Chapter 27 #2
“I worked at his company for a couple of years after university, but we ended on good terms. We still talk. There’s no resentment or animosity.”
Melanie gives me a dry, cynical laugh. “Well, clearly there is. If it isn’t Carter behind this, it has to be someone else.”
The thought of Winston being behind it all hurts more than I could have ever imagined. Over and over again, I’m shown that it’s the people closest to you who have the power to hurt you the most. First with Carter, and now with this.
I pinch the bridge of my nose, taking a deep breath. “What am I supposed to do?”
“First of all, fire the kid.” Agreed. “And honestly, just give Winston a call.”
The idea is so absurd that I can’t stop myself from laughing. “You want me to give the man who may have ruined my professional and personal reputation a call? Just like that?”
Melanie nods as though it’s supposedly easy.
“You’re not in the Mafia—you don’t need to hire a private investigator to find his whereabouts and weasel the information out of him through less than legal methods. So give the man a call. You guys talk once in a while; it wouldn’t seem out of the blue.”
I fall back in my chair on a sigh, staring up at the ceiling in a daze.
“Just think about it, okay?” There’s genuine sympathy in Melanie’s voice. “You aren’t losing anything by trying,” she says before gathering her stuff and walking out to leave me all alone with my thoughts.
Thoughts I don’t want to be left alone with.
Thankfully, my prayer is answered when a notification rolls in. It’s set to silent during work hours, with the exception of those important to me—my mother, my father, my sister, Grayson.
Really, it’s just close-knit family and friends—excluding Adam because every time he texts or calls, it’s never an emergency, and only ever a meme bordering on an insult.
This text, however, is courtesy of Vivienne.
With how busy we’ve both been since the conference, we haven’t had a chance to see each other, but we still text multiple times a day.
Vivienne: Look what happened!
Attached is a picture of her, forcing a smile as she holds a cracked flask with a heat-proof glove. Whatever's inside looks black, almost charred, except for a white stir bar that seems untouched.
My brows knit as I try to piece together what unfolded.
Nate: What happened?
Vivienne: Arjun decided to use my fume hood because he had no space in his, but forgot to turn off the heating on my stir plate. So when I set up my reaction and came back…the whole thing was burned.
Forgot my ass.
A part of me thinks he did this on purpose, but I’d like to believe people working in the same lab, for the same PI, wouldn’t pull something of the sort. Though I’m not one to comment on this when I’m continuously shown the impossible.
I respond with my most subdued answer, because telling her I’d walk into that lab and accidentally set him on fire would make me a suspect in an alternate universe where I do follow through on my thoughts.
Nate: I’m sorry. That’s a bummer.
Vivienne: Yeah, it’s unfortunate, but…I didn’t cry!
Vivienne: A win is a win. Consider me emotionally stable.
I laugh at her response despite the residual anger I have for Arjun.
Vivienne mentioned on our road trip back home that she wanted to be more positive when it came to her chemistry. So, in some ways, this was a good start.
Nate: Congratulations on burning your flask and not crying. I could not be more proud <3
Vivienne: The sarcasm is not appreciated. I’m taping your mouth shut the next time I see you.
Nate: That’s one way to get me to behave…But I can think of better ones.
The bubbles appear and disappear before her texts finally come through.
Vivienne: What do you have in mind?
An eye emoji quickly follows, and as much as I’d like to respond, I know it’ll bring me further away from tackling the real problem at hand.
A call.
That’s all it would take to know if my former employer orchestrated my downfall.
I scroll through my contacts until I land on the name of the man I once considered a friend.
Sharp ringing echoes—one, two, three times—and when I’m convinced it’s going to voicemail, I’m greeted with that overly excited voice.
A decade down the drain, that’s what this would be if he turns out to be the culprit.
“Nate! What a pleasure to hear from you. My apologies for not checking on you sooner. Things have been busy around here at AeroLabs. How’s everything going? I’m sure you’ve got lots to update me on.”
My greeting back gets caught somewhere in my throat. Now that he mentions it, I realize he’s right—he hasn’t checked on me once since the spark incident, to be exact. Something that's strange since we usually talked more often.
I roll with it, nonetheless.
“As good as it can be. Just life, I guess—work, family, and whatnot,” I answer.
I’m in over my head with my response—is it natural? Too calculated? Nonchalant? I don’t have the time to question it when he carries on the same.
“Well, that’s good to hear. I hear congratulations are in order! Getting married soon?”
He’s keeping up with me, but most importantly, my personal life.
Is that something he did in the past? Or is it because he was involved in…
I shake the idea away. It would be hard not to keep up with the Nate Archer Saga when it’s been plastered on the front page of every tabloid.
“Thank you, and yes, I recently got engaged,” I reply, although it isn’t the full truth.
“Have you already set a date? Don’t let my invite get lost in the mail.” Winston chuckles.
Whether there’s real warmth to it or not is debatable, but I forge ahead.
“No dates yet. We want to enjoy this stress-free period before wedding planning begins.”
“Fair enough. And work?”
“Going fine.”
“Gosh, I still remember when you worked for me. So young. So brilliant. So innovative. And look at you now, continuing to achieve those things despite those conspiring against you.”
I blink thrice, taken aback by his choice of conspiring as a word.
While it could be played off as a compliment, it isn’t something you’d say to a friend.
It almost sounded like it came from a place of jealousy.
I could give him the benefit of the doubt, but this was as good a segue as I’d get for the purpose of my call.
“Actually, I was calling to ask about Ethan,” I start, but I don’t get the chance to continue when I’m cut off abruptly.
“What about him?” Winton’s voice is stern—hard—darker than an overprotective father should sound if he’s worried about his son.
I take a deep breath in, preparing myself for the confrontation I’ve been avoiding.
“I’m sure you’ve heard that back in September, a spark went off on an Archer Aviation plane during a showcase. Ethan was seen backstage before the incident.”
Winston laughs, a low, rumbling sound that seems to vibrate through the phone.
The hairs on the back of my neck spike up at the chill that runs through my spine.
“Do you want me to keep playing this game, or do you want the truth, Nate?” He says my name with so much venom and hatred that he confirms my suspicions.
Winston Wallace always prided himself on his no-bullshit personality and honesty. And while I’d always admired that in him, I also believed that a trait like that came with morality. By the way he’s asking that question, I must have been wrong.
“Tell me the truth, Winston. And don’t spare any detail,” I grit through my teeth.
He lets out another one of his deep laughs, and it’s then that it clicks. He’s been giving me these same laughs all along. I’ve just been too blind to notice that they were malicious rather than friendly.
“Not sure if I have much explaining to do when you seem to have it figured out. One of my engineers made the device. Ethan weaseled his way into your company through me. And well, the rest is history.”
The details do fill themselves in, but it’s missing something much deeper—the motive.
“Why?” I ask, genuinely wondering what I’ve done to this guy to make him hate me as much as he does. I may have only spent two years at his company, but I did decent work, advanced his already existing technologies, and created new ones.
“Why?” Winston let out a vicious laugh, sharp and cruel.
“I begged you to stay and work for me—went as far as increasing your rookie salary, and you still decided to leave. Do you know how far I could have made it if you had continued with me? So fucking far. I could have broken into the Fortune 500 companies and gone on to be admired in the aviation industry. But you put an end to those plans when you chose to leave. All because you believed in yourself and your fucking vision.”
I can’t stop the bile rising in my throat.
The way he speaks about the things he wanted—the things I’ve been able to achieve—feels so superficial. He didn’t care about the engineering he was doing or its impact on the world. He was after two things—fame and money.
“Why are you willingly admitting this to me?” I question.
Everything he’d told me could probably take him to court. I could be recording this conversation as we speak. I could take the information and plan his own downfall, but he’s giving up that information so easily.
“I mean, why not?” Winston says casually.
“You’re not going anywhere with this information.
That’s the one thing that always shocked me about you, Nate.
You’re too kind, and you choose to see the best in others.
People don’t make it to the top without having bad blood on their hands.
And somehow, you did it. I spent eight years watching you succeed, and I was sick of it. ”
Most of my questions have already been answered, and though there’s probably still more to uncover, it’s enough for now. I got my answers and the closure I needed to move on. Now it’s time to prove him wrong.
“Goodbye, Winston. I'll see you in court.”
The man protests, shocked, confused, and taken aback by what I said, but I hang up without another word.
His analysis of my character was right. I once considered myself too moral to act harshly on those who’d done me wrong. But my kindness has been mistaken as a weakness one too many times—and that stops now.
I press the red button on my iPad to end the voice recording and send it to my lawyer.
What do you have in mind? Vivienne asked when I told her I could think of better ways to get me to behave.
I call her, reveling in her soft “Hey,” when she answers.
We talk as usual—her day, mine—and it’s only at the very end that I tell her to meet me at my place.
I’m about to indulge in the very information she asked for—in part through words but mostly through actions.