Only the devil, p.3
Only the Devil, page 3
I also shouldn’t plan on visiting the Java Mama every day, but on account of it being my first day, I skip the coffee pot and head out the door, checking my phone on the way. There’s a text from Rhodes waiting.
Rhodes
Still doing this?
Did he think I’d change my mind after I’ve gone through all the trouble of applying for a job and getting hired?
Yes
It’s not until I’m through the line at Java Mama with a coffee in hand that a response comes through.
Rhodes
Today’s your first day?
It’s not even 8 a.m. and he’s clearly awake.
Are you on the East Coast?
Rhodes
No. But I have meetings with the East Coast.
That sucks for him. I smile at the man holding the door for me—yes, the A/C is fixed—and exit onto the street.
Rhodes
What’s your title?
Title? I’m a programmer. He knows this.
You should call me grossly underpaid.
Rhodes
What’s your salary?
More than double what you pay.
Yes, I told myself I would not gripe about it, given I’m not working for him at the moment and I seem to still be on payroll, but Rhodes brings out my inner smack talker.
Rhodes
BS
No stock. But I bet they would’ve…I didn’t negotiate.
Rhodes
I don’t like this.
So you’ve said.
Rhodes
Be careful.
And we’ll review your salary when you return to work.
I grin. Rhodes has always been super fair. And he’s the first boss I’ve ever come across that puts up with my shit.
Rhodes
You didn’t sign an employment contract, did you? If you’re holding onto one, have Pam in legal look it over. She can look out for any pitfalls given you plan to jump ship soon.
Aye aye, boss.
I finish speaking into the phone, check the text, and hit send.
As I cross the street, my gaze travels upward to the blue sky that serves as a backdrop to the glass facade. The building itself looks like any other office building in America, and this section of Reston, Virginia has lots of blocks with buildings that look just like this, but inside this particular structure, vultures thrive, preying on the vulnerable. And I’m going to gather all the evidence I need to lock those bastards up.
With that thought, I glide through the revolving door and step into the marble lobby. The woman sitting behind reception smiles at me, but doesn’t give any indication that I should check in. I have instructions to go to human resources on the fourth floor, and so I head to the gold trimmed elevator bank and press the up button.
Ms. Weaver told me that most people start around nine, so it’s not surprising there aren’t many people filling the lobby yet. I inhale, breathing in a mix of cleaning scent and the hint of coffee—probably my coffee.
I enter the elevator alone and watch as the floors rise. Unlike the office towers of downtown Chicago where I currently reside, at four floors, it’s tall for this block. In fact, this is one of the more congested sections of Reston, which is basically a DC bedroom community, or at least it was, until tech businesses mixed with the urban sprawl, creating a legit town center.
The elevator opens onto a floor of offices delineated by hallways. There’s no reception up here, but there are open cubicles layered in front of a select number of executive offices. I wander down until I return to Ms. Weaver’s office, where I both interviewed and was offered a job.
Only, this morning, her office door is closed. Her assistant, a middle-aged woman in a pink plaid suit, smiles as I approach.
“Daisy?”
“Yes. I’m sorry, I don’t think I met you when I was here before.”
“I only work three days a week. I’m Amy. Lillian asked me to get you set up in your office. She’s running late this morning, but she’ll come down to see you when she’s here. And you’ve got a day of meetings in front of you. I’ve got you scheduled to meet the department heads.”
She hops up from her seat, lifting a shiny silver folder with a Sterling Financial logo. “Since you’ll be working so closely with Phillip—practically a department of one—we thought you should meet the other department heads. That way, when you need anything…” Her smile brightens “...you’ll know exactly who can help you succeed.”
She passes me, folder pressed against her chest, headed back down the hall in the direction of the elevators.
The floor itself is eerily quiet, with most office doors closed, but Ms. Weaver, or Lillian as Amy calls her, did warn me the office is filled with commuters and the start time leans later. If I wanted to be superstitious, I could say that the office has Scorpio energy, meaning it’s secretive and withholding, but that doesn’t mesh with an afternoon of planned Q and A’s.
Amy takes me to the third floor, which has more life to it than the fourth. Open cubicles fill the center of the third floor, and closed-door offices line the perimeter. Amy leads me straight to an office with an empty name plaque. “Here we are,” she announces with a bright smile, leading me into a nice sized office with a window that takes up the entire back wall. Roller shades sit at the top, fully raised.
A metal and glass desk sits in the center, with a computer and a single monitor, and two guest chairs with chrome legs and black leather.
Amy sets the folder down on the center of the desk. “This here is everything you need to know about health insurance options. When Lillian comes down, she’ll take you through everything. I’ve stocked your desk with basic supplies, but if you need anything, you can buzz me. I'm extension 4342 and I’ll bring it to you.”
“Can I get an additional monitor?”
“You want two?”
“Yes. Two additional monitors would be perfect.”
“Three? That’s...ambitious for most people here.”
“If it’s an issue, I can bring mine from home.”
“No, no. No need. Mr. Sterling has two monitors. I guess when you spend a lot of time on the computer you just want more space.” She spreads her hands and that’s when I notice her nail color matches her suit. She’s trying hard to be perfect. I recognize the type—and the cost. “I’ll get right on it. Mr. Sterling said you’re going to do great things.”
With a smile she rushes out of my office. Her demeanor is strange, as is her clothing choice, but I can’t say there’s more to it than that she’s just different from me. Or maybe it’s a southern thing. I’m really not sure.
I peer outside my office and spot a young man with short hair, spectacles, and a navy-blue bow tie powering up his computer. His cubicle is directly across from my office. The cubicles don’t align directly with the doorway, so I can only see him when I exit my office.
“Hi. I’m Daisy.”
“I’m Ned.” He pushes up from his chair, but his phone lights up and rings, the sound particularly loud in the morning quiet. He’s quick to apologize, mouthing sorry, and then mumbling, “I have to get this.”
“Sure. No problem,” I say, stepping back into my sterile office. As someone who has long insisted on working from home, it’s difficult to ascertain if the unease that has me gripping my coffee like a lifeline stems from the situation, the place, or just a general dislike of offices.
With my coffee cup in hand, I stare across the street at the apartment building, scanning the balconies and windows, attempting to ascertain which unit is mine. But then I see him.
He’s stepped out on the balcony, water bottle in hand, and his shirt off. Holy Batman, that man is fit. He kicks a leg back, gripping his ankle, pulling on it, stretching his quads. From here, his hair is dark, probably drenched with sweat. His ankle falls, and he chugs the water, then leans against the balcony, scanning across the way, and a frisson of energy lights through me, overriding my unease.
It feels like he can see me, so to test my theory, I lift a hand and wiggle my fingers in a testing wave. He smiles and waves back. Yes, he can see me. And for whatever reason, that makes me smile.
“Oh my—is that your boyfriend on the balcony?”
I jerk in surprise, twisting to find Ms. Weaver in the doorway.
“Well, aren’t you the lucky one.” She steps closer to the window.
“Ah,” I breathe out, unsure what to say, taking in the man who looks a little like some film adaptations of Tarzan. “Yes.”
Sure. All the guys I date resemble the king of the jungle.
“And how convenient that you found a place right across the street. It’s almost like it was meant to be.”
“Yes. A lucky find,” I say, hoping she doesn’t think too much about it.
“And I see you went to Java Mama, but you know, we do have a break room with coffee. Java Mama does make better coffee, if I’m honest. But our break room has lovely tea for the afternoons. I always say tea is perfect for those long work sessions when you need to stay late.”
Noted: caffeine culture and late nights. Scorpio office energy checks out.
She glances in the direction of the corridor outside my office. “Phillip appreciates dedication like that. Do you drink tea?”
“I do. Especially if it’s cold.”
“Well, it’s July and they’re saying a heat dome is going to be settling over us for the next week, so…”
I pull my blazer tighter around me, suddenly noticing that the air conditioning in the building is blasting.
“It gets chilly in here,” she says, nose crinkling with her smile. She glances over her shoulder, possibly seeking out Jake, but he’s gone inside. “Let’s get started, shall we? Phillip’s been so excited about what you’re going to build for us. He’s already told our investors about this tool—he has such confidence in you.” She claps her hands together. “We’d better get you settled so you can start making him proud.”
Perfect. That’s exactly what I want to do. I’ll dig into every single crevice. Phillip Sterling believes I’m designing a system that will give him a competitive advantage, which means they have to share with me everything about how his operation works. And if he’s breaking any laws, I’ll find proof.
CHAPTER 4
JAKE
We’re barely into this op and I’m already over watching paper pushers file in and out of conference rooms and offices. It’s been less than two days of alternating between surveillance and massaging my shoulder with a tennis ball against the wall. I’m beyond bored.
Sterling leases floors two through four; street-level’s retail. Big offices up on four, three is where Daisy landed, and two looks mostly empty.
We got lucky with Daisy’s office location. It’s not directly across from the condo, but throughout most of the day I have a view of the back of her head, her ever-present headphones, and her three monitors, at least when she’s in her office. She’s spent a lot of time in meetings with human resources and what she calls division heads, learning the business. She said she has yet to speak to anyone who doesn’t drink the company Kool-Aid. I still don’t have the faintest idea what this company actually does.
In the mornings, we don’t cross paths. I’m out the door for a run to the nearby park and adjacent trails, and by the time I’ve returned, the shower floor is nearly dry. This weekend, I aim to find a gym, but the schedule should remain the same.
Yesterday she filed out of the building around six. Said Ms. Weaver, the human resources director, walked around the offices doing a sweep at the end of the day, turning off lights. She said it felt motherly the way she did it, but the action seems off to me. But what do I know? I’ve never worked in corporate America.
Based on what I’ve observed of these stooges, I’m damn glad that’s the case.
Daisy stands out as the singular programmer on staff, being as she’s the one who doesn’t look like a clone. She half-adapts to the herd—blazer over jeans—but keeps her own edges. Sandals today, a whisper fancier than flip-flops. The room clones itself; she refuses to. In my mind, she makes herself stick out more by dressing differently, as she’s the only one I’ve observed in denim on this casual Friday, but I’m not going to tell her how to do her job.
Besides, her investigation isn’t a team effort. I’m a protective detail thrust upon Daisy, hired to ease some of Rhodes’ worry. Or hell, maybe Rhodes just wanted a line to his MVP. Doesn’t matter. I’m paid to be here—and if it turns, I’m paid to make sure she walks out.
Truth is, hanging with Daisy after work last night wasn’t half-bad. It’s easy sharing space with her. She loves her noise-cancelling headphones, so after we grabbed takeout and ate, she put those on and read what she calls cyberpunk fiction, a genre I’ve never heard of but she claims is good shit.
I learned a few things about her, too. She packed light: two suitcases, a duffel of Chucks and boots, and more silicon than a Micro Center. Loved that neighbor, Alvin Reed, and she’s hell-bent on justice. She’s a horoscope-loving Sagittarius who told me to buy a lotto ticket based on my natal chart. From what I can tell, she’s brilliant. Quirky.
Am I bored out of my mind? Yes, I am. And getting more bored by the minute.
While Ms. Brainiac likes to think I’m sitting on my ass playing games, that’s not who I am. No, I’m sitting here diligently observing the mundane office routine playing out across the street.
My phone lights up and Hudson’s name flashes. I hit answer, setting it to speaker.
“Hola,” I say.
“Checking in. What’s your take?” The boss man’s always direct; I’ll give him that.
“No change since yesterday. Same corporate drone routine.” I hesitate, but why? I’ve been told I’ve got a job with or without gigs, and I’ve never been one to blow smoke. “I’m pretty useless over here as protective detail.”
“Because you’re sitting across the street?”
I’m pretty sure my eyebrows hit my hairline. Fuck yeah, because I’m sitting across the street. Sure, I have a rifle and am a capable sniper, but I don’t foresee the need to eliminate a threat at long range on this assignment.
“I agree with you,” Hudson says before I formulate a PC response. “But the client doesn’t want her out there alone. Protective detail can be mind-numbing work. It’s better than a war zone. Enjoy it.”
Cognitively, I recognize he’s dishing out good advice.
“This weekend, see if you can set up audio and video surveillance. We’ll monitor the feed on our end.” I scan the windows, confirming Daisy hasn’t returned to her desk. “It’s another way KOAN can assist with the investigation.”
Surveillance should speed the investigation along. Maybe we’ll overhear discussions that aren’t documented in email, and from a protective detail perspective, people come and go from her office and while I can watch from here, with audio, I can hear if there’s a threat. “Sounds good to me.”
“You think you can safely install this weekend? Has Daisy observed any surveillance equipment on their side?”
“She hasn’t, but that doesn't mean it’s not there. If I’m spotted inside, it’s explainable. They think I’m her boyfriend.”
“Good. Based on what Noah is hearing out in LA, it’s best that they’re aware she’s not alone.”
“What’s Noah found?”
“He’s spoken to three different people who were shocked by Alvin Reed’s death. Said he was fit and healthy.”
Yeah, but he was also old. “Is there any evidence that suggests foul play?”
“No. Quinn accessed the police report. But the body wasn’t found for days. I don’t think anyone cared enough to look hard. And he was actively working on that class action lawsuit.”
“And the cops never spoke to any of these people?”
“If they did, it’s not in the report, but I don’t know why they would have. Daisy’s mom’s name is listed as the person who discovered the body and called 911. And before you ask, she and Daisy have different last names, so if someone else accessed the report, there’s no obvious connection to Daisy.”
This isn’t news to me, as it came up in last night’s conversation. Originally born Daisy Betts, her Mom changed Daisy’s last name to Jonas when she was in a fifth-grade play because she wanted a better name for Daisy should she decide to follow her mother’s acting career path and aim to join SAG. Daisy prefers Jonas to Betts so she never bothered changing it back after she turned eighteen.
“From what I can tell, this outpost is a mix of low-level sales and cubicle dwellers that run numbers or something. I understand she’s convinced employees have to be in on the scam, but in my observations, the folks across the street don’t strike me as high-risk. Is Noah not picking up the same vibes?”
A flash of white in a second-floor office catches my attention. I pick up binoculars for a closer look. There’s a woman bent over a desk and the shirttail of the man bent over her flaps back and forth.
Well, now. That’s a more interesting office meeting.
“He spoke to a veteran who claims before Alvin Reed’s death, a man came by to ask him questions. He thought it was an intimidation tactic to get them to drop the class action lawsuit, but now he wonders if someone was checking to see if Reed had anyone that would come looking for him. The guy said he shared that Reed didn’t have any close family, and he wishes he hadn’t revealed it. Noah said the guy seemed paranoid, possibly high, so he wasn’t sure how much we could read into it, but it’s something to be aware of.”
