“Isawyour men.” I was nearly shouting at this point. “They were following me.”
“I don’t deny we did surveillance,” he said. “That’s standard procedure in high-profile matters.”
Mark reached out to put a hand on my arm, but I moved out of reach. “Kat, if a threat was made, I apologize—”
“Whatare you apologizing for? It didn’t happen!” Phil hissed at Mark. “What did happen is that your employee screwedmyemployee and lied to you about it. And now she’s trying to use privileged information to destroy us,yourclient. It’s unethicalandillegal.”
“Maybe we can dispense with the hysterics and stick to the facts,” I snapped back. “Those facts are the following: I have the documents that were in Tim Lyall’s possession, or rather, I have photographs of them. And before you get any ideas about quick fixes, you should know that they are safely and securely uploaded to several places, including the cloud. The good news about using someone as careful as Tim is that he keeps extremely thorough records. And the bad news about threatening somebody like me is that I am always prepared.”
“You should keep in mind where those documents got Doug Sinclair.”
I felt an uncomfortable prickle across my skin. They would try to kill me, too. But I was well versed in men thinking they were entitled to take what they wanted from me. I knew how to navigate my way around them. I knew how to survive.
“What’s actually going to happen right now is the following: I’m going to walk out that door.” I kept my voice low and even. “Then I’m going to leave this building, unimpeded. Once I’m gone, you’ve got twelve hours to call off the dogsandget me the phone that sent the threats about Cleo, as a show of good faith. If you don’t comply, I’ll see to it that the emails Doug Sinclair wrote, warning you personally about Xytek, are published inThe New York Times.And before you think about trying to remove me as a threat—it’s too late. It’s already in motion. If something happens to me and I’m not there to stop it, the story will run in theTimes.”
“You’ll be disbarred.” Phil’s face was beet red. But his voice had lost some of its strength.
“You think I care?” I asked. “You threatened my daughter. She’s the only thing that matters to me.”
“Kat, they didn’t threaten Cleo,” Mark said softly. “I would know. Which means they don’t have that phone. They can’t deliver what they don’t have.”
“Andwhyshould I believe you?”
“I know you’re disappointed with me, Kat. That’s fair. There are things … I wanted to stay in business, in part so Ruth could be taken care of. I’m not trying to use that as an excuse. But it is the truth. It’s also the truth that if Cleo is being threatened, it’s coming from someone else.”
Mark wasn’t stupid; he had to know I was recording this meeting. Why carve out the threat to Cleo as the one thing he wouldn’t admit to—unless it was true?
“Don’t send those documents, Kat. Please,” Phil went on. His tone was imploring now. “Mistakes were made with this particular drug, obviously. But Darden is committed to making that right. We’re settling with the plaintiffs and we’d be happy to follow your specific guidance with respect to fair compensation.”
“For the babies you knowingly injured? The ones who died?” I asked. “You think there’s a dollar value for that?”
“Come on,” Phil said quietly. “You and I both know there’s a price for everything. And everyone.”
I turned to leave. “Why don’t we see how tonight goes—get me that phone, like I asked, and we’ll see.” A few more steps and I was at the door. “But if I get another threat about Cleo, I promise you, you’ll have your answer.”
December 24, 1992
I’m going to do it!Sneak out.It’s a risk. You can lose your weekend privileges permanently. But like Reed said, are those privileges really worth anything anyway?
He’s right that you only live once. I have to start determining my own future. And I am brave enough to do that. Reed believes it. And I believe it, too.
As for tonight, all I need to do is slip out the front door when the attendant isn’t looking. She’s hardly ever at that desk lately. I think maybe she’s dating one of the orderlies.
Because I deserve to be a regular teenager. To have fun. To live a little. To sneak out to see a boy I have a crush on.
Anyway, what’s the worst thing that could happen? It’s Christmas Eve.
Cleo
FIFTY-TWO HOURS GONE
Vivienne is already there, sitting in a red booth at the back of the narrow diner when I arrive an hour later. She summoned me with a text that was light on explanation. She has her hair back in a wide white headband, huge red reading glasses perched at the end of her patrician nose. And she’s smoking. Inside. She’s focused on her phone, punching out a text, gives no indication that she’s even noticed me as I slide into the booth and sit across from her.
“Fucking idiots. Think an MBA from Harvard makes them God.”
“You can’t smoke in here,” I say, looking around for the employee who is surely about to charge over to scold her. “Obviously.”
She gestures to the cooks in the open kitchen, the waitress standing nearby. “Do they look like they care? It’s late.” She peers at me through her reading glasses. “Our offices are around the corner. They always let me smoke when it’s empty. That’s why I come here.” She takes another long drag as the waitress appears, grim-faced, with a little saucer for her to flick her ashes in. “They don’t mind.”
