can't save it, I only have three days—"
"You're right. We aren't risking Thursday on a 'maybe'." I pull my portable hard drive out of my bag and set it next to her legal pad. "I have the photos. You have the notes. We build a safety-net version tonight, just in case."
She stares at me. "You're going to stay and help me rebuild the entire deck?"
"That's what partners do."
