Chapter 22 #2
“Yeah, hurricanes.” I assume he’s here in Virginia because of the tech hub that sprung up outside of the DC metro, but no one worth their salt puts a data center in a high-risk weather zone. He may have also chosen to locate close to DC for influence.
“We likely won’t make a move for two years.” He looks out the window as the car slows. “After my daughter graduates from high school.”
Phillip Sterling with a daughter. Somehow, the idea that this man has a child that will dictate when he moves changes him in my eyes.
The car stops in front of a restaurant with a valet stand. The driver exits the car and tells the valet he’s going to drop us off and move the car.
When the driver opens the door for me, Phillip is already waiting on the sidewalk, holding his phone.
“Ready?” he asks.
“Certainly.” I smile, hoping it covers up the anxiety gnawing in my gut. Am I really doing this? I’ve already said yes, but this dinner makes it official. Getting to know Phillip… It’s just… Is this really what I want?
While waiting behind a couple at the hostess stand, he asks, “Would you like to see a photo of my daughter?”
“Absolutely.” I take the phone and study a photograph of a beautiful teenager with long, dark, wavy hair and a beautiful smile. She doesn’t look too much like her father, which makes me wonder if she takes after her mother. If so, her mother must be gorgeous.
After we’re seated, I hand his phone back to him and say, “She’s beautiful. What’s her name?”
“Alexandra.” He’s flushed with pride.
Obviously, even people breaking the law have children, but this is a different side of Phillip I didn’t anticipate.
From what I’ve gathered thus far, he hasn’t technically done anything illegal.
Yes, one of his funds failed—plus there’s the suspicious death in Asia— but the crypto funds he’s creating are high risk.
Risky means there’s risk. And there’s no law against targeting veterans or the elderly.
If they’d earned out, no one would have ever complained.
There wouldn’t have been a class action lawsuit discussed.
We talk about his daughter after the waiter takes our order, with me asking questions and him answering like a person who is seizing the opportunity to talk about a person he loves.
“Alexandra loves Virginia, but I’m hopeful she’ll attend college in Florida.”
“That would make Miami that much more appealing. If she chooses a different location for college, would you reconsider Miami?”
“I’m not certain.” His eyes glaze over, and I sense he’s giving the idea consideration, although I’m sure he’s thought about it before now. “You stayed in LA for quite a while. What finally pushed you to move away from your mother?”
Is he worried his daughter won’t leave her mother? I swirl my wine, unsure how honest I wish to be with my boss.
“I moved for college.” I offer a soft smile, wanting to give him hope that his daughter will find her independence, if that’s his concern. “Most people leave home eventually. It’s like...natural user migration.”
I fiddle with my napkin in my lap, debating if I should say more, but I hardly know his daughter. I can’t tell him she’ll definitely be willing to move away from her mother.
As the waiter sets down our plates, Sterling asks, “What about your family? Any siblings?”
“A sister. She’s at the University of San Diego.” I twirl pasta around my fork, grateful for something to do with my hands.
“And your mother plans to stay in Los Angeles?”
“Oh, she’ll never leave.” I don’t mention my father—that’s a conversation I avoid.
“It must have been difficult, moving so far from family.” His tone is conversational, but something about the way he’s cutting his chicken piccata feels unnecessarily precise and controlled.
“Though I suppose you had other family connections that encouraged you to make the transition.” A small warning ping goes off in my head, like when antivirus software detects something suspicious but can’t quite identify the threat.
“Not really. I’m pretty self-sufficient.”
He nods thoughtfully. “Independence is admirable. Though family ties can be...complicated, can’t they? Especially when they involve financial obligations.”
I set down my fork, feeling like I’m slow on the uptake. “I’m sorry, what do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing specific.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I was thinking about my own situation with Alexandra. You know how family can leave you feeling responsible for their choices, their mistakes.”
The pasta suddenly tastes like cardboard. “I suppose.”
“Take my ex-wife, for instance. She made some poor investment decisions before our divorce. Cost us both, but I couldn’t let Alexandra suffer for her mother’s choices.” He takes a sip of wine, studying me over the rim. “Family loyalty makes us do things we might not otherwise do, doesn’t it?”
My stomach clenches. This conversation has taken an unsettling turn, but I can’t pinpoint exactly when or how or why. “I guess that depends on the situation.”
“Indeed it does.” He signals the waiter for more wine. “I imagine you understand that better than most. You mentioned your uncle earlier,” he says casually, as if commenting on the weather. “Alvin Reed, wasn’t it?”
My pulse slows, and awareness sharpens—the hum of the air conditioning, the cold creeping into my skin. I never mentioned my uncle. Not once during this entire dinner. Not ever. “I...didn’t mention him.”
“Didn’t you?” His eyebrows raise in mock surprise. “I could have sworn... Well, perhaps I read it somewhere.” He cuts another piece of meat with surgical precision.
My fingers tremble. I grip my thighs to steady them and to dry my palms. “How do you know about my uncle?”
“Daisy.” His voice is patient, like he’s explaining something obvious to a child.
“You’re part of my executive team now. Of course, I know about your family.
Your uncle’s unfortunate losses, his...disappointment with certain investment outcomes.
” He leans back in his chair. “I hope you understand that your new position comes with certain expectations. Loyalties, if you will.”
“What kind of loyalties?”
“The kind that recognize opportunities when they present themselves.” He gestures around the expensive restaurant. “The kind that appreciate the difference between a guaranteed executive salary and the empty promise of a lawsuit that will never survive summary judgment.”
The room feels like it’s tilting. “You hired me to shut me up.”
“I hired you because you’re talented.” His smile is sharp now, all pretense dropped. “Whether you remain employed depends on how you choose to use that talent.”
My skin prickles, and I nod, a perfunctory act of obedience, but my mind races. Fuck. He knows about Uncle Alvin. How much does he know? My fingers twist my rings.
Does he know I’m his sole heir? It’s something which means nothing, given he didn’t own real estate, and he lost all but a small amount of retirement.
He must assume I’m driving the ball on the class action lawsuit, but I’m not.
I haven’t met with any of the other victims. Noah has.
But he’s been using Reed’s name to begin discussions.
Why does Phillip care so much? How dangerous could the class action lawsuit be?
Does he anticipate it will cost him more than twelve million?
The salary, the signing bonus, the convenient timing—it’s all starting to look like a perfectly orchestrated social engineering attack. And I fell for it like a rookie clicking on a phishing email. What other exploits has he been running while I thought I was the one doing reconnaissance?