Page 17 of Corvus and the Broken God

I forwarded the file, but as it swished away on the email highway, a feeling of dread sunk down my neck and shoulders.

“So, what happens now?” I asked, despite the drop in room temperature.

Cassandra looked up at Matthew, who nodded in silent agreement. Then she picked up her phone. “Justin, please have security escort this person off the premises. We’re not sure how she got in here. Make sure they take her stolen badge, company phone, and anything else belonging to the firm.”

Then she turned to me. “You can go now. Whoever you are.”

“Whoever I am? You know who I am. I’m Freya. I’m the person who designed the entire project as well as the cutting-edge solution to the problem brought on by a client who always wants more. Don’t tell me you don’t know me, I just sent you the documents you needed.” Which had been stupid. I stood up, clutching my laptop to my chest. “Matthew, help me out here. You’re the one who left me to rot on the mountaintop. What were you expecting? That I was dead in a ditch somewhere. Matthew…”

He refused to look at me, and the next instant the door opened, two security guards clamping their meaty hands on my arms.

As they dragged me toward the door, Cassandra said to them, “Take her computer too. It is company property.”

“No, it’s not.” I dug my heels in, turning to face her. “My company laptop is broken. This is my personal computer.” I had been working on it for weeks now. The only reason they weren’t able to access the new files.

“Ma’am?” asked the nearest security guard, the three of us crammed half in and out of the office doorway. A couple of heads in the big room watched. “Do I take the computer?”

Cassandra waved her hand. “Let her keep it for now but make sure you get her badge and phone; they belong to someone else.”

I could barely see past my rage and headed toward the elevator, handing off my badge and work phone as we crammed into the glossy space. My mind raced. They had played me so easily, but what were my options? To play hardball with plans that legally belonged to the firm? I couldn’t see how it would’ve helped me. Not even short-term. At least they hadn’t fired me, not officially, if they were going with the story that I wasn’t Freya Rook.

They escorted me to the ground floor and out to the street, only stepping back inside once I was half a block away. I kept walking, headed in the general direction of my apartment, but not eager to go back there. I didn’t see anything in front of me, disgusted with Matthew and myself, at my inability to play Cassandra’s games. They had tossed me out like garbage. Worthless and unwanted. Stupid.

That had been the worst insult my uncle could give me, to mock my intelligence, or lack of it. Not only had he not cared that I would graduate top of my class in high school, but he kicked me out of the house the day after graduation. I had swallowed my pride and pleaded with him to let me stay through the summer, since I was leaving for college in the fall, but he only agreed once I offered to pay rent and food. He told me since I had inherited money from my father, I could pay my way from that point on. So I did. I paid for everything, more than my share, and then I never looked back.

I left the town I had grown up in rural North Carolina, and the word hometown never meant the same to me again. It hadn’t been home since my father died. My few high school acquaintances drifted apart, especially since I would never voluntarily step foot back there again.

How easily Cassandra sent me back to the place of being unwanted, of utter failure. Of having no friends or allies.

I had mostly depleted my inheritance, spending it on college, which meant I didn’t have much debt. But my savings wouldn’t last long, a year max. Lacking a recommendation from the only firm where I had worked meant finding a job would be tough.

After the initial shock wore off, I had all day to come to terms with my situation. All the time in the world but nowhere to go. I wandered the streets deep in thought. Walking had always helped me think before, and now, staring at the dirty sidewalks, my feet propelled me forward to nowhere in particular. Because no matter how much I tried to tell myself I was integral to salvaging all the hours we put into our last project, now that they had my plans, they didn’t need me at all. It hadn’t taken long for Cassandra to work out how to handle me either. Not a single person besides Mindy would back up my claim that I was the same person they had worked with the last few years. Because I was essentially different. Even Mindy would have to admit it. I wouldn’t let them put her career in jeopardy either, because that was the sort of person she was, the kind who would sacrifice for the people she cared about.

I was determined not to let her.

I planned to meet her back at her condo that night since something told me to stay away from my apartment for now. That had to be paranoia talking, since it wasn’t like Cassandra had something else planned to drive me out of the city. I had plenty of time that afternoon to call my landlord, reassure him I was still alive and out of town, and transfer two months’ worth of rent while I figured out my next steps. I also opened a safe deposit box at my bank, withdrew some cash, and placed it there. It didn’t make any logical sense, but it made me feel better. Later, I would drop by my apartment, grab my passport and a few items, and add them to my cash stash. With my identity in question, the world as I knew it felt wobbly under my feet. With no desire to spend time at my depressing apartment, I killed some time at a café researching my rights as an employee, but when it became apparent I needed an attorney, I switched to researching Camazotz instead. The internet was surprisingly unhelpful. Other than a few references to his role in the mythical Mayan underworld and some modern conspiracy theories, I learned practically nothing about him. What I really needed was to stop procrastinating and start finding solutions to my problems.

First, though, I would bring Mindy dinner. A small way of saying thank you. She smiled when she opened the door for me.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“Italian? Is that okay?”

“Smells wonderful. Come on in.”

“I got eggplant parmesan and linguine in clam sauce and a Caesar salad. I think you once told me those were your favorites.” I followed her to the kitchen and set the warm white bag on the counter.

“You didn’t have to do this, Freya. I’m here for you no matter what.”

“I know that. I just wanted to say thank you.”

She eyed me critically. “Are you leaving town? Just going to let Cassandra win?”

“I thought that’s what you told me to do?” I turned to pull some plates and bowls down from the cupboard.

“Yeah, but I hope you plan to fight back.”

“Did you hear what happened?”