Chapter 2 - Paisley #2
My stomach rolled over when I saw the check mark next to Jordan’s name and the two above him. The last name on the list was Mel’s, the guy who had the stalker-like crush on me.
What the hell?
I looked at the screen, the report in the center of the other open files.
The rows and numbers all blurred together as I pulled my phone out of my blazer pocket and scrolled to the social media account I used solely for my coworkers.
I didn’t have time to go out much or have much of a life outside of work while I was scrimping and saving for my goal of starting my own business, so there weren’t any pictures on my account.
It was just so people could contact me and I could keep them from having my phone number.
Mel’s messages had been sent to the spam folder a week before, when he didn’t show up for work. For all I knew they might be permanently deleted by now and I’d never know what his last message to me was before he quit.
Or disappeared.
Or was murdered.
I laughed nervously. Leslie’s overactive imagination and the completely coincidental news of Jordan’s death had me on edge. Extra on edge, since I was never relaxed as long as I was at work.
The messages were all still there and my finger hovered over the unopened one, bracing myself for a dick pic now that I couldn’t report him to HR anymore.
No picture, just one line of text.
Leave Axon now. Get in touch with me when you’re safe.
My eyes jerked back to the list, Mel’s name jumping out at me.
No check mark. I pressed the button to call him through the app, my heart thumping in my chest. It rang through with no answer so I messaged him back, asking him to call me right away.
Staring at the screen, I waited to see if it would show being read until my vision blurred.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said out loud.
I had work to do, but my fingers didn’t seem to want to function. I kept making errors, constantly checking my phone for a reply, a call, or at least a sign that my message had been read. Nothing.
Was I being ridiculous? I hated Axon and most of the people who worked there were awful, but were they murderers? Unable to concentrate, I looked at the other files Mr. Caraggio had left open on his screen after flying out of the office like… like his life was in danger.
None of it looked important or incriminating, but I had no idea what I was looking for.
Picking up my phone again, instead of staring at the unread message, I clicked around Mel’s account, finding someone who looked like one of his good friends.
On that person’s account, the most recent post was asking for information about Mel.
Holy crap. He really was missing, wasn’t he? I messaged that guy, hunched over in Mr. Caraggio’s plush office chair. Instead of a reply, he called, almost immediately after he read my message. I answered.
“Who is this?” he demanded, not angry, more desperate.
I only called myself The Number Girl on the app, so there was no way I was giving my name, but I told him I knew Jordan and had just noticed his post making it seem like he was missing. “I was hoping to see if you knew anything else?” I asked.
“Have you spoken to him since November twenty-first?”
“No, I haven’t, sorry. I guess I’m a little worried after seeing your post.”
“We’re very worried,” he said. “The police have no leads and think he just took off on his own, but that’s not like him. He’s dedicated to his job, and there was this girl he was interested in asking out. He didn’t just up and leave town without telling anyone.”
Well now I felt awful, but he really was kind of a creep. Not to the level I wished him dead, though. I looked at the list again, Mel’s name last, no check mark next to it. Jordan’s name higher up, a check mark next to his, and news that he’d just been found dead. Murdered.
“What’s going on here? Why are you in this office?”
I jumped, Erica’s harsh voice cutting through the fog gathering in my mind. I watched her eyes make a beeline to the list, front and center on the desk, my hand resting next to it. I scuttled another sheet of paper over it as she shoved into the small office on her totteringly high heels.
I ended the call with Mel’s friend, shoving my phone in my pocket, apologizing profusely for being on a personal call and explaining Mr. Caraggio’s request that I finish his report.
Her eyes never left the list, now covered, but seeming to still blaze through the note on top of it like it was on fire.
She leaned over and grabbed the entire sheaf of papers. “See me in my office in five minutes.”
I gulped out something that might have been a word. It was good enough for her, because she turned on her heel and left me alone in the room. Mel’s friend was calling me back but I silenced my phone, heading for the elevator instead of Erica’s office.
I needed air, and didn’t care if Erica snapped at me for being a few minutes late to her lecture.
The closer I got to the lobby, the more my imagination kicked into overdrive, and I was nowhere near as inclined to wild stories as Leslie was.
Erica had the list. She knew I’d seen it.
Maybe she knew what it was, if it was anything.
But she’d been pissed, and not just because I was on the phone.
Those names were burned into my brain, but I hurriedly typed them into a note on my phone anyway, bursting out of the elevator and heading straight outside. My car was in the lot next door and I made my way up that elevator to its spot, thinking I heard high heeled footsteps chasing me.
I drove a few blocks and parked in front of a busy fast food restaurant, feeling somewhat safer now that I was out of the building.
Name by name I went through all the ex-employees on the list, searching for any mention of them in the news or trying to find them on social media.
It wasn’t good. Out of the four I was able to find on socials, they were all listed as missing by their friends or family members.
There was a remembrance vigil scheduled for Jordan.
He had a damn check mark next to his name.
This was no longer idle gossip or a strange coincidence. Something very bad was going on at Axon Financial.
I’d been gone more than a half an hour at that point and Erica was probably furious enough to fire me, but I knew I was never setting foot back in that building again.
Pulling out into traffic, I headed home, not sure that was the safest place to be, either, since HR had my personal information.
Maybe I should go to a friend’s house, but what if I was being followed? Should I check into a hotel?
Someone honked at me and I nearly jumped out of my skin. It was just an angry driver, but now my heart was thumping again, wondering if someone was really following me. I didn’t even want to be in LA anymore, but where the heck was I supposed to go?