When I finally exit the boardroom, the stream of people leaving for the weekend is still surging out the door.

It’s that time—a few minutes past five—and none of my colleagues are keen on staying for another second. For them, it’s quitting time. For me, it’s time to stretch and get the fuck back to work.

Not today, though. Today, it can be quitting time for me too.

Productivity is not going to be my friend any longer today anyway. Even the quiet Saturday I was looking forward to will probably have to wait.

Today, it’s time for me to find out what this leaving at five o’clock shit is all about, because I have a lot more on my mind than market analysis, and it’s likely to stay that way for a while.

In the hallway, there was still the energetic buzz and lively talking of people at the start of their weekend. By the time I’m riding the packed elevator, the interns, analysts, and administrative assistants are suddenly quiet. It’s obvious that word about the move is getting around, probably in the form of vague rumors and half-truths.

They don’t know the full extent of what’s going on—and neither do I, for that matter—but it’s sinking in that a sea change is of some kind is happening, and few, if any, jobs will be safe when it rolls around.

Greg’s standing right in front of me as the elevator descends. The elevator stops at the twentieth floor, and more people get on, making the car even more crowded. I can almost see Greg updating his resume in his head.

What would I do if I stay behind when the company moves overseas?

Starting my own fund, finding another fund or another firm to work with...I wasn’t planning on any of that shit, but those are my options, and I need to figure it out pronto.

Whatever it is, that is.

Walking through the lobby with seemingly every other office drone in the building, I stop thinking.

At least, I stop weighing options or considering options. There’s too much information missing, and there’s no way I’m not being manipulated.

And I can’t let myself be fucking manipulated.

Walking through the revolving doors, I take out my personal phone and dial Maddie. Walking down Broadway, I wait for her to pick up.

I walk fast and hard down the sidewalk, counting two rings, three, four, and stop counting when I turn onto Barclay.

When I get to the entrance of my building, Maddie still hasn’t picked up. I don’t want to leave a message, and I realize I don’t really know why I’m calling, so…

“What is it, Ethan?”

Madeline’s voice, sounding short on patience, stops me in my tracks just before I hang up.

“Hey, you answer the phone the same way I do at work.”

I start walking to the elevator, suddenly feeling a fuck of a lot better.

“Well, I am at work, Ethan. What’s up?”

“You’re at work? You didn’t come by the office today.”

“We’re pursuing the investigation differently now, Mr. Barrett. Hold on, I need to close my office door for some privacy.”

“Of course,” I say, smiling to myself. I sit on the marble bench by the elevators while listening to Maddie close her door.

“So,” Maddie continues in a quieter voice, “why are you calling again?”

“It’s Friday.”

“Uh...okay?”

“And I was wondering if you wanted to get together this weekend.”

Maddie sighs.

“Maybe. I’ll have to call you later about that. Anything else?”

My heart starts rocketing at the thought of seeing Maddie outside of the office, detached from the investigation and all the other shit. Yet there’s something about Maddie’s response makes me feel like I have more to say, or should have more to say.

“I left work early today.”

“Huh, good for you. Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

“Not quite. Remember the Switzerland thing?”

“Your whole firm moving to Switzerland?” Maddie’s voice is getting even quieter. “Yes, I’m quite aware of those plans.”

“They, the two highest-ranking partners, just gave me the craziest offer for a contract there. I can’t discuss figures, but...”

“Yeah, stay the fuck away from that.” Maddie sighs again. I can tell she’s stopping herself from getting more specific. “That’s my advice, anyway.”

The elevator dings, and the door opens. The elevator’s empty, and I didn’t even press the fucking button. I look over my shoulder for some reason.

“Okay,” I respond, my mouth getting dry.

“Okay? I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here, Ethan.”

“What does that mean?”

The elevator door closes, and I hear the car start traveling back to the upper floors.

“You’re just relaying information to me. I’m not accusing you of even considering signing a contract. Or...leaving the country.”

Either the connection or Maddie’s voice starts breaking up with the last couple words.

Those words seem unnecessary, anyway. She must know that if I sign the contract, that means leaving the country. She knows about Switzerland; she might know more about the plan than I do.

And would it really be out of the question for me to consider it? Maddie knows that this is my job. Also, the investigation’s still underway. Maddie hasn’t shared any specifics with me, and she knows I haven’t seen whatever evidence it is that has her so convinced.

“I just wanted to tell you what happened, Madeline.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Anything else?”

“Not really. Should I call you later about this weekend? Or do you want to call me?”

“You know what, Ethan?” Madeline’s voice jumps in volume, and her irritated tone startled me enough to stand up from the bench.

“I’m actually seeing my friends up in Boston this weekend.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No. Goodbye.”

One thing that I always felt was missing with smartphones is the ability to hang up emphatically. Even with an old flip phone, you have the option of slamming it closed.

But, the way the call just ends so abruptly, I can tell Maddie hit that End Call icon with her finger as hard as she fucking could.

Staring dumbly at my personal phone, I stay seated, frozen on the bench well after Maddie hangs up.

I stay like that for a few minutes, at least, until the elevator door opens.

Again, I didn’t press the button, and again it’s completely empty.

This is a newer building, but I’m starting to think it’s fucking haunted.

This time, I take the haunted elevator’s suggestion and get in. After hitting the button for the 52^nd floor, I turn off my personal phone, which I almost never do, and I turn off my business phone, which I absolutely never do.

The moment both phones are off, disconnecting me from the world, the elevator door opens to my floor.

Realizing holding two different phones in both of my hands, I deposit them both bitterly in my front pocket.

Maddie denied that I said anything wrong.

But what did I say wrong?

I rattle my keys in my hand while walking down the hallway, stopping right in front of my door and just standing there.

If Maddie knows as much as she seems to know, then she knows that I have nothing to do with any of the shady shit that might be going on.

She must know that.

Right?

Fuck. I unlock the door.

My empty apartment greets me. The cleaning service stopped by yesterday, and everything is still so fucking clean. It’s like walking into a furniture catalog, yet even more sterile and heartless.

Unthinkingly, I walk over to my bar, with its decanters of scotch and brandy.

I need a drink.

Back when I just learned her name, at that beach bar in Hawaii, I remember Madeline saying that.

I need a drink.

That’s when she was still Madeline to me, and I wouldn’t even think of calling her Maddie. That wouldn’t be for another few days.

And what a few days those were.

I knew at the time I needed to enjoy it, to treasure it, because it was a fling, and there was no way it could last much longer.

And I was fucking right.

I need a drink.

What drink did she end up getting? It was a Captain’s Dilemma, or Captain’s Demise, or something like that.

If I broke out the rum, the blender, some simple syrup, and some fresh fruit and pineapple juice, I might be able to make something like that.

I could look up the recipe, get any missing ingredients delivered, and hire a bartender from a local cocktail place like the Living Room or Employees Only to stop by and make it correctly.

But I won’t.

Because that was then, and this is now.

And now I’m going to stick to scotch on the rocks—because it’s time to start living in the present and thinking about the future.