ERIC
It’s another sweaty, painful morning with Chip the therapist. But I take my punishment like a man.
“Good effort!” he says when I’m about three quarters dead, his voice as cheerful as always.
“Thanks,” I gasp, rolling up off the mats.
“Did you hear we’re getting a bunch of snow?”
“Really?” It rarely snows in Manhattan. Not more than a dusting, anyway. And never in December.
“Yeah. Like, eight inches. Might have to cancel our session tomorrow if the subways are shut down.”
“What a shame,” I say as sweat drips into my eyes.
Chip laughs as he walks away. “You sound really broken up about it. Come on, man. Go reward yourself with a shower and a protein shake.”
But my real reward is a trip into midtown to have lunch with Alex. After my shower I put on a nice shirt and slacks. On my way into the city, I text her. Still have time for lunch?
By the time I reach Manhattan, I have a reply. Your dad and brother are here to rehash the situation. But I’ll kick everyone out of my office as soon as I can.
When I reach the front desk of her building, I have to wait in line for a visitor’s pass. This is a theme in my life, although Alex is worth it.
“ID, please,” says the young woman behind the desk. “Who are you here to visit?” She gives me an appreciative once-over.
“Alex Engels.” I set the ID down on the countertop.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“She’s expecting me for lunch. Do you want me to call upstairs and ask her to approve the pass?”
“Hang on…” Her shiny nails make a clickety sound on the keyboard. “She added you to her approved list. I’m printing your pass now.”
“Thanks.”
A moment later I’m passing through the turnstile and then riding the elevator to the top floor. It’s easy to find Alex’s suite, because Rolf is parked at a desk right outside.
“You again,” he says with a scowl.
“I told you I was the boyfriend.”
He rolls his eyes. “Big security meeting, though.” He hooks a thumb toward Alex’s door. “They’re not finished.”
“That’s okay. Those people all like me.” I can see a flash of my dad’s gray hair through the slats in the blinds that shield the office from curious eyes.
When I open the door, conversation stops.
“Eric,” my brother says. He’s standing in front of a whiteboard, a marker in his hand. “After last night, I can’t put you back on Alex’s detail. I need to use my pros.”
“I’m not here for that,” I say, crossing to Alex where she sits behind her desk.
As soon as I reach her, Alex beams up at me, ready to receive my kiss, which I give her.
“I’m here because I was invited to lunch.
But please carry on. I’ll just sit here and look pretty.
” I park my ass in a chair against the wall.
“Okay,” my brother says with a sigh. “We’re writing down everything we’ve learned about Xian Smith.”
“Because we’re trying to decide,” Alex echoes, “whether it’s even ethical for me to reach out to yet another supplier with an order. So far we’ve got one factory fire and one shooting death.”
“Unless it’s just a shitty coincidence,” my father ventures.
Max slowly shakes his head. “This was not a coincidence. Eric—is there anything you can add to this timeline?” He points at the word July on the whiteboard. “He stopped you two in Hawaii to ask for a meeting. Did he say why?”
Hell, did he?
Alex and I glance at each other. “That encounter lasted two minutes, tops. And I don’t think he said a word about his mission.”
“Right,” Alex agrees. “He wanted a meeting, but he didn’t say why. Not until he showed up in August.”
“August?” I ask.
“The…” Alex checks her phone. “Nineteenth. He turned up here in front of Rolf’s desk, asking to meet with me. I gave him five minutes, tops. That time he said that changes were coming to Shenzhen, and that the old providers would become less reliable. Rolf was there, too.”
Max crosses the office to open the door. “Hey, Rolf? Come here a sec?”
“What’s up?” the young man says when he comes in.
“Remember in August, when Xian Smith just showed up one night?” Alex says. “Do you still have your notes? We’re trying to remember exactly what he said.”
“I dunno?” he says with a shrug. “I can check.”
“Would you?” Alex says.
“And how’d the guy get in?” I ask, holding up my own visitor’s pass. “Couldn’t have been easy.”
“Oh,” Alex says softly. “I wondered that, too. Rolf! Didn’t you call downstairs and ask about his security pass?”
“Sure I did,” Rolf calls back from his desk. “But they never got back to me.”
“Follow up, would you? The date in question was August nineteenth.”
Alex and Max and my father go back to making notes about Xian Smith. But I’m getting hungry. Which means Alex must be starved. “Should I run out for tacos?” I offer.
“No!” Alex yelps. “I invited you to have a nice lunch, and we will have a nice lunch. Three courses. Linen napkins. No gunfire.”
“We’re almost done here,” my father says. “Just as soon as your assistant gets that name from building security.”
Impatient now, I get up and walk out of Alex’s office. Rolf is tidying up his desk. He takes a framed photo of an elderly woman and slips it into his jacket pocket. “Can I help you?” he asks in a tone of voice that manages to convey that he’d really rather not.
“Any word from building security? I could go downstairs and ask them for you.”
“They’re calling me right back,” he grumbles. “Give it a minute.”
“Fine. And then where am I taking Alex for lunch?”
“Hillstone on Third Avenue,” he says. “Table for two in back, nowhere near the window.”
“Okay. Let us know when you’ve got that other information.”
“Christ, I wouldn’t want to hold up your reservation. Let me call ‘em back.” He grabs the phone and begins stabbing the buttons.
I leave his grumpy ass and go back into Alex’s office.
“Exactly how many people knew about your lunch with Xian Smith?” my father is asking Alex.
“I told my security team. And I told the same two executives I named before—my chief technology officer and my CFO.”
“That’s all,” Max says slowly.
“That’s all,” Alex agrees.
There’s a tap on the door frame, and then Rolf pops his head in. “I have a name.” He swallows visibly. “On August nineteenth, a visitor’s pass for Xian Smith was authorized by Peter Whitbread.”
“Whitbread,” Alex breathes. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“Your general counsel?” my dad asks. “That makes no sense.”
“Sure it does,” Max argues. “Whitbread wants Alex gone. And Xian Smith wants a foot in the door. If I were Smith, I’d ask Whitbread for help, too.”
Nobody says anything for a minute. We’re all busy thinking.
“Is that all?” Rolf asks finally.
“Yeah,” Alex croaks. “Thank you.”
More silence, while everyone works through the ramifications.
“He had the Thai contract,” Alex says slowly. “He knew we were using Mr. Khun as a supplier.”
“You’re saying he passed that information to Smith?” my father asks. “If Whitbread is your mole, then nothing is safe.”
“I have to confront him,” Alex says.
“Or you could keep him around, but feed him misinformation,” Max says.
“No,” Alex shakes her head. “He’s the leak that endangers anyone else I hire. Even if I try to misdirect him, someone else could get hurt.”
“She’s right,” Carl agrees. “Let’s walk into his office right now, before he gets a whiff that we’re onto him.”
“Is he in today?” my brother asks. “He’d be on this floor, right?”
“Yes, at the other end of the hall.” Alex lifts her phone’s handset. “Should I call him and check?”
“Do it,” my father says. “I’ll step out to make sure he doesn’t leave.”
As soon as the door closes behind him, Alex dials. “Everyone stay quiet a second.”
The three of us listen to the phone ring through Alex’s speaker. He answers on the second ring. “Whitbread.”
“It’s Alex. Listen, Peter. There’s been some more trouble with a supplier. And I suspect that one of our manufacturers is up to no good. Can I come down to your office and fill you in?”
“Of course,” he says. “If there’s trouble, I’ll need to know about it right away.”
“Wonderful,” she says smoothly. “I’ll be there in five.” She ends the call.
“Well,” Max chuckles. “That will terrify him whether he’s your leak or not.”
She pushes back her chair. “Let’s go. We’ll start by asking him why the hell he gave Xian Smith a visitor’s pass. I can’t think of a single legitimate reason for Whitbread to meet with him.”
My brother and Alex advance toward the door, looking tense.
“I suppose I shouldn’t complain about my lost lunch plans?” I joke as Max opens the door for her. “Can I go buy us all takeout?”
Alex cups my cheek before she steps out. “You’re always feeding me.”
“Someone has to.”
We all pass Rolf’s desk. “Off to the restaurant?” the assistant asks.
“Not yet,” Alex says, her voice tense. “Rolf, this might be another late night.”
“Color me surprised. So I’m taking a lunch break now, okay?”
Alex doesn’t answer. She’s already on the move.
My father is waiting a ways off, in view of the elevators. He gives his head a shake to let her know that our man has not come by. Then he falls in with my brother and Alex on their way to Whitbread’s office.
I bring up the rear, keeping my distance. Although I’m curious, this really has nothing to do with me. So I wait in the hallway outside the lawyer’s office, my shoes sinking into the plush carpet runner underfoot.
The C-suite of a big corporation is always plushly furnished. At the end of the hall I can see a handsome boardroom with a giant oak table surrounded by more than a dozen leather chairs. I hear only the murmurs of executives on the phone, and the quiet tapping of keystrokes.
Something moves in my peripheral vision. But it’s only Rolf heading out to lunch, his gym bag over his shoulder.
Rolf is a weird one. But aren’t we all.
Although I don’t take my gym bag out to lunch. Or bring along the photos from my desk.
Hold on.
I walk into the office where she and my family just disappeared. Whitbread is saying, “John Smith? Who?”
At my entrance, all four heads whip toward me, including Whitbread’s jowly one.
“What?” Max demands.
“Alex—does Rolf visit the gym at lunch?”
Alex frowns. “No? Never.”