Katie
Okay. It’s going to be okay. Just stay calm and do like how we planned and it’ll all go okay.
No matter how much I try reassuring myself, though, my heart pounds and my hands are sweaty on the steering wheel as I follow Craig to PharmaChem. In my rear view mirror I can see Lance and Jake, each riding a motorcycle. Lance looks uncomfortable—I don’t think I’ve ever seen him ride a bike before. Eventually we’re close enough to PharmaChem and Lance signals to Jake. The both turn down a side street, disappearing from view. I get a flash of panic running through me, but I take a breath and force myself to calm down.
It’s okay. This is all going to end up okay. Just do your part, stay in character. It’ll be okay.
Craig pulls into the PharmaChem parking lot and I follow him, finding a space a few down from him. I turn off Lance’s car, take a steadying breath, and try to feel my character enter my head.
Cynthia Lowe. Hello Mr. Silver. My name is Cynthia Lowe.
I get out of the car. Craig gets out of his. I’m not used to this clothing but now that we’re on the premises I keep my face placid. Try not to show my actual emotions. The character. Be the character.
Craig approaches me.
“You ready?”
I nod. “Yep. Is there anything I should know about your dad, before I go in there? So he doesn’t figure out who I am?”
Craig thinks about this. “He’s not one for small talk. Straight to business. And be strong. He doesn’t respect people who he thinks are weak.”
“Okay.” Straight to business. “Got it.” I start to head for the front door.
“Um, Katie?”
Craig reaches out for my arm, grabbing it. I turn and stop. He’s looking at me. My heart skips and I immediately sense the weight of my gun, hidden under my jacket. Please, no. Please don’t do this.
“Can I ask you something?” He drops his hand from my arm. My mouth feels dry.
“Sure. What’s up?”
He opens his mouth, but takes a second to speak. “Are … have you and Lance … been in contact with Jeannette Willow? And Nathan?”
I blink. “Um …”
“I mean,” he interjects. “I know you said you’ve got them in a safe place, and I don’t want it to sound like I’m trying to find out where they are. It’s just …” He runs a hand through his short hair. “Ever since you told me that, I can’t stop thinking about them. About … the fact that Nathan … that he might be my kid. And how that happened, I … I don’t know. It’s been on my mind a lot.”
“Okay …” I say, and I wait for him to go on. He looks troubled now.
“It’s just,” he blurts out, “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. You know? Old girlfriends I’ve had … they won’t talk to me anymore. And then the Bullets. I mean, dad never let me become an official member, but I still hung out with them, you know? Back in the day …”
He pauses to think and I watch his body language, his attitude and expression.
“I guess I just … I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. And if you were still in touch with Jeannette, I was wondering if you could … you could tell her that I’m sorry.”
My eyebrows fly up.
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He looks sheepish now. “That I’m sorry and that … that I think when all this is done, I’m going to leave town. I’m going to renounce my ownership of the company. I know once dad is gone it’ll go to me, but I don’t want it. And I was thinking, if Nathan really is my son then if I give it up it’ll go to him, right? And if he’s not … if it turns out he’s not … then I’ll just make it public. Or dismantle it, or something. But I don’t want it. I don’t deserve something like this. I think … when all this is done, I’m going to leave, and probably never come back.”
I blink. “Wow, Craig.” He gives me a weak smile. “That’s … very selfless of you.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not about me. It’s about other people. The ones I’ve hurt, or that my dad has hurt. I’ve got to try and make it better for them, you know?”
I nod. “Yeah. Definitely.”
He gives me another guilty smile, and then breathes in deeply and lets it out. “Ahh, ha ha, sorry. I guess I haven’t really had anyone to talk to about all of this.”
“Yeah, it’s my pleasure.”
A third smile. This one seems genuine now.
“Okay,” he says. “You ready?”
“Yeah. Yes.”
“It’s Cynthia Lowe, right?”
“Right. Cynthia Lowe, from Seattle.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
I walk with Craig the rest of the way to the front doors and we go in. As much as I’ve used PharmaChem products in my life—I mean, how can you avoid them?—I’ve never been inside the building before. The foyer is how I expected it: large, and lavish, with a respectable-looking receptionist sitting behind the desk. He smiles at us as we approach.
“Good morning, Mr. Silver,” he says to Craig. “What can I do for you?”
“I set up an appointment for a client meeting with my dad today for noon.”
The receptionist looks at his computer, scrolls for a second. “Ah yes. You two can go on up.”
“Thanks.”
“Thank you,” I say to him. Craig and I walk to the elevators and push the button to go up. The doors open immediately and we step in. Craig presses a button marked WS and the doors close.
“What’s that …” I start to ask, reading the button.
“It stands for Will Silver,” Craig tells me with a smirk. Then he rolls his eyes.
“Ah, gotcha.” I smile back at him.
The ride up is quiet between us. My heart is pounding, although I try to keep my face impassive. When we finally reach the top floor the elevator doors ding open and I’m presented with a hallway leading to a huge oaken double door at the end. Craig and I walk out. There’s no one else up there. The hallway is lined with doors on either side, all closed. We pass by them and reach the double doors at the end. Craig knocks on them, a booming sound.
“Come in,” calls a voice. Will Silver.
Craig turns the handle and pushes the door open, leading us into a vast penthouse office.
This place is huge. Vast windows showcase a gorgeous view of the city and surrounding landscape on all three walls. At one end is a relaxed-looking lounge area, with couches, a table, and a wet bar. At the other end Will Silver sits behind his large mahogany desk, filing cabinets behind him. He has a laptop open in front of him.
“Ah,” Will says, closing the laptop and standing up from his desk. “You must be Cynthia.”
He reaches me and shakes my hand. I keep my grip firm, but not overpowering.
“Good to finally meet you,” I say. “And thank you for this meeting.”
His eyes are on mine. He smiles and doesn’t blink, but a small facial stress shows me that something seems wrong.
“It’s my pleasure,” he says.
We end the handshake and let go, but he keeps looking at me. He hasn’t acknowledged Craig once so far.
“You look familiar,” he tells me, flat-out. I keep my face impassive as my heart almost stops in my chest. The hospital. Is he remembering me from the hospital?
“I have that kind of face,” I say with a smile. “My mom told me I look like a young Helen Hunt.”
A nod, eyes still searching. “Yes. That must be it. Well!” He suddenly perks up. “I like my initial meetings with clients to be somewhat informal. Care to have a seat?”
He indicates the leather couches at the other side of the office.
“Thank you.” We three head over there.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“Oh, just a water for me, thanks.”
“I’ll have a whiskey on the rocks, myself,” he says, looking at Craig for the first time. Craig blinks for a moment.
“Uh, sure. I’ll go get those,” he says with a forced pleasantness. I sit down on one of the couches and Will sits across from me while Craig goes to fix us our drinks.
“So,” Will says. “Craig told me he got in contact with you and you’d like to purchase some of our products?”
“Yes,” I tell him. Lance and I went over my back story a number of times. “I work at a mental health clinic as one of their consulting psychologists. I’d be interested in some of your antipsychotics.”
“Well, we have a vast range of them available,” Will says. Craig comes over with the drinks and hands Will’s to him. Will doesn’t acknowledge his son as he takes the proffered drink. “Are you looking just for mild sedatives, or do you need products that will help with things like schizophrenia and bipolar disorder too?”
Craig hands me my drink and I thank him. He takes a seat on the same couch as his dad.
“Well, to be honest, as a psychologist I’m a little wary of the side effects of these drugs versus an approach that focuses mostly on therapy.”
Will takes a sip of his whiskey and nods. “Of course, of course,” he says. “If a patient is able to get the help they need without the influence of pharmaceuticals, then that is the best course of action. And that’s what I tell most of our prospective clients. Therapy might cost more in the long run, and take a lot longer, but its results are everlasting. Pharmaceuticals—most of them, at least—may help cover up the problem but you’d be hard-pressed to find a drug that’ll cure someone of something.”
“Right.”
“Having said that,” he takes another sip, “there might be cases where therapy is not an option. Financial reasons. Or time constraints. Or maybe the patient doesn’t herself want to go through the hours and years of therapy necessary to rid her of her demons. And those are the cases that I’m most interested in. Some doctors over-prescribe, and some pharmaceutical companies try to wring out every last buck from their customer, but not me. I feel very strongly that PharmaChem’s products should be used for the betterment of the client, not to pad our own wallets.”
Wow. That was not a response I was expecting from Will Silver. After everything I’ve heard about him, and the effects I’ve seen from what he’s done. Either he’s a master actor, or he legitimately is interested in helping people out.
“Well, that is a very reassuring thing to hear,” I tell him, and he gives a satisfied nod. “I’ve looked into your products online, and Craig’s pitch definitely made it sound like a good deal.”
Will gives another nod, but doesn’t turn to include Craig in this.
“I take a lot of pride in the work I do here,” he tells me. I see Craig square his jaw, looking at his dad.
Okay, Katie. “There is, though, another reason for my being here.”
Will raises an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”
“I’ve been led to believe that your company specializes in a different sort of product. The kind that isn’t sold over counters by a Pharmacist.”
He keeps his poker face on, his eyes trained on mine. The glass of whiskey and ice stays in his hand, unmoving. I keep my eyes on his, not looking away, trying to project an expression of certainty and determination. I’m Cynthia Lowe from Seattle. I want some of his street drugs. He will sell them to me.
Finally Will takes in a breath through his nose and settles back on the leather couch. He lifts the whiskey to his lips, takes a sip, lowers it again and swallows.
“How much are you looking for?”
Yes! I stay in character as I pretend to consider this. “Well, it would be a trial run at first. Although there are many of us, with, how should I say, voracious appetites.” I smile and give him a wink, to which he smirks back. “Perhaps … a few pounds to start?”
His eyebrows lift, almost an imperceptible amount. He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving mine.
“A few pounds … that’s quite a sample.”
“Well, if we make this deal, then I assure you we will become very big, and very loyal, customers. Besides, I’ve heard the quality of your product is top of the line.” Will nods again.
“One of the benefits of everything being done in-house,” he tells me. “Complete control of the quality of both raw ingredients and finished product. Of course, this is a pharmaceutical company, so we’re always trying out new things. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised with what we have to offer.”
I nod. “I heard a rumor, the night before last, about one of your facilities burning down?”
His smile falters, the first sign of weakness he’s shown. “An electrical fire, unfortunately. We thought we’d found the source of the problem last night, but … it got away from us.”
“It got away from you?” My mind goes to Flynn, his body looking beaten and bruised.
“Yes. But we’ll get it soon enough. Don’t worry.”
“There isn’t a problem with the quality of the conditions of the facility?”
“Of course not.” I see Will bristle a bit at this accusation. “Our facilities are top of the line.”
“Well, perhaps not if one burned down from an electrical fire.”
I keep my eyes trained on Will, and he’s staring back at me. Be strong. Craig’s advice from before. He doesn’t respect people who he thinks are weak.
Finally Will nods. “I admit, sometimes even we have tweaks that need working out.”
“Well,” I make myself look unsure, “my colleagues aren’t as interested in a product where tweaks need to be worked out. Is there something you could do to put my mind at rest?”
He narrows his eyes.
“If you’re looking for a sample of the product …”
But I laugh, cutting him off. “No, that won’t be necessary. I have it on good authority that the quality of your product is fine. I’m more worried about this facility. Would it be too much to ask you to show me one, so that I get a better sense of what I’d be signing on to?”
I see Will’s jaw work. Our eyes remain locked together.
“You want a … tour of one of our facilities?”
Shit. “More of a reassurance.” Stay strong, Katie. Don’t let him call your bluff.
Will keeps looking at me. I keep my eyes on him. Beside him, Craig is watching the two of us.
“You know, dad,” he says, and it’s like something taut in Will’s brain suddenly relaxed. He blinks, turning to regard his son, looking as though he forgot Craig was there at all. “It’s not a bad idea. Give Cynthia a better idea of what we have going on.”
I can see the ill-concealed anger in Will’s eyes. But his voice remains steady when he talks.
“Yes, you’re right, son,” he says. Turning back to me, “When are you available?”
“I’m free right now,” I tell him.
“Good. Now it is, then. Okay. Let’s go.”
Will stands up, downing the rest of his whiskey. I stand up too, followed by Craig. My untouched glass of water goes onto the coffee table with a nervous thunk. I try to keep my emotions out of my face, but all I can think is, This is it. It worked. We’re finally going to get Will Silver. And then it’ll all be over.