Chapter 14
“Um, this is unexpected,” Yumi said, her eyes growing round with surprise as they crossed the threshold. The apartment she’d
be calling home for the next three weeks was an arresting visual symphony of minimalism and color.
Aida took in the sight: the stark white space cut through by the clean lines of modern furniture, accented with audacious
splashes of color—a desk highlighted by blue plexiglass, a rebellious panel of red glass fragmenting the transition to the
kitchen, and a solitary yellow triangle setting off the wall around the flat-screen TV. It was an avant-garde heart beating
within the chest of a sixteenth-century palazzo, just a stone’s throw from Piazza Navona.
“My friend is an architect,” Felix explained. He handed Yumi the keys. “The Italians . . . well, their style is rarely understated.”
He chuckled.
“I’m just a ten-minute walk from this place,” Aida mentioned while they navigated through the hallway with Yumi’s luggage.
“The layout can be a bit of a maze at first, but you’ll map it out in no time.”
Yumi brandished her phone like a talisman against getting lost. “I have GPS for backup.”
Aida exchanged a knowing glance with Felix, and their shared mirth bubbled into laughter.
“It can’t be that bad,” Yumi said.
Aida reassured her that the technology had greatly improved in recent years. “But trust me, there’s a charming rite of passage in getting lost here. Even the best GPS can’t unveil all the secrets of Rome.”
“Well, you’ll be in London for a couple of days, so you won’t even know if I do.” She stuck her tongue out at Aida before
suddenly sobering. “Guess who I saw at the airport.”
The hint of distaste in Yumi’s voice was a giveaway. “Graham,” Aida said, a slight unease settling in her stomach.
“He was there with Erin. They were at the gate to the Bahamas. I wish they would have looked over at me. I would have flipped
them off on your behalf.”
Aida felt a twinge of discomfort, a remnant of what once would have been a sharp pang of jealousy or anger. She hadn’t thought
much about Graham lately. For the first few months after the breakup, she had slept terribly, unable to get him out of her
mind. As the summer passed, she found that Rome, her writing, and her work gave her the distraction she needed for her heart
to heal. And of course meeting Luciano. The news that Graham and Erin were still together didn’t affect her as profoundly
as it might have months ago.
“She can have him.”
Felix snorted. “What a silly time to go to the Bahamas. Isn’t it hurricane season?”
“Sadly, I think that might be nearly over,” Yumi said.
Aida didn’t want to spend more emotional energy on Graham than necessary. “Forget about him. I’m more excited about us finally
being in the same city together.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Yumi. “So, tell me, what’s the 404 like?”
Aida pulled out her MODA phone to double-check it was turned off. “All clear. But I shouldn’t leave it off for long.” Trista
had tried to reach her a few days ago when Aida had turned it off to call Yumi and hadn’t been happy when she didn’t answer.
Aida tried to pass it off as signal issues, but she wasn’t sure if Trista believed her.
“I feel bad rushing off to London right after you arrive.”
Yumi shrugged. “Don’t worry. I’m here for a few weeks, remember? I wish I could go with you though.” She threw one of her
bags onto the bed and unzipped it. “Okay, so after you told me about the disappearing places, I went ahead and looked into
the list of people who’ve stayed at the hotel at the same time you were there.”
Aida normally didn’t want to know about Yumi’s hacking forays, but this time she was grateful. “What did you find?”
“There are about fifteen people who are almost always there at the same time. They arrive quarterly and stay for a day or
maybe a couple of days, but never for long.”
“That’s interesting,” Felix said.
“Where are they from?” Aida asked.
“All over—mostly European and Asian countries. But when I dug deeper, I noticed that the hotel hosts different groups from
other countries every month, always the same people arriving on a quarterly schedule.”
“So maybe there are many Collectors? And we all have to give quarterly reports?” Aida asked, trying to grasp what this information
meant.
“Maybe there is a Collector for every country,” Felix posited. “And there are one hundred and ninety-five countries, if my
memory serves me right.”
“That’s a lot . . .” Aida sat on the edge of the bed, which sported a red duvet—the only pop of color in the otherwise white
room.
“There are exceptions for larger countries. The US has three Collectors—one each for the East and West Coasts, and one for
the middle. MODA seems to rotate their quarterly check-ins to avoid overlap,” Yumi continued. “It looks like MODA sets aside
a week every month for reporting, and each group reports on a different quarterly rotation.”
“I don’t get it,” Felix said. “Wouldn’t the Collectors start to recognize each other? It seems like MODA wouldn’t want that. I mean, they haven’t indicated there are other people like you, have they?”
“No, they haven’t. But we travel alone, and my bet is that most of us aren’t spending much time in the hotel common areas.
With strict rules about discussing the company, they probably assume we’d never put two and two together.”
Yumi opened another bag and began hanging her clothes in the mirrored wardrobe. “I went through five years of this, and the
same pattern holds. Some people come and go, but it’s been remarkably consistent.”
“Wait, you have names and contact information for all of these people, don’t you?” Aida pushed the idea of Yumi’s illegal
methods of obtaining such data to the back of her mind.
Yumi turned away from the wardrobe, a wide grin spreading across her lips. “Why yes, yes I do.”
“Are any US Collectors there at the same time as me?”
She shook her head. “No, the US Collectors are on different rotations. But I can’t be sure where everyone’s really from—MODA
seems to assign people to work in countries other than their own.”
“That makes sense.” Aida stood to help her friend hang her clothes. “It means they won’t be jaded when they’re cataloging
happiness. The Romans, for example, barely seem to notice they are living among such priceless treasures, whereas tourists
walk around with their mouths open in awe.” She thought about it for a moment. “It makes perfect sense. We can experience
happiness differently in a new place, so the Collectors need to be foreign.”
“Actually, that is the real mystery here,” Felix said. He had sunk into a plush white chair near the door to the flower-lined balcony. “Why
are they collecting happiness at all? And why do they need a couple hundred people to do it?”
“True, that’s fucking weird, but let’s start small. Aida, I have something for you.” Yumi set the empty suitcase aside and started rifling through her bag until she found her phone. A moment later, an AirDrop notice popped up on Aida’s device. She accepted, and the document opened.
“Those are the people who are usually in London at the same time you are,” Yumi explained.
Aida stared at the document, surprised. Yumi had curated a detailed table—names, short biographies, employers, and even photos
of each person. Yumi had gone deeper than just tracking hotel guests; she had compiled background information from public
records and pieced together details from social media and professional networking profiles.
A couple of them were vaguely familiar, though Aida couldn’t be sure if she had seen them in passing during her trips to London.
Then, two faces stood out: the older woman who had gone up in the lift with Mo, and Luciano. Aida couldn’t help but smile
when she saw his photo.
“He is quite the snack,” Yumi teased her. “Way better than your last love interest.”
Aida gave her a sock in the arm. “He’s not a love interest!”
Yumi’s only response was to cackle at her.
Felix gave Yumi a conspiratorial look. “I agree, snack is apt.” He grinned at Aida. “I’m sure you aren’t sad at all to leave
us for London.”
“Oh, stop,” Aida said. “I am sad to leave you!” She tucked her phone away in the bottom of her purse. “Well, a little sad.” She chuckled. “Come on, let’s
grab lunch and a spritz, and Yumi can catch us up on life in Boston.”
Aida remembered to flip her MODA phone back on when they had settled into the heated tent of the café. It wasn’t even a minute
later that it buzzed in her pocket. Her heart began to hammer when she saw Trista’s name on the screen. She briefly debated
not answering but decided that would only lead to more problems. “Pronto.”
“Where are you?” Trista sounded more irritated than concerned. “Why is your MODA phone not working again? It went right to
voicemail.”
“It did?” She paused for a second. “You know how hard it is to get a signal inside some of these buildings. It’s so frustrating.
Yumi and I have been ducking into shops and finally settled in at a coffee bar.
When I went down to the basement for the bathroom, there was a line, so I might not have been accessible for a bit.
” This was perfectly plausible. Getting any signal through centuries-old layers of marble, brick, stucco, or cement was impossible in many places.
Trista paused, as if deciding whether to believe her. “Very well,” she finally said. “Your flight to London has changed from
tomorrow morning to this evening. The pilot called in sick, and her replacement can only take you this afternoon at 17:00.”
Five o’clock. “All right. We’re having a little midday aperitivo, then I’ll be back to pack.” Aida hung up and briefly shut off the phone to relay the conversation to her companions. “We’re
going to have to be more careful. I think she knows I’ve been turning it off.”
“I’ll see if there is anything I can do about that,” Yumi said. “Turn it back on, and let’s get that spritz.”