Chapter 12
Secrets and Lies
M onique sometimes put the TV on in the late afternoon as she checked her emails and corresponded with her investment company executives. It also helped her relax after an intense session, such as the one she’d had with Victoria Mills.
The vice principal had been delightful, of course, but had required a lot of work and close attention. Monique hadn’t wanted the woman’s first time to be anything less than exceptional. It could be tiring, though, to be so…thorough.
Share prices slid across the bottom of the screen, and she kept an eye on them as she wrote her next email.
Absolutely not, Raymond. I’ve said no to investing in both those electric vehicle companies for the same reason: the credible allegations in The Japan Times that they’re using lithium ripped out of the Tibetan plateau, potentially damaging an already fragile ecology. I know those EV brands look like a good fit on paper, but dig deeper. You’re my acting CEO—do some research. Our investors would be furious if you tried to slip an environmental pillager past them.
She hit send and scanned the next email.
Ms. Biana, yes, it’s fine to spotlight Humboldt Fog in the client newsletter as the main ‘Buy It’ rec next month. And you are quite correct that we’re still limiting dairy produce stocks due to the methane issue. Humboldt Fog is perfectly acceptable as it’s goat cheese.
Ah, the joys of running an ethical investment company. Managers either overthought and second-guessed everything—as Lorna Biana was doing—or didn’t dig into things as closely as they should, like Raymond.
She glanced up at the TV, then did a double take. Footage of Phyllis Kensington was in the frame. Before yesterday’s uncomfortable encounter, Monique had been only peripherally aware of her as “the folksy southern senator with the recipes” who last year had morphed into the “ice-cold senator with the creepy husband she’d covered up for.”
That reputation-ending media bloodbath had been just the start. With those revelations had come an avalanche of other high-profile people who’d hired The Fixers for awful reasons and had been dragged for it.
Monique had paid close attention to The Fixers stories at the time because the rich and powerful tended to divest shares in bulk when they needed to free up cash for lawyers. Bargains could be had. Company share prices would also be affected by a dirty CEO’s downfall. Either way, the Fixergate scandal had made for a volatile stock market for several months, and Monique had made some good business deals as a result.
She turned up the volume on the news report.
“…Kensington was just one of dozens of high-profile people outed as a client of The Fixers,” the reporter was saying. “The organization’s activities included helping now-convicted pharmaceutical manager Christopher Huntington force the price of a miracle cancer drug to soar overnight in order to ensure his bonus.”
A photo of the disgraced little worm filled the screen, and Monique glowered at him. Who did that? Who thought, Screw everyone, especially cancer patients, I’m going to be rich at all costs?
Someone without a soul.
Kensington’s face was back on the screen—stock footage from a charity event. So innocent and harmless, smiling as if she had not a care in the world.
Monique had seen considerably more than that face yesterday. She was anything but innocent or harmless.
“…adding further disgrace to Kensington’s reputation as it was revealed in The LA Sentinel today that all the recipes on her enormously popular website, At Home With Phyllis, were stolen from her housekeeper, Ita May Bates, over the past three decades.”
A newspaper photo of a lean older Black woman in an apron flashed up.
“Mrs. Bates reportedly showed The Sentinel ’s DC Bureau Chief Catherine Ayers all her notebooks containing the original recipes, which include notations as she updated them over the years. A handwriting expert has confirmed they’re penned in Mrs. Bates’s handwriting and that the ink used in them appears at least twenty years old.”
“Oh dear,” Monique murmured aloud. “That won’t play well with your constituents.” The senator’s dreams of ever crawling her way back into politics were over.
Footage of an irate Kensington being ambushed by media outside her home at dawn, while still in her bathrobe, was being played on a loop now. She threw her rolled-up newspaper at a cameraman, who caught it with one hand and tossed it back at her. She ducked and swore at him like a filthy sailor. And there it was: the real Phyllis . The “gotcha” moment that would now be her legacy.
Ottilie’s promised vengeance had been swift and complete. Given the timing, who else could have been behind it?
Kensington would be furious, of course. Her short fuse had been evident to Monique after just fifteen minutes in her company. What had it been like to work for her, day in day out, as Ottilie had done?
And what company was that, exactly? Where had Kensington gone after leaving politics and wound up as Ottilie’s boss?
Interesting question. She pulled her keyboard closer.
Google proved no help. Kensington had resigned as a senator for “family reasons”—usually code for avoiding a scandal—and then…nothing? At all?
Monique drummed her fingers. Wherever Kensington had been CEO post-politics had to have been low-key enough for it not to have been reported on. That ruled out a think tank—they trumpeted their big-name recruits. Besides, think tanks did not have boards, and Ottilie had mentioned a board often.
She thought back, recalling the scraps of conversation when Ottilie had first mentioned her job. “I was a personal assistant for a CEO at a consultancy firm.”
A consultancy firm that had nondisclosure agreements too. So, somewhere that kept secrets. She closed her eyes and thought. Secrets and NDAs. Government intelligence agencies and political parties all loved their secrets, but such organizations did not have a CEO.
Who else kept secrets and had boards? A technology firm? Pharmaceutical developer? But why recruit an ex-senator with no background in either? Might as well put a fish on a bicycle. Anyway, neither option fit with consultancy firm .
Just then, the scrolling news feed shifted:
Ex-FBI director Emmett Holt, who co-ran a disgraced elite consultancy company, has been found guilty. Charges relate to his time on the board at The Fixers, which oversaw computer hacking, blackmail, espionage, and multiple data security breaches.
Monique went cold. Secrecy. Board. Consultancy work . The trifecta.
Had Phyllis Kensington, cruel and ambitious, been CEO of the equally cruel and ambitious clandestine company, The Fixers—one that she certainly knew about because she’d already used them as a client?
What else fit? Seriously? What. Else. Monique scowled. But if that were true, and it seemed likely, that also meant… Ottilie had worked at The Fixers.
Not just as a PA either. Her hints about her influence and her boardroom access suggested she’d had considerable power.
On TV, the shamed board member was being led away in handcuffs, head bowed.
Ottilie had worked for him. Them .
Just…fuck.
Monique felt ill. Every immoral, corrupt, broken thing she’d heard about The Fixers flooded her mind. All of those ugly, disgusting things had slithered across Ottilie’s desk and she’d allowed them to happen . Every day, she’d gone into work knowing she was about to perpetrate destruction and misery. She’d even admitted as much: she’d hurt people.
Compelling, confident, commanding Ottilie, who had seemed so interesting a minute ago, was one of them .
Disgust warred with anger and then a futile jag of hope. Surely, surely, Ottilie had some explanation? Some way of explaining it as not what it seemed? Or not as bad as it looked? Or maybe Monique was in error? Ottilie would surely tell her if she’d guessed wrongly.
Monique snatched her phone and texted Ottilie. She kept it vague—no names that might get her text flagged somewhere official. You never could be too careful.
I know. Saw your ex-board member was just found guilty.
A reply appeared: Ah.
‘Ah’? What the hell did that mean? And that wasn’t a denial. Her throat tightened. That’s it?! she texted back in astonishment.
I never pretended to be good. At the end of the day, I’m just a woman who ran an efficient office and dreamed of retirement. I’m sorry if I disappoint you.
No remorse? Monique doubled over as betrayal slammed into her. Not again! Another woman she’d trusted…and now this! She’d been right all along to avoid getting close to people!
That text became blurry. Monique shoved the base of her hands into her eyes to viciously rub tears away.
But then fury replaced her hurt. How could Ottilie just pretend this was normal ? She was normal? Goddammit! She’d trusted the woman. Even started to care for her. Monique’s heart clenched. She hadn’t known Ottilie at all.
People were assholes! You trust a person with all your personal and intimate foibles and hope they’ll be honest with you in return. Instead, they turn around and show they weren’t worthy of the trust in the first place. She remembered, suddenly, Ottilie’s reaction to the woman she’d dated who’d turned out to be a spy. She’d acted as though it had been no big deal for her. Finding out your confidante was a two-faced liar was probably Tuesday for Ottilie.
But Monique hadn’t trusted anyone new in years. And now the one she’d trusted had revealed herself to be exactly like Phyllis Kensington: cold, unfeeling, indifferent to suffering.
No, not just like Kensington. Like…Stacy. The woman who’d ruined her for friendships years ago.
Monique’s heart cracked in two. She hadn’t meant to get invested. And it was too late. She’d started to care. Ottilie is not for you. She was never for you.
Tears slid down her cheeks as she texted back, anger warring with pain.
Seems you were right this morning: I should run.
Monique waited, breath tight in her throat. Would Ottilie ask for understanding or make excuses?
I understand. Thank you for our time together. I valued it. Goodbye.
A pragmatist to the end. The damned woman didn’t even deny Monique should run from her. She just accepted that as fact?
Well, what had she expected? Ottilie to beg her not to run? To ask Monique to let her explain?
Yes!
But Ottilie was Ottilie: a woman with no expectations and an unusual way of looking at the world. As if she’d ever plead her case or ask for anything more than Monique hadn’t immediately and freely offered.
Ottilie did not beg. Why would she, anyway? She saw no need. It wasn’t like she cared.
This was for the best, then. There was no way Monique wanted to get caught up in a vicious mess like The Fixers or the heartless bastards who’d worked there.
Except… She inhaled. It was disconcerting how much Ottilie had fooled her into thinking she had a heart. Ottilie had stepped in to help June Menzies, hadn’t she? Although Mrs. Menzies had said Ottilie was annoyed that Frank had insulted older women. So maybe it had been self-serving.
But Ottilie had seemed inordinately pleased that one of her former CEOs was off living her best life with a professional protester.
That gave her pause. How could she be both heartless and delighted by love?
Monique’s temples ached. It didn’t matter, though, did it? Ottilie had admitted who she really was. One of them .
She’d told Monique the truth earlier: humans are masses of contradictions. And looks could be deceptive.
More fool me.
* * *
Ottilie had been sulking powerfully ever since getting Monique’s last text, although God only knew what she’d expected. Of course the woman was too smart not to have worked it out at some point. There had been too many clues, and Monique had been paying far too much close attention to miss them.
It just would have been nice to go a little longer before Ottilie lost Monique.
Well, not lost. She’d never had her to begin with. Besides, Ottilie wasn’t interested in the complications that came with what Monique seemed to want most from her.
But beyond that, beyond the flirting, it did feel as though something else was now gone. Something…worthwhile. That loss sat heavily on her chest.
Why did it have to end so soon? Monique had made her time in Vegas less terrible. She’d actually caught herself laughing. And, aside from Hannah, few people ever amused her.
At the reminder of Hannah, on impulse, she made a video call to her friend.
Large spectacles with shining green eyes greeted Ottilie through the video screen, the face much too close. Then Hannah leapt away with a surprised “Oh!”
Ottilie smiled. She did this every time. “Hannah? It’s me.”
“Oh dear, Ottilie! I still haven’t gotten used to this video business. I’m such a Luddite!” She cackled. “How’s Las Vegas? Does it agree with you?”
“I’m not sure Vegas fully agrees with anyone.” Ottilie saw her own small sneer on the screen. “At best, it serves up fantasies, but they’re threadbare.”
“Very true.” Hannah chuckled. “Although for some, better the threadbare than the nonexistent.” She leaned back. “It’s so lovely to see your face again, dear. When will you be back in DC? I’ve been looking forward to your clues so very much.”
That pleased her. Ottilie had recognized a bored, intelligent soul the first time she’d met Hannah. And it had amused them both that Ottilie would leave her a trail of clues about their next assignation…usually a teahouse somewhere close to Hannah’s apartment that she could manage to get to herself—with a little extra help from her favorite Uber driver.
“I’m afraid I’m not yet finished with business here,” Ottilie said. “But soon.” She hoped. Snakepit kept coming up with dead ends on her missing quarry. Her target had clearly gone into hiding. That was unacceptable.
“So, what is it, dear, that has you so troubled? I’m always happy to help.”
Ottilie lifted a startled eyebrow. “What makes you think I’m troubled?”
“You video called me. In the middle of the day? It’s not my birthday!” She leaned in and said conspiratorially, “If it’s money troubles, I can probably help. I never have anything to spend my savings on. My granddaughter insists on paying for everything. No matter how silly it is, I only need to write what I want on the list on our fridge door and it appears by magic a few days later!”
“It’s not money troubles,” Ottilie said, touched her friend would offer. The idea that she needed money was laughable. “And I would never ask even if it were.”
“Then what is it?”
Ottilie double-checked the secure padlock icon for the fourth time on her tablet. Snakepit had given her the “most secure device in human history,” he’d told her at the time. And he’d souped up security on the home computer of his then CEO, Michelle Hastings, too. The very same computer Michelle’s grandmother, Hannah, was now watching her from. So they were safe, entirely safe. But this upcoming conversation still made her anxious.
Finally, Ottilie murmured, “Do you remember the day we met?”
“Here? At my apartment? Of course! You’d come to see Michelle. I chatted to you while we waited for her and Eden to come home. Then I left you to it to discuss your big plans .” Her eyes twinkled.
“Yes.” Ottilie hesitated. “Michelle told me later you overheard the rest of that conversation. So you learned about the organization I worked for. My…role…in it.”
Hannah laughed. “Yes, yes, you all thought you were so sneaky. Well, never underestimate a safta with too much time on her hands! I’m nosy!”
Breathing in deeply, Ottilie said, “You know who I am and what I did.”
Hannah became serious. “Yes, dear. I know.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“My initial thought was you had to be an incredibly powerful and smart woman to head up that company.”
“I didn’t head it up,” Ottilie said. But the protest was weak to her own ears.
“My dear,” Hannah said with a light tut, “you think I didn’t notice that all the board members were arrested, one after the other? And that the last person standing, the only one untouched by anyone, the secret fifth board member, was you? It stands to reason that you were the one who held the real power.”
Ottilie pressed her lips together. “I’m not sure the rest of the board would agree.”
“They’re in prison. You’re not. We both know why: you played the game better than all of them. They underestimated you, didn’t they? Did their egos get in the way? Well, whatever the reason, you won.”
“How do you feel about all this, though? Knowing what you do about me?”
Hannah’s gaze was penetrating. “Ah, that’s what you really want to know? How I feel about you being a secret board member of The Fixers?”
“Yes.”
“It’s irrelevant. Because you’re who ultimately brought it down. No one else could have done that. Only you. And I think that’s commendable.”
“Commendable? I only did it because it suited me.”
Hannah smiled. “It suited you to do the right thing. In all the time since we became friends, I’ve heard many stories hinting at who you used to be. Some good, some bad; all vague. But in every story where you did something good, you explained away your actions as ‘it suited me’. As though the fact you did good was an unintended consequence.”
“It usually was,” Ottilie said.
“I disagree. Even if you see it that way, even if you believe that wholeheartedly , you often did good things.”
“I’m a pragmatist. Sometimes people are so goal focused that the consequences of what they’re doing, good or bad, are irrelevant to them. All they want is the goal ticked off a list.”
“And sometimes a person’s subconscious is more powerful than they’d care to admit. All along, I’ve thought you’re a good and decent person trying very hard to pretend you’re not.”
“Hannah,” Ottilie scoffed gently, “we’ve been through this: I’m not good.”
“Michelle says the same thing all the time. Pfft.” Hannah waved a hand. “I’ll tell you what I tell my stubborn granddaughter: If you were a bad person, would you keep doing so much good?”
“Michelle was always a lost cause,” Ottilie said lightly. “She was so repeatedly and obstinately and habitually ethical—while desperately hiding it—that I had no choice but to fire her.”
“Actually, she tells me the board ordered you to fire her and that you fought that decision.”
Damn it! If Michelle revealed much more, Hannah would think Ottilie was as soft as a marshmallow. He jaw tightened. She was not soft. Not weak.
Hannah’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Why do you do this? Keep trying to paint yourself in the worst possible light? Do you think it makes you seem…badass?” She tasted the word in her mouth as if she’d never said it before and then laughed heartily.
“Why would I want to be seen as a badass?”
“Isn’t it obvious? For the same reason Michelle put up all those walls. Because no one attacks someone who can’t be hurt.”
“What?”
“If you’re seen as bad, no one will try to hurt you. No one will bother being cruel. What’s the point, if you won’t feel it?”
“I…” Ottilie was at a loss. “Don’t…”
“You’re both very dear to me, you and Michelle. Eden too. That awful organization you all worked at doesn’t define you. I’m well aware it expected you to do certain things you felt you had to. But that’s not the point. The point is how did it make you feel? Did you rejoice in hurting people?”
Ottilie recoiled. “Why would I rejoice in that?”
“Exactly. So tell me again that you’re not a good person.”
“There’s a position between the two extremes, Hannah.”
“Yes. And I think you got very used to telling yourself that it didn’t affect you—acting as if you didn’t care because you’re so pragmatic and that’s all that mattered, running your little office well. But time and time again, you made the right choice. You allowed Michelle to bring down that privacy invasion scheme even though it would hurt a fellow board member.”
Ottilie had to concede that one.
“You found a way to give Eden her revenge on that nasty mayor. You didn’t have to do that. And I’m sure if we dug around, I’d find a lot of cases where you helped prevent terrible things from going ahead.”
“Just the worst excesses,” Ottilie protested. “But I also allowed some bad things to happen. Otherwise I’d be seen as…” She faded out, realizing what she was about to admit.
“Weak.” Hannah guessed it anyway. “Have you forgotten who my son is? Michelle’s father is so senior in government security agencies that he talks and acts like them. His friends are the same. Over the years, I recognized the patterns in people who’ve gone through the training. I noticed it in Michelle too: her fear of being seen as weak was from her FBI training. You have different signs. On you, I smell the CIA.”
Ottilie inhaled sharply. “I have a…smell?”
“More like a tell. You were taught that the mission always comes first. You accept that you are irrelevant to the bigger picture. And, above all, you think being effective means being invisible. The CIA teaches that, not the FBI.” Hannah tapped her nose. “But I see you, Ottilie.”
“Well.” Ottilie wasn’t sure what to say to that.
“Have you considered it’s time you start seeing yourself for who you really are, not who you’re trying to be? Or what you were trained to be?”
“I’m the sum of my actions,” Ottilie argued. “I am what I do. And what I’ve done.”
“Nonsense. We are the sum of our feelings . That’s what makes us human. What’s in your heart? That’s who you are.”
Ottilie looked away, surprised at the rush of conflicted emotions she felt.
Hannah blinked. “Is…” she began slowly, “there someone new in your heart now? Someone you wish to know, at least?”
Her cheeks warmed. “I doubt it matters. They’ve just found out where I work, and, obviously, that’s that. Predictable. I expected little else. I don’t blame them.”
“Dear Ottilie,” Hannah said with a tiny huff of laughter. “You’re missing the obvious. For a smart woman, I’m not sure why that is.”
“What do you mean?”
“Remember who you are .”
“I apparently ran The Fixers,” Ottilie said sourly. “That’s my legacy.”
“No, dear. You’re who brought them down . And that’s all anyone else will remember when you tell them. Maybe let your new friend know that too, hmm?”
“Why would that make any difference?” Ottilie asked, mystified. Learning Ottilie had worked at The Fixers had been enough to make Monique bolt. And that was before she knew how senior in the hierarchy Ottilie had been.
“Trust an old woman,” Hannah said knowingly. “Especially one who can translate fluently between walled-off former agents and their sweethearts. There’s only one thing the sweethearts ever want to know.”
“What’s that?” Ottilie’s heart thundered in her ears.
“That whatever bad you’ve done, you fixed it in the end.”