Chapter Eleven
HELENA
Did security collect the envelope?
Please let me know if anything else arrives.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“Compliment.”
“Leave.”
She sits.
“We have the vendor report.”
All remaining fatigue leaves my body. I hold out my hand. She does not give me the tablet.
“What?”
“I want to explain one thing first.”
“No.”
“Helena.”
“Give it to me.”
She does. The report is less dramatic than fear would prefer. Dates. Locations.
Public records. Photographs. Halden entrances. Studio schedules.
People entering and leaving. Caleb walking to the subway. Caleb with Mason. Caleb loading materials into his truck.
No apartment interior. No private messages. No hidden devices. I should feel relief.
I don’t. There are forty-seven pages. I requested a standard background check. My security department turned interest into a project.
I scroll faster. A photograph from outside a restaurant. I stop. Caleb is sitting across from an older woman.
His mother. The date is the birthday reservation. My stomach turns.
“Tessa.”
“I saw it.”
“Who authorized this level?”
“Owen says vendor discretion.”
“That is not authorization.”
“No.”
“He reviewed the report?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“According to access logs.”
“And what came to me?”
She hands me a second file. Six pages. The summary Owen gave me months ago. Professional exposure.
Routine. Associates. Nothing that would have made the surveillance feel like surveillance. I remember reading it over breakfast.
I remember thinking it was efficient. My coffee tastes metallic.
“How many times has he done this?”
Tessa is quiet.
“For Caleb?”
“In general.”
“That is what we’re auditing.”
I look at her.
“You think there are others.”
“I think Owen built a department around anticipating what you would eventually ask.”
The sentence lands somewhere old. I stand. Walk toward the windows. Stop before reaching them.
“I’m not interested in philosophy. I want scope.”
“I know.”
“Every personal monitoring assignment initiated without explicit authorization.”
“Yes.”
“Every vendor.”
“Yes.”
“Every report summarized before reaching me.”
“Yes.”
Tessa waits. I turn.
“And every time I accepted information without asking how it was obtained.”
Tessa’s mouth tightens, but she does not argue.
“That could be a lot.”
“I know.”
It is the first time saying those words today does not feel defensive.
“Do it.”
Her phone vibrates. She checks it. Stops.
“What?”
“Priya.”
I cross the room. Tessa opens the message. Another photograph. Caleb.
This one is not from the street or the Halden. It was taken inside the residential lobby where Caleb lives.
Taken sometime early this morning. He is wearing jeans and a dark jacket, carrying a paper bag and looking toward the elevator. The photographer is behind the lobby seating area. My body reacts before thought.
Cold beneath my ribs.
“This isn’t mine.”
Tessa looks at me.
“I know.”
“I’ve never entered his building.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know what that lobby looks like.”
“I know.”
The repetition sounds different coming from her.
“Send this to Priya. Police.”
“Already.”
I reach for my phone. Stop. Caleb said building only. Anonymous messages if there is actual information.
This qualifies. I call. He answers after four rings.
“Helena.”
No warmth. I deserve that.
“I have information related to the messages.”
“Okay.”
I send the photograph. Silence. Then: “Where did you get this?”
“Priya.”
“When?”
“Just now.”
“I didn’t receive it.”
“That appears intentional.”
The line rustles; a door closes on his end.
“That’s my lobby.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve never been there.”
“No.”
“How do I know?”
The question hurts. It should.
“You don’t.”
He goes quiet. I force myself to continue.
“I can tell you what I have done. I can show you the records I requested. I cannot make you believe a negative because I say it.”
Another silence. Longer. Then, “You’re really not going to argue?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you have a reason to doubt me.”
I sit on the edge of my desk. Tessa looks away. Caleb exhales.
“Is this in Owen’s vendor report?”
“No.”
“You checked.”
“Yes.”
“When did their physical surveillance stop?”
“Just before the acquisition.”
“So whoever took this isn’t the original vendor.”
“That is our current assessment.”
“Current assessment sounds like a phrase designed to make people stop asking questions.”
“Probably. Tessa uses it often.”
Tessa lifts one finger at me. Caleb makes a small sound. Almost a laugh. It disappears quickly.
“Did Owen know about the restaurant reservation?”
“Yes.”
“The drawing?”
“Yes.”
“The Halden?”
“Yes.”
“What about the supplier?”
“We’re checking.”
“Hotel?”
“Checking.”
He says nothing. I do not fill the silence. Finally: “I want to see it.”
“The audit?”
“Everything you have on me.”
My throat tightens.
“That is a substantial amount.”
“I gathered.”
“No. I mean everything. What you requested. What Owen collected. What you personally kept.”
I look at the windows. Six blocks away. A square of light I am not allowing myself to find.
“You should.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Not at your office.”
“Agreed.”
“Halden.”
“Agreed.”
He pauses.
“And don’t clean it up first.”
Something shameful moves through me. The impulse to organize. Categorize. Explain.
I hate how accurately he anticipates it.
“I won’t.”
“Helena.”
“Yes?”
“I believe you didn’t take this picture.”
My eyes close. Relief comes so quickly it is almost painful. He continues before I can misuse it.
“That doesn’t mean I know what to do with the rest.”
“I understand.”
“I know.”
He says it deliberately. I almost smile. Almost. Then he hangs up.
I keep the phone in my hand. Tessa looks at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
“I am respecting boundaries.”
“You look like someone gave you oxygen.”
I put the phone down.
“Go audit Owen.”
She stands. At the door, she turns.
“Helena.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow, show him the ugly version.”
I look at the tablet. Forty-seven pages of things done around Caleb because I started wanting information and never asked carefully enough where wanting ended.
“There isn’t another version.”
“There always is.”
She leaves. I remain at my desk. Only then do I understand that telling Caleb the truth will require more than confessing what I did. I will also have to show him what happened because people believed they knew what I wanted.
And I am no longer certain which is worse.