Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
K athleen sat at her desk, blinking at the same sentence for the third time. The data log in front of her might as well have been in another language. Nothing sank in.
She tapped her pen once, twice, then gave up and pushed her chair back.
Her mind kept returning to the night before. She’d gone in feeling proud of her work, and having Veronica beside her was the icing on the cake.
But then it had all come undone.
The moment still felt raw: Darlene being a bitch, cornering her parents and telling them Veronica had been hired to accompany her. The look on her mother’s face had been enough to make her tremble with shame.
Then Ted had appeared and called Veronica, Cass.
Kathleen could still see Veronica’s face at that moment: the guilt, the hesitation.
She hadn’t offered an explanation or defended herself.
Maybe that was what stung the most. In retrospect, Kathleen shouldn’t have been too surprised.
Veronica had told her that she’d been paid to find out what was in the lab, so it was only logical that when Kathleen refused to discuss it, she’d try to get it out of Ted.
Kathleen rubbed her temple, feeling the stress headache coming on.
The irony, of course, was that they had agreed that Veronica would get close to Darlene, gather intel, find out when the auction was happening. It was Kathleen’s idea, in part. She hadn’t expected it to feel so... personal. So jealous.
Not only about Darlene— though God knew that woman had a way of turning everything sour—but about the idea that Veronica belonged more to that world than to hers.
So, Kathleen had lashed out, told her to get out of her life.
She closed the data log and leaned back in her chair.
She hadn’t asked if Veronica was even going home with Darlene. Hadn’t waited for the full story.
She glanced at her phone. No text or call. But then again, what did she expect. Veronica was probably packing to leave New York.
Kathleen opened her notebook, flipped past her to-do list, and found a blank page.
She sat quietly, the pen resting in her hand, trying to decide whether to be angry or sad.
The door creaked open, and Ted appeared, holding a take-away coffee and looking unusually serious. “I knocked,” he said, without offering a smile. “Twice.”
Kathleen sat up straighter. “Sorry. I was thinking.”
Ted stepped in and shut the door behind him. “Thinking about Veronica?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He came closer, his brows drawn tight. “Or should I say Cass?”
Kathleen stiffened. “There’s no need to be cranky with me.”
He put the coffee down on the edge of her desk, crossed his arms. “I told you about her. The woman I met at the movies, remember? The one I said I really liked?”
She nodded.
“Now I find out she was with you the whole time. What the hell, Kathleen?” He let out a bitter huff. “Shit, she was good. Got me talking about work, asked all these clever questions like she actually cared. I thought she was into algae and sci-fi. But all the time she was playing me.”
She flinched at the sharpness in his voice. “She played me too, Ted.”
Ted stared at her. “How did you meet her? You never go out."
Kathleen rubbed her brow. “Ted, I can’t get into this with you.”
“Why not. Is it some big secret?”
“Because it’s not any of your business,” she said tersely.
“Really?” he demanded. “She made me feel like an idiot. I told her things. Personal things.”
Kathleen shook her head. “You think I didn’t tell her anything personal?”
Ted made a huffing sound.
“She took me out a few times,” she said. “And if you’re feeling bruised because she didn’t fancy you, maybe think about how I felt when you told me you had a date with someone and it turned out to be her .”
That shut him up for a second.
“I didn’t know she was your…whatever she is,” he muttered. “She used me.”
“And you used her,” Kathleen shot back. “You wanted to impress her. So, you talked about the one thing that makes you feel important—this lab.”
He flushed. “I didn’t tell her about the plants. The only thing I said to her was you were nearly finished ‘cause they had stabilized.”
She sighed and softened slightly. “Ted, I get it. You’re angry, but you’re not the only one who got blindsided.”
He looked at her for a long beat. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, Kathleen. I worked my guts off here and you didn’t have the courtesy to tell me you were publishing.” He picked up his coffee again. “I’m going out for some air.”
Kathleen slumped back in her chair as the door clicked shut behind him. The silence left in his wake pressed in heavier than before.
She'd turned Veronica away with barely a second thought and now she’d driven Ted off too.
For a long moment she sat there, staring at the scuffed edge of her desk.
So much for partnership and trust. The worst part wasn’t the isolation; she was used to that.
It was the dull, sinking knowledge that she had brought it on herself.
But she wasn’t going to fall into that old spiral again—not this time.
She exhaled, long and slow, and reached for a pen. No more wallowing. No more curling inward and hoping someone else would fix it. Veronica was gone, Ted was pissed off, and someone had stolen her research.
She was going to find out who.
Kathleen grabbed a clean sheet of paper and wrote across the top: Who had access to my system? Then beneath it, she drew a line and wrote:
Must understand science, or know what to look for.
Must have access to the lab.
Must have a motive—or be used by someone who does.
She made a list of surnames that started with W. There weren’t that many.
She skipped past maintenance—none of them had the clearance, and this wasn’t someone randomly clicking around on a stolen laptop. They had to know exactly what to copy and where to look.
It must be someone at the Institute.
She searched the names of the people who worked in or near her wing, then filtered further: those who had independent access, and technical fluency to navigate her files.
She circled the four names starting with W in the building: Edith Williams ; Molly Woods (Admin) ; George Wainright and Ted Winters.
She tapped her pen beside Edith Williams, then crossed her off the list.
She looked at Molly, thinking it was very unlikely she was the culprit. Molly was a young, vivacious typist with no expertise in the scientific world.
She hovered over George Wainright, ready to cross him off, but then she paused. His wife was Eve. Her pulse ticked faster. E. W. Eve Wainright.
She hadn’t considered Eve. She wasn’t officially attached to the Institute, but George had master key access. If Eve wanted to walk in, no one would stop her. She was also a trained scientist and her credentials were impressive.
Kathleen stared at the name. Though she didn’t want to believe it, she had to consider it.
She drew a small star beside Eve Wainright, circled it once, then underlined it twice.
A fter six, Kathleen shut down her computer, with the notes folded in her bag.
She left the lab without speaking to anyone and drove home.
By the time she reached her building, the sun was setting, casting long blue shadows across the street.
She let herself into the apartment, placed her shoes neatly against the wall, and put her bag on the divider.
She grimaced. Home used to feel like a haven but now it felt like a box.
She padded into the kitchen, opened the fridge, stared at the contents for a moment, then shut it again. Nothing appealed. Not food, not television, not even music.
She put on the kettle and leaned against the counter.
Her phone buzzed on the table. She checked the ID: her mother. Imagining the questions she’d have to endure, she let it go to voice mail.
A few seconds later, a notification blinked: One new voicemail. She didn’t listen.
Kathleen made a coffee and settled into a lounge chair. Tomorrow, she would act, tonight, she wanted peace and quiet.
An hour later, she was watching a movie on Netflix when the doorbell rang.
She swore. Only one person would show up unannounced—her mother. She wouldn’t put it past her to drive across town because her call had gone unanswered. Her mother hated silence.
Resigned, she padded to the door and when she pulled it open, her heart skipped a beat. Veronica stood in the hallway, hair loose around her shoulders, her coat unbuttoned, and her expression strained. She looked tired, with dark circles beneath her eyes, and a tightness around her mouth.
“I won’t stay,” she said quietly. “I need to give you something.”
Kathleen said nothing. Without a word, she stepped aside to let her enter.
Veronica stepped into the apartment, but didn’t remove her coat. “I know I’m the last person you want to see,” she said, “but I recorded my conversation with Darlene.”
Kathleen crossed her arms, waiting for her to continue.
Veronica pulled a small device from her pocket. “She told me when and where the auction will be held. I’ve written it down.” She handed over a folded sheet of paper. “Give it to the FBI.”
Kathleen took the page and stepped back. For a moment they stood there, caught in the awkwardness of two people who’d once been too close and now didn’t know where they stood.
Kathleen glanced at her, searching Veronica’s face. There was no smugness there, no clever comeback, something like sincerity.
She was torn between anger and longing, mistrust and memory. Veronica had followed through on the plan. Although she’d done exactly what they’d agreed to, it didn’t exonerate her for the deception.
“You should sit,” she said finally.
Veronica didn’t move. “I’ll go if you want me to.”
Kathleen sighed. “I actually don’t know what I want.
I should hate you for what you did. I haven’t a clue who you really are, who employed you to spy on me and why I’m even entertaining you in my home.
Though mostly, why I still care about you.
You’re a Glass Spinner, Veronica. You wove the perfect delicate snare—I didn’t see the threads until I was caught. ”