44. tallulah #2
“Percival Gansworth is on Tomasini’s advisory board.
Hayden Henry bought the Montreal Coyotes when Tomasini blocked out the competitors.
Lilianna Rowe has so much cash sunk into offshore accounts on Tomasini’s recommendation!
Tallulah, it doesn’t matter who your parents are, they don’t pay to play, so you’re just like me. You’re nobody.”
“That is such bullshit,” Nick thundered.
“It wasn’t my decision! Tomasini decided it!”
I stared. “What’s the point of any of this?”
“It’s a tax credit,” Andrew said hopelessly.
“Tomasini thought he could find a biographer in this mix to do a fake co-write with, please some of his richer friends by offering their kids an internship. You applied and we thought it’d give the internship some credibility, an actual good writer not connected to Tomasini.
Now he wants you, but your name isn’t big enough, so you’ll be a—erm—ghostwriter.
” He caught sight of Nick’s murderous gaze and flinched, redirecting back to me.
“Which will still be paid well! You just won’t have your… name on the cover like they would’ve.”
“If none of this mattered—”
“No, Tallulah, don’t think of it like that—”
“If all of this is bullshit, why—why were you so shitty to us?” I demanded.
“I was never shitty to you—”
“First of all, you stole my fucking paper. Second, you were shitty to the rest of them.”
“Well, I didn’t get a master’s in hospitality management to babysit college kids!” he snapped.
Our shouting was escalating, Andrew’s pleading transforming into something meaner, harsher.
“This is a punishment!” he shouted. “I recommended the wrong accountant who ran off with some money—I’m sorry, Tallulah. I know this business is a hard ladder, trust me! I’m not where I thought I’d be either! We’re the same!”
“No, we’re not. You—you’re just going to stand by and let this happen!”
“This is out of my hands!”
“You’re a fucking asshole!” I yelled.
“It’s Tomasini!” Andrew insisted. “He’s the asshole, not me!”
“Do you hear yourself?!” I demanded. “Just because you’re not the shark, doesn’t mean you’re not a bottom feeder!”
“He’s the one who chooses to do this to people! Not pay his contractors, siphons charity funds, the failed audits, he’s the problem—”
“You let Tomasini get away with this and YOU DON’T DO ANYTHING TO STOP HIM!”
“Tallulah?” Nick said, shocked, mouth agape. “Uh…babe? Do you want me to film this part? Or should we go dark?”
I didn’t understand Nick’s question. Both Andrew and I turned to him, to the black phone case that melted in with Nick’s hoodie, his phone unknowingly recording our conversation.
“You’re…?” I struggled for words. “You’ve been filming?”
“Wasn’t I supposed to?”
“Um—”
“You wanted backup? I thought that meant filming?” Nick said, confused. “I figured if you wanted me to beat somebody up, you’d just tell me to beat them up.”
Nick and I turned to face Andrew again. The color drained from his face, a sheen of sweat making his forehead shiny. His eyes were locked on the phone. “You—you two need to leave—”
The anger was gone. That was real fear in his voice.
I thought about this conversation, really thought about it.
Tomasini’s poorly run internship was wrong, but it hurt me more than anything.
There wasn’t much I could do about it. His illegal business practices were also wrong, yet, once again, not much I could do about it as a twenty-year-old college student.
Who’d listen to me? Talking about either of those things wouldn’t change anything.
What Tomasini had done to Nick was different. That wasn’t just wrong, it was the foundation of my anger. It was the reason I couldn’t give up and leave Andrew’s office.
So…what did I want?
I wanted Tomasini to face consequences. Not because of the internship, not because of his shady dealings, but because of Nick.
I leaned forward, resting my hands on Andrew’s desk. “Here’s what’s going to happen—”
“You—you need to leave—”
“I’m going to win the contest,” I said, enunciating each word.
Sweat trailed down his forehead. “I—yes—of course. Alright. We’ll give you the win—”
“You’re not giving me shit,” I stopped him, fury flaring my words. “I. Earned. It.”
He nodded like a broken toy, eyes fixated on Nick’s phone.
“I want to be the one who interviews Tomasini,” I decided.
“That’s out of the question—”
“No,” I interjected. “I’m the one making decisions.”
Andrew snapped his mouth shut.
“Tomasini can’t keep puppet stringing and hurting people.” My eyes slid to the right. “I don’t like what he’s done to people and I can’t stand what he’s done to Nick.”
Nick gazed back at me, at a loss for words.
“Are—are you going to delete the video?” Andrew asked.
“No,” I answered honestly. “It’s getting out one way or another. When it does, I don’t think Tomasini will suddenly become empathetic. If I were you, I’d consider a career change.”
It took a few moments of an internal struggle for Andrew.
He stood up like a captive on a pirate ship, directed to the plank, and walked stiffly towards the door.
He paused like he wanted to continue the conversation, but whatever was written on my face said it was futile.
The door closed behind him with a final click.
“Fuck,” Nick whispered. “What do we do now?”
I motioned for him to stop the video. “Can you send me a copy? I need to download that.”
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
An idea was beginning to form in my mind, hesitant and new. I walked behind Andrew’s desk, studying his layout, his filing cabinets, his computer. A sticky note was tacked on the keyboard with a dozen passwords written in legible scrawl. Very safe.
I slid into Andrew’s chair, staring at the open inboxes on the screen.
“Tallulah?” Nick asked. “What are you doing?”
Carefully, I typed in one of the passwords from the sticky note. “What I do best. Research.”