Eleven
Austin
I’m poring over schematics on a Monday morning when Mackenzie, our office assistant, breezes into my office, clutching a business card. “Austin,” she says, “Inspector Bruce Chan of the SFPD is downstairs. They’re here about Justin.”
“Do they have news?” I ask as I scan the office for Rhys and Theo.
“They didn’t say.”
Five weeks of nothing, and now, they surface? I take the card from her, feeling the crisp edges press into my skin. “Thanks, Mackenzie. Put them in the lobby conference room. Tell them we’ll be down shortly.”
“Will do.” She pivots on her heel, leaving as swiftly as she arrived.
I dial Grantham Wilks, our lawyer, who picks up after the second ring.
“Grantham, it’s Austin. The police are here.”
“Stay put. I’m twenty minutes out.” His voice crackles through the speaker, every word measured and calm. “I’ll text you when I arrive, and we’ll walk in together.”
“Got it.” I pocket my phone and stand, smoothing the wrinkles in my shirt. I look over at the empty chair in the office next door—Justin’s chair, a stark reminder of why we’re talking to the police.
Theo and Rhys are discussing deliveries as I find them in the lab.
“Guys, the cops are downstairs in the conference room.” They turn to me, eyes wide. “Grantham is on his way.”
We move as a unit back to my office, waiting for Grantham to arrive.
The clock is painfully slow, but eventually, my phone pings with a text telling us he’s pulling up to the curb. We meet him in the lobby as he strides in, confidence personified.
“Only answer the questions they ask you directly,” he reminds us. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
He enters the conference room first. I follow, trailed by Theo and Rhys. Four officers in uniform sit at the table, and one in black pants and a short-sleeve plaid shirt stands before us, their expressions ranging from indifferent to scrutinizing. Only one moves to greet us, extending his hand.
“Inspector Chan,” he says, his handshake firm.
“Thank you for coming,” Grantham begins, easing into his role as our spokesperson. “We appreciate your time. Can we have an update?”
We all take a seat at the conference room table. We’re on one side, the police on the other.
“We’re working on the timeline,” Chan replies, looking at each of us.
“Everything they know was shared in the initial interview,” Grantham reminds him.
Chan nods, lips curving into a tight smile. “We’re just trying to piece together what happened to Justin,” he says, as though the words are rehearsed.
I nod. It’s not just the police we’re convincing. We’re also assuring ourselves that we did all we could. “Understood,” I say. “If there’s anything more we can provide, let us know.”
“Will do,” Inspector Chan echoes, and I wonder if he feels the same weight of uncertainty that’s bearing down on us.
“Is there any suggestion of foul play?” Grantham’s voice is like a scalpel, precise and probing.
Inspector Chan shakes his head, his gaze steady. “We don’t know,” he admits. “When was the last time any of you saw Justin?”
Grantham nods to Theo, who clears his throat. “I was on the factory floor on Friday, but Justin and I left from the office that evening to go to dinner and drinks with Crystal,” he says. “We had dinner at Zenith on Market Street, and I was home by eleven. That was the last time I saw him.”
The inspector scribbles something in his notebook, his pen scratching quietly against the paper.
Rhys fidgets beside me. “I saw Justin here at the office on Friday, but I didn’t join them for dinner because I had a date,” he says. “I’ve already provided her details.”
“Only one date with her?” Chan asks, his eyes narrowing slightly.
“Only one,” Rhys confirms, glancing at Grantham for reassurance. With a subtle nod from our lawyer, Rhys continues, “It was a setup. We went out to dinner at Quince, had sex at a hotel, and we went our separate ways after that.”
Chan’s eyebrow arches. “How often do you use hookers?”
Wilks is swift, his hand raised as if to shield Rhys from further questioning. “No money exchanged hands. As far as my client knows, she isn’t a prostitute.”
All attention suddenly pivots to me. I can feel their gazes, expectant, pressing. I swallow, choosing my words with care. “I saw him Thursday night. At the office.” But I leave it at that. The argument between Justin and me still too raw, too risky to expose.
“Anything unusual about his behavior?”
Chan’s question feels like a trap, but I skirt around it. I shake my head.
“Why didn’t you work on Friday?” he probes.
“I worked. I just didn’t work here at the office. I flew to D.C. to see my mom.”
“Nancy Sands in Arlington, Virginia?”
“Yes. It was her birthday, and we spent the weekend together. I believe she’s already verified that, as well as the restaurant confirming we were there.”
“Yes.” He looks at his pad of paper and then back at me. “What was Justin like that night when you saw him?”
“We had kind of an intense strategy meeting, but everything seemed normal,” I say, the lie sitting uncomfortably on my tongue. In truth, Justin was anything but himself. But I worry revealing our internal strife could cast unnecessary suspicion. I know I didn’t do anything to Justin. Grantham would tell me to keep it simple, so I do just that.
Inspector Chan opens his focus to the others. “How did Justin seem to you guys? Anything off about his behavior or mood?”
Theo answers first, a flicker of a smile crossing his face. “He was in good spirits on Friday, actually. He and Crystal were talking about some house they were eyeing in Tuscany.”
“He was fine,” Rhys chimes in. His gaze shifts away, a clear signal he’s done with personal evaluations.
I rub at my temple, feeling the weight of eyes on me again. “Justin had a lot on his plate,” I add, “but he was handling it. We’re having some issues with our electric-vehicle batteries, but we had plans to address them.”
It feels like a confession, even though it’s common knowledge with our company name all over the news. But the problems are technical, not insurmountable, and certainly not something that would push Justin to disappear. Or so I tell myself.
“Plans?” Inspector Chan’s voice is sharp, zeroing in on the word.
“Technical adjustments, new protocols. Nothing he hadn’t handled before,” I insist, trying to keep my tone even. It’s essential to stay calm, not let on that each day those issues go unresolved, the pressure mounts.
“All right,” Chan says, jotting a note. He doesn’t look satisfied, but then again, I doubt anything short of Justin walking through the door would satisfy him. “How did you all come to start this company?” he asks.
The question seems to pull us from the precipice of suspicion back to firmer, more familiar ground. Theo straightens in his seat, his pride in our origins never far from the surface. “We developed the battery as a senior project at Georgia Tech,” he explains. “It was a breakthrough—efficient, cost-effective. SHN saw the potential and provided the funding we needed. That’s what brought us here, to San Francisco.”
“SHN?” Chan’s pen is poised above his notepad.
“Sullivan Healy Newhouse, the venture capital firm,” I interject, watching the inspector make a quick note. He already knows this, and my frustration is growing.
Chan nods slowly. His eyes flicker to Rhys next, and I can almost hear the gears turning in his head. “And the missing money? What can you tell me about that?”
Rhys’s posture is rigid, his hands clasped tightly together on the table. “Justin had made some unusual transfers in the previous month or so, but he always had an explanation. As for the cash reserves, we only knew that was missing after the fact,” he says. “And it doesn’t make any sense. Justin has more money in his personal account than what’s accounted for in the company books.”
“Did Justin have any problems with his wife, Crystal? Any issues that you’re aware of?” Chan probes further, but there’s a softness to his voice now, a recognition, maybe, that he’s treading on more personal territory.
“We don’t know of any issues,” Theo answers quickly, but I detect the slightest hesitation, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it moment where Theo’s confidence wavers. But then he’s as composed as ever. “They were looking into buying additional property together. Trying IVF for a baby. They seemed happy.”
“Happy,” Chan repeats. He caps his pen with a sense of finality that tells me this questioning is over, for now.
I let out a breath, trying to read the inscrutable expression on Chan’s face. It’s clear he’s searching for cracks in the fa?ade, for the one piece of information that will blow this case wide open. We’ve given him nothing but the truth, though maybe not all of it. Accuracy feels increasingly slippery, elusive even a month later.
“Thank you,” Chan says, standing. “That’s all for now. We may need to talk again soon.”
“Of course,” I reply. “We just want to find Justin. Anything we can do to help.”
Chan nods. “Do you guys have any idea why Justin might have taken off?”
Grantham stands, embodying calm authority. “We don’t believe he just took off,” he answers for us. “And we’re concerned, as you are. That’s why we’ve hired Clear Security to help locate him.”
I nod in agreement, though my gut twists with unconfessed theories and fears. The words Justin took off echo in my mind like an accusation.
“All right then,” Chan says. “We’ll be in touch if we gather any new information.”
“Thank you, inspector.” I manage to say, my throat dry.
Rhys and Theo stand too, their movements stiff, robotic.
As the police shuffle to the door, Chan pauses, turns back. “One more thing,” he says, his voice casual, almost an afterthought. “Justin’s laptop. Was it left here?”
“No,” Grantham says. “They take their laptops home each night.”
“You think someone from your IT could check to see if Justin’s been active online recently?”
“Sure,” I reply. I scroll through my contacts until I find Roxanne Lachance, our head of IT. I give her a quick call, keeping it succinct. “Roxanne, it’s Austin. Can you check whether there’s been any activity on Justin’s account? The police are asking.”
“Okay,” Roxanne answers. “I’ll look into the server logs and be right there.”
“Thanks. We’re in the lobby conference room.” I end the call and slide the phone back into my pocket.
Chan nods appreciatively, then leans back against the wall, hands clasped behind him. “How are you holding up around here without Justin?” he asks.
“We’re managing,” I say, choosing a neutral tone. “Justin left big shoes to fill, but we’ve been pushing forward.”
“Must be tough,” Chan continues, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. “The stress of a missing friend and CEO, plus the pressure of running a company.”
I nod, but internally I’m on guard. What is he getting at? Or is he just making conversation? “It’s challenging,” I admit, “but we’re committed to keeping EnergiFusion on track.”
“Good to hear.” Chan scans the room as if searching for clues in the mundane details of our office decor.
An uncomfortable silence stretches between us, and I focus on maintaining an easy smile, though it feels more like a mask with each passing second. I’m keenly aware that every piece of information is another thread in the tapestry of speculation surrounding Justin’s disappearance. Keeping our internal conflicts private is paramount. The last thing we need is for the police to start thinking there’s more to this than meets the eye.
“You’re the new CEO?” Chan remarks, breaking the silence. His tone is casual, but I can tell he’s probing.
“No. I’m the chief of technology,” I reply.
His eyebrows jump. “But you’ve stepped in to replace Justin.”
“We’re four co-founders. We’re really all CEOs, but Justin has the title. We split our responsibilities. I’m just facing the public right now while Justin’s not here because of the technical issues with our EV batteries.” I shrug, playing down the turmoil. “We just keep moving forward. That’s all we can do, right?”
“Right,” Chan says, his lips curving into a knowing smile. But for now, he seems content to let the conversation drift.
The door creaks open, and Roxanne’s face appears in the gap. Her expression instantly tugs at my gut. “I’ve got something,” she announces, holding a sheet of paper.
“Come in, Roxanne.” I beckon her forward. “Inspector Chan, this is Roxanne Lachance. She’s the head of our IT department.”
She hands the paper to Inspector Chan, who scans it quickly, his expression unreadable. “Looks like someone accessed Justin’s computer yesterday,” Roxanne says.
“An IP address?” Chan nods as he reads the numbers printed there.
“No. I can’t access that. I only have a record of him logging on to our system—his email, to be specific,” Roxanne confirms. She steps back, giving the inspector space as if the information she’s just provided is a live grenade.
Chan folds the paper, tucking it inside his jacket pocket. “Thank you, Ms. Lachance. This could be helpful.”
“Goodbye, inspector,” I say as they depart, and only when I hear the click of the door closing do I let myself relax. The office feels different now, tainted by suspicion.
“Jesus,” Rhys mutters, rubbing his face with both hands. “That was intense.”
“Could’ve been worse,” Theo tries to joke, but it falls flat.
“Let’s hope Clear Security comes up with something soon.” I sigh. “We should get that information about Justin’s laptop to them as well. Though they likely already have it. Maybe they captured the IP address when he accessed his email.”
Rhys nods, watching the police make their way out with a new lead in their possession.
“We should touch base with Jim Adelson, make sure he’s also on top of this,” I suggest.
Rhys wastes no time, already tapping out a message on his phone, the digits of the IP address a lifeline into the digital abyss. “God, I hope Jim finds something,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” I echo. Wherever Justin is, whatever’s happened, we’re not giving up on him. I lean against the cool glass of the conference room window.
“Anything?” Theo asks after a moment.
“Nothing yet.” Rhys shakes his head.
My fingers trace the outline of the Bay Bridge in the distance as I remember my last heated exchange with Justin. Sparks of ambition clashing, igniting fires that burned too close to our friendship. The truth is, a small part of me is glad he’s not here. He was becoming unpredictable and difficult. But I never said that to anyone, not even the other guys. And right now, I’d give anything to have him come storming through that door, alive with that infuriating passion of his. Our professional clashes are suddenly insignificant.
“Damn it,” I mutter, pressing my forehead against the glass, the chill seeping into my skin. “Justin will find a way through this mess,” I say aloud. “He always does.”
“Did,” Rhys corrects softly.
“Will,” I insist. Because accepting the past tense means giving up, and that’s not something I can afford to do.
“Let’s stay focused,” Grantham interjects, practical as ever. “We’re not out of options.”
“Right.” I push away from the window. “Let’s get back to work. We keep pushing forward, for Justin and for EnergiFusion.”
Theo nods, and Rhys exhales sharply. We’re a team, down one critical member, but not defeated. We thank Grantham for coming in and return to our offices. In this moment, with the weight of our company’s future bearing down on us, I cling to the hope that wherever Justin is, he’s fighting to come back to us just as fiercely as we’re fighting to find him.