Chapter One
No amount of spin in the world could save this situation.
Not even a public relations genius like herself could turn this disaster into gold.
Life as she knew it was over.
Sophie Kincaid watched with an odd sense of detachment as the FBI agents swarmed the downtown Chicago office of the formally prestigious multimedia ad company where she worked, digging through files and shouting orders at each other.
Calm as could be, almost as though she watched a movie, she sat on her office chair, drinking her venti Red Eye, observing the proceedings like someone else’s life was being blown up. As though her life, and livelihood, weren’t collapsing around her Stuart Weitzman stilettos.
In retrospect, she supposed she should have suspected something was amiss. Her boss, Walter Poole, had been erratic and paranoid lately. But she’d thought he was stressed because they were pitching a national ad campaign to American Express, and if they won the bid, it would put them in the big leagues.
How was she to know he’d turned into a raging, embezzling cokehead? He had a house in Kenilworth, a sweet beautiful wife, and four postcard-perfect kids. He even had a dog, a cute little cocker spaniel, with adorable floppy ears, that wore red and green bows in their Christmas card.
Honestly, Sophie had no idea people even did coke anymore. It seemed like a throwback drug during a time where popping prescription Oxycontin was the addicts’ vice of choice.
Mind lost in a cotton cloud in spite of chaos reigning around her, she pondered his drug of choice. It was such an inconsequential detail, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it. Had the drug experienced a revival with the rest of the eighties? If people could love neon again, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.
Personally, she stuck to cocktails, wine, champagne, and maybe the occasional IPA beer. She was completely out of touch with the drug scene.
“Ms. Kincaid.” A male voice shocked her out of her haze.
She blinked at the man standing in front of her. He was around her age, with close-cropped hair and a blue windbreaker with the letters “FBI” spread across it in yellow. If Sophie wanted to cast an FBI agent, he’d be exactly who she’d look for with his hard eyes, strong jaw, and broad shoulders. Maybe not as the lead, because he lacked a certain amount of charisma, but as the sidekick for sure.
“Ms. Kincaid,” the agent said again.
She took a sip of her coffee. “Yes?”
“We’re going to need to take you down to the station for questioning.” His voice was authoritative but soft.
The words caught her attention. Surely she couldn’t help; she had no information to impart. She straightened and put her hand on her chest. “Why? I had nothing to do with this.”
He nodded, his features impassive and unreadable. She wondered if they taught them that at Quantico. Did they practice in the mirror? Were they tested? Graded?
He crossed his arms over his chest. “We’re questioning all the vice presidents.”
She tittered, and it was high pitched and nervous sounding. She shook her head. “But I’m just the PR girl.”
She didn’t know why she described herself that way, as though she was an intern, but she just couldn’t seem to attach herself to these events.
His blank expression didn’t even flicker and he nodded again. “It’s not a request.”
Suddenly, the gravity of her situation took hold of her. The world blared into crystal-clear focus, knocking her out of her detached apathy with a two-by-four spiked with nails. All the shouting, the people and flurry of paper and boxes screeched around her, rattling her out of her calm. Her heart started to pound a rapid beat, slamming against her ribs as her palms turned sweaty. The magnitude of her situation finally sank in.
She had nothing to do with this, but she was an executive at this company. What if they didn’t believe her? What if she couldn’t prove her innocence? What if she got thrown in jail? She’d just watched the new season of Orange Is the New Black, and she didn’t think she was cut out to be a prison girlfriend.
Okay. She took a deep breath. She needed to think. She wasn’t helpless. Maybe she didn’t have a family she could depend on like most people, but she had people that could help her. She had something better than family, she had powerful friends.
Despite having nothing to do with this, she was smart enough to know she shouldn’t talk to anyone without representation.
She lifted her cell phone. “Can I make a quick call?”
He narrowed his eyes for a second and then shrugged. “Sure, but make it fast.”
She didn’t know which of her best friends to call first, Maddie, whose husband used to be a big-time defense attorney and now worked for the State Department but lived hours away in the small town of Revival, or Penelope, who was connected to practically anyone who was anyone in the city and married to a former Chicago football star turned coach.
In the end she opted for Penelope, who moved with the efficiency scientists in the future would study to replicate. And, Penelope was in Chicago, unlike Maddie, who wouldn’t be able to do anything for hours.
She pushed the number, and when Penelope didn’t answer, Sophie ended the call and dialed again. Penelope was COO of her husband’s brother’s commercial real estate company and always busy. But if she called enough, Penelope would know something was wrong and answer.
Sophie called her three more times before Penelope picked up. “What’s wrong?”
Sophie was often called spirited, but she certainly wasn’t prone to dramatics. “Sorry to bother you, but I need help.”
“Is everything okay?” Penelope’s voice was all business.
“No.” Sophie’s throat tightened and she shook her head before clearing it. “I’m being taken to the Chicago FBI office over on Roosevelt. I need a lawyer to meet me there.”
There was ten seconds of complete silence before Penelope sprang into action. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” The agent made a wrap-it-up signal with his hand. “Best-case scenario, I’m out of a job. Worst case, I’m going to be arrested.”
“We’ll be right there.” Then Penelope was gone.
Sophie took another sip of her coffee, set it on her former desk, and stood, smoothing out her black skirt. Sure, her entire life was ruined, but that was no excuse for wrinkles.
Head held high, she squared her shoulders. “I’m ready.”