Chapter 19
Nineteen
Ellie
“This is swanky,” Aubrey says as we enter Apotheke on Friday night.
The server greets us and asks if we have a reservation. I nod and mumble my name. She smiles politely and then guides us to
a small two-top table in the center of the room. Rich green velvet sofas line the walls and a golden art deco style bar anchors
one side of the room. We both settle on the couch and face outward so we can watch the front door and the bar simultaneously.
“That dress was made for you,” Aubrey says. “I wish invites and fabulous designer party dresses appeared on my doorstep. You’ve really found yourself in some sort of twilight zone, and I’d do anything to catch a ride on that train,”
she says.
“The built-in corset in this dress makes me feel like I can’t breathe,” I complain.
“But you look like a million bucks.” She bumps shoulders with me.
“Thanks,” I reply, glancing down at the cocktail menu.
“So where did you tell your husband you’re at tonight?” she asks.
“I didn’t,” I say, my tone clipped as I think about him. “We got in a fight a few mornings ago and haven’t spoken since. We’re like strangers. I’d say it’s unbearable but . . . I kind of like it. The pressure of maintaining a relationship feels . . . less.”
“Maybe space is just what you needed,” she says with a shrug, then smiles when the server reaches us and begins explaining
the mixologist’s cocktail of the day: bourbon, maple syrup, hints of walnut, cardamom, and bitters, all smoked tableside.
I order one just to see what the fuss is about and Aubrey asks for a gin and tonic. The server leaves with our orders and
Aubrey turns to me, about to say something, before her mouth rounds in an O and her eyes widen. “I bet that’s him. Look at
the way he commands a room.”
I turn to the door and I freeze.
I swallow my shock, then shift deeper into the shadows of the bar. “I hope not.”
“Why?” she whispers.
I allow my hair to cascade over one side of my face to remain out of sight. “Because that’s my dad.”
“What?” Her voice raises a few octaves. “Really?”
“Really,” I say.
“Fuck, well how’s that for a surprise,” she says, eyes riveted on my father’s broad form crossing the small space. “Shit,
El,” she says under her breath, “they’ve seated him at the corner table. Just like the email said.”
My heartbeat roars in my ears like a freight train as the implications of this settle in. Could my father really be my next
target? “This must be a mistake.”
“You think?” Aubrey watches as my dad settles himself on the luxe velvet cushions and then nods to the server. “He seems like
a regular here, El.”
“No—this can’t be right.” I shake my head, unwilling to look in his direction.
“Did Kat give you any more details about this target?”
I blink away my pain and confusion as I think back on the note that arrived last night with the designer corseted dress I’m
now wearing. “It said . . . he’s a wealthy real estate man who’s abused dozens of women for decades.”
“Do you think—”
“No,” I cut her off. “I don’t think it’s him. It can’t be. There’s no way. That would mean he’s been living a double life—”
“Like you have been?” she interjects.
I groan. The urge to stand and stomp out of this swanky cocktail bar is strong. “How can this be right?”
“You said he was a workaholic—it’s easy to keep secrets when you’re never home.”
“Yeah, but—”
“Makes you wonder what other secrets the people in your life are keeping, right?” She smiles and thanks the server when our
drinks arrive. The server makes a show of lighting my bourbon on fire before covering it with a glass dome and telling us
it will smoke for the next five minutes and impart layers of flavor to the drink. I’m thankful for the clouds of smoke that
linger at our table, twisting and spiraling just like the thoughts in my mind.
If it’s true, if my father is my next target . . . surely Kat knew. The Society was clear about the research they do for each
new recruit to their group. They knew everything about me: my real name, my place of employment, my education . . .
“I don’t understand what they expect from me,” I finally admit, nearly choking on the frustration that’s forming in my throat.
“Do they really expect me to target my father? Ruin his reputation? Aubrey . . .” I glance at my friend, “maybe I was wrong about the professor. If The Society got this one wrong, what else are they wrong about? What if the rape with the professor and Savannah didn’t happen?
What if I ruined the life and reputation of a man who was innocent? ”
Aubrey raises her eyebrows. “Or maybe they’re right, El. He tried to rape you too. That professor was an asshole—you could
see it in the arrogant sparkle in his eye.”
I swallow, my anxiety rising. “But . . . if they’re right, then this changes . . . everything. My entire world, what I thought I knew, what I’ve been told—what’s real, what’s not . . .”
She looks pensive as she sips her gin and tonic.
“Wait—do you think . . . ?” she trails off without finishing her question.
“What?” I breathe, afraid of her answer.
She chews on her bottom lip, eyes warming with sympathy.
And then a flash of awareness courses through me. I know what she’s thinking. I wish I didn’t. She’s wondering the same thing
I am.
Is this why I was chosen by The Society?
Because of my access to one of the most powerful businessmen in the city? I blink, my vision tunneling to the smoke that’s
trapped under the glass dome between us. For the first time in my life I feel caught in a trap that won’t let go, and I have
no idea where to turn.
I wasn’t invited into The Society because of my father’s status.
I was invited because of his crimes.