Chapter 46
Kennedy
“This is an excellent piece of investigative reporting,” James says, grinning from ear to ear as he reads over my submission.
I wish I could muster up the same level of excitement.
“This will go out at six a.m., and I bet we’ll be inundated with calls for more information by noon.” His eyes are on his computer screen.
Tomorrow, my first write-up in what I plan to be a series of five, documenting and exposing the child labor smuggling ring run by the church and Blackmon’s company, will go out to the world.
“I know more witnesses and victims will emerge after this first article.” He finally looks at me and points. “You should be prepared to become very busy.”
I swallow the lump in my throat and prepare to tell James the real reason I’m sitting in his office right now.
“Maybe you should get another reporter to handle the rest of the articles.” My voice is strained, and my throat feels as if it’s closing up.
He blinks and then pushes his bushy eyebrows up. “What? Why in the world would I do such a thing?”
I open the folder in my lap and pull out the top paper. “Because I’m turning in my resignation.”
I place the form on his desk, directly in front of me.
His eyes bulge as he reads it over. “What is this about?” He sounds almost angry. “You can’t resign in the middle of this investigation. Your article on Blackmon is going out tomorrow.”
“Which is my perfect opportunity to bow out,” I counter. “I can give Lucy all of my notes and witness information. She’s already been in contact with some of the victims and witnesses.”
“After you brought her in to assist. She’s only taken part in the past few weeks.”
He shakes his head adamantly and tries to hand me the letter again.
“I have to,” I declare, refusing to take it back.
“For what purpose?” His eyes narrow. “Is Blackmon or someone from his side threatening you?”
“Even if he were, that wouldn’t deter me. You know that.” Besides, Blackmon has been out of the public eye since he was dropped from the Global Group.
My guess is he’s laying low, probably on the advice of his legal team.
“Then explain what this is about.”
Pinching my lips together, I stare out of the office window behind him. “I didn’t obtain this position fairly.”
He juts his head backwards.
“I recently discovered that D— someone manipulated the hiring process to give me preferential treatment.”
The heaviness that’s been sitting in my heart for weeks now increases. Saying the words out loud brings the hurt back all over again.
Every night for three weeks, I’ve gone to bed and closed my eyes only to see those dark eyes right before I walked out of his door. That was the last time I saw him in person.
I thought it would get easier with time.
It hasn’t.
It’s only gotten harder.
“Who?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I can’t say.” I don’t want to bring Dae into this conversation. “I-I just don’t feel right knowing that someone else more qualified may have been overlooked because someone used their inside contacts to get me this position.”
James’ mouth flattens into a thin line. His attention moves from the resignation letter back to his computer screen. He remains silent for a while, looking over the article again.
He shakes his head. “No.”
“No?”
“I’m not accepting your resignation.” He holds up a hand when I try to reply. “Do you know how many people in this building got jobs because someone put in a good word for them?”
“It’s not the same.” Having a former employer put in a good word isn’t the same as what Dae did.
“It is,” he replies. “We all use our networks in one way or another. That’s what we have networks for. And if you weren’t good at your job, this would be an entirely different conversation.”
He looks at me and points to the computer screen.
“This is stellar work, Kennedy. You saw something that no one else noticed. Even I initially brushed off Erika Dalton”s death as nothing more than a sad tragedy. But you,” he points at me, “your curiosity allowed you to see deeper. And you pressed until you got the answers you were seeking.
“Now, as a result, Blackmon and all of the other adults involved who hurt those teens are about to get the retribution they deserve.
“So no,” he says with finality. “I’m not accepting this resignation.” He stands, takes the paper, and rips it up.
Then he pins me with a look. His face drops. “Our job isn’t always easy. Honestly, you’ve looked like death warmed over the past couple of weeks.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“That was me putting it mildly,” he continues unapologetically. “I’m no stranger to sleepless nights, bags under my eyes, and surviving off coffee and donuts because I was wrapped up in an investigation. So, if that’s why you think it’s time to resign, think it over. Take some time off if you need to, and come back with a little more balance.
“But, right here and now, I’m not accepting your resignation.”
He takes the scraps of the letter in his hand and throws them in the wastebasket next to his desk.
I should protest. Stand by my conviction. However, I don’t have the energy to fight him on this.
“How about you take the rest of the day off?” he suggests. “Your article’s done, and you look like you could use some extra sleep.” He nods as if convincing himself that’s all I need.
I wish.
Silently, I nod and rise to my feet. I mumble a thanks before leaving his office. Every step I take feels like I’m walking through quicksand. Ever since that day three weeks ago, I’ve been living with this heaviness that weighs on every part of my mind and body.
My heart aches every second of the day. James mentioned needing extra sleep and he’s right. I haven’t slept well in weeks because every time I close my eyes, all I see is Dae.
Even though my head continues to hold firm to my conviction to forget all about Dae Kim, my body refuses to listen.
Two days ago, I was driving home from work, and it took me twenty minutes to realize that I’d automatically started driving to his house.
That same fucking house he used to trap me like I was a prisoner.
As I approach my desk, I see a large paper bag waiting for me. Pain in my chest increases.
I glance around, but there’s no sign of the delivery guy. He knows to be quick when dropping off the meals Dae still sends every day.
For days, I started to pick up my phone to call him and demand he stop sending me food, but I convinced myself that I didn’t want to talk to him. Zero contact. That’s what I need.
As I approach the scent of garlic naan and buttered chicken, my stomach growls angrily. Another reminder that I haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon. Eating takes too much energy these days.
Despite my hunger, I do with this meal what I’ve done with all the others over the past three weeks.
I toss it in the garbage.
Guilt wells in my stomach, mixing with the pain in my chest. Yes, it’s a waste of food, but I can’t willingly eat his meals.
I grab my work tablet, bag, and jacket, and head for the exit, taking James’ advice.
Minutes later, I’m in my car, pulling out of my company’s parking lot. My original intention is to go home to my apartment and close myself off from the world. But something tells me that even there, I won’t find relief.
It’s like Dae is still around. No matter where I go. Everything reminds me of him. Then there are the moments when I want to reach out for him, wishing he was still beside me or just a phone call away.
I get too wrapped up in my thoughts and know I can’t go home. I don’t want to be alone right now.
I decide to text the one person my heart yearns for right now.
Kennedy: Where are you?
Mom: Home.
Kennedy: I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
I don’t give my mother an explanation because I don’t have the words to explain what I need or want. I’ve missed lunch with my mom and sister-in-law for three weeks because I didn’t want them to see me in this state.
I knew they would immediately notice something was wrong with me, but I don’t want to hide anymore. The weight of this burden is too much, and I need the one person I’ve always been able to confide in.
Within fifteen minutes, I’m pulling into my parents’ parking lot. With blurred vision, I hop out of my car, leaving everything behind. I punch in the house code and my thumbprint. Even that move reminds me of Dae’s home, the code he gave me and then changed so he could lock me up in his house.
The way he stole my independence that morning and manipulated my life before I was even aware he was a part of it.
All of it comes crashing down on me like a wave.
“Mom?” I call out, my voice cracking.
“Baby?” She looks at me with alarm as I burst into the living room where she sits on the couch.
She starts to rise, but I get to her first, wrapping my arms around her waist. I lay my head on her lap, keeping her seated, and let the tears flow.
For the first time in I don’t know how many years, I cry in my mother’s lap. My body shakes with my sobs that I can’t control.
“Mom,” I cry out, unable to say more.
Her hand moves to my hair, stroking it soothingly. She moves her other hand to my back, rubbing it like she did when I was sick as a little girl.
My mother doesn’t demand to know what’s wrong.
“It’s okay, baby,” she says in that voice that feels like a warm blanket after coming inside from a frigid cold.
“Let it out,” she soothes while letting me cry the tears I’ve refused to let fall over the past three weeks.