5
I was able to get away to meet Mark three months later. We met up in London. I’d never felt such anticipation, or the thrill that came when I laid eyes on him again. We rented a cottage in a tiny village and hid away from the world for five blissful days.
We made love. Not sex, no. Love. He was my perfect match. He knew what I wanted before I did. He was strong yet gentle, overwhelming in his passion for me. I couldn’t stop touching him, stroking his skin, his jaw, the slope of his shoulders. He had the most expressive eyes, and I could see everything he felt in them. The storm of passion, the placid calm of contentment. The deep pain of parting.
For five days, we ate, drank, made love, and talked. We teased and laughed, and he held me when I cried. Neither of us wanted to go. Parting was torture. We swore to each other that we’d meet again. We had to. I couldn’t bear the thought of this being goodbye.
The next morning, I decided I needed a plan. Something concrete. A checklist to follow to find out what really happened to Mom. And the first step was to learn the details about the accident that night.
The police station in Nebraska was a Google search away and had a website. Unfortunately, they didn’t have an online request form—they were a small precinct and apparently not that high tech. I had to look up the phone number and speak to an actual person. Ugh.
“Now when was this?” the officer asked for the third time. He sounded older than dirt, and I had to talk really loudly because he was hard of hearing.
“January 12, 2000,” I repeated. Leaning over, I lightly banged my forehead on my desk. “A car accident with a fatality.”
“And how do you spell your last name again?”
Okay, I couldn’t blame him for that one. I slowly repeated each letter, all fifteen of them.
“And you say you were involved in the accident?”
I banged my head again. Harder. “Yes.”
“Okay, miss.” He didn’t try to pronounce my last name. “You’ll need to provide proof of identity. You can mail or fax us a copy of a government-issued photo ID . . .”
I had an app for that and was faxing a copy of my driver’s license as he continued.
“. . . and then we’ll get back to you within three to five days.”
“I just faxed my ID,” I said. “Why will it take so long?”
“Sweetheart”—he sighed, sounding tired—“we got boxes stacked in the basement that go back fifty years. It’ll take me some time to dig through them.”
I heaved a mental sigh. “Okay. Thanks.”
We hung up and I made a carefully precise check mark on my list, then added another item at the bottom. Receive Police Report. The items were now out of chronological order, and I almost rewrote the list when there was a knock at my door. It was Jackson.
“So I found more info on that company,” he said. I stepped aside to let him in. He carried a manila folder and handed it to me as he passed by. Flipping it open, I began reading as he continued to speak. “They’ve been in business for twenty-five years. They started small, with no more than a handful of employees. The job they did for Y2K compliance is what put them on the map.”
I followed him to the couch and sat down. “It’s strange that such a small company would get that high profile a job.”
“Agreed. My guess is that someone who knew this company would be an easy place to put Chen must’ve helped. Someone on the inside, maybe.”
I glanced up at him from the file. “If we can find that person, they might know how to access the back door,” I mused. “Or even tell us if it still exists.”
“I suggest we go to New York and meet with the current owner,” Jackson said. “He might know more of the history of the company. There wasn’t much in the public records until they went public back in 2005.”
“We?”
“I have a plane,” he said. “Plus, without my name, you won’t get in the door. But he’ll meet with me.”
He was right. Jackson’s presence would make it much easier. I was glad to not go alone, but being with Jackson in such close proximity made me leery. I didn’t want to lead him on or hurt him any more than I already had.
But he was the one who suggested it. “Are you sure? You don’t mind?”
“Absolutely. Go pack. I’ll call my pilot.”
Okay, then.
I packed on autopilot, mindlessly grabbing clothes and checking items off my Things to Pack for an Overnight Trip list. I wondered what would have happened if Jackson hadn’t been willing to help me. The thought of being around him for a couple of days was appealing, and at the last minute, I tossed in the little makeup bag Mia had made me buy and stock with bottles and tubes and brushes. I added Mom’s journal, too. It hurt to read it, but she’d written it and deserved to have it read.
When I came back down to the living room, Jackson was just hanging up his phone. “Ready?” he asked.
“Just a minute.” I tossed a few fish flakes in for the Doctor. He was swimming around pretty steadily. He seemed healthy enough, but that was always the case before turning belly-up. “Okay. Ready.”
Lance, Jackson’s butler/chef/driver/whatever-else-he-needed, met Jackson at the airport with an overnight bag for him. He smiled when he saw me, and I smiled back.
“Miss China,” he said, “it’s so good to see you again. We’ve missed your warm presence in the house.”
I caught the we and opened my mouth to ask if he was using the royal “we” when I realized he must have meant Jackson. A subtle message? I was amazed that I’d caught it.
“I’ve missed being there,” I replied.
Jackson rested his hand on the small of my back and guided me up the stairs. The touch surprised me, but I didn’t mind. It was comforting to know he could still touch me in a casual way.
We were settled in our seats and in the air before I gasped, remembering.
“What?” Jackson asked. “Are you okay?”
I hesitated. “It’s just . . . I forgot to tell Clark I was leaving town.” I thought for a second, frowning. “Though I guess, technically, I don’t have to.”
Jackson’s face had gone carefully blank. “Why is that?”
“Because we’re just . . . friends,” I said. “I mean, it’s not as though I need to ask permission.” Then why did I feel a nagging sense of having done something wrong?
“You’re just friends.” A statement. Not a question. And his tone had been one of disbelief.
“Yeah. I mean we’re good friends . . .” I really didn’t want to discuss the Benefits part of Clark’s and my relationship. “But it’s not like I’m going to marry him. I don’t want that.” And even I could sense we’d gone into This Is Awkward territory.
“Marriage is a big deal,” he agreed.
I felt so awkward. “I mean, yeah.” I babbled on. “And over half of marriages end in divorce, which is awful. Then there are the ones who should get divorced, but don’t. I mean, look at my parents. My mom met someone else she fell head over heels for, but stayed with my dad out of obligation.” The word tasted sour. “And the man she loved so much, betrayed and killed her. Marriage is a farce.”
Turning, I looked out the window, staring unseeing at the clouds. Jackson was facing me, seated in the chair on the other side of the table, and I could feel his gaze on me.
“Would you like something to drink?”
The soft sound of the flight attendant’s voice made me turn. “Um, sure. Do you have Red Bull?” I doubted it, but it was worth a shot.
She smiled. “Of course. Mr. Cooper has been stocking it since your first flight with us.”
Oh. Well, that was thoughtful.
Jackson asked for coffee with cream, and the attendant headed to the galley to get our drinks.
“You stocked Red Bull for me?” I asked.
“Well, I certainly don’t drink it,” Jackson said. “Tastes like deer piss.”
I burst into laughter at the look on his face. “That would mean you’ve actually caught a deer and tasted its urine,” I teased. “Otherwise, how could you possibly compare the two?”
“You’re underestimating the capability of the human imagination,” he replied, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. “And they do sell deer urine. I could taste it, if I was so inclined. I’m not, but I could.”
“What’s the weirdest thing you ever ate?” I asked, suddenly struck by curiosity.
“Hmm, let me think.” He squinted a little in concentration. “I think it would have to be octopus. Not because it’s odd or weird to have eaten it, but because the tentacles were still moving.”
I stared at him, jaw agape. “You’re kidding me. That’s so wrong.” I shuddered just thinking about it. “If I ever visited the Far East, I’d starve. I don’t do weird food.”
“They have McDonald’s there.”
“Yes, but I know it’s not proper McDonald’s. American McDonald’s. They’ve made it all weird.” I made a face and Jackson chuckled. I shrugged. “I have the palate of a twelve-year-old, what can I say?”
For a moment, we both were smiling, and the weight I’d carried around inside my gut since I broke off our engagement lifted.
“I’ve really missed you,” I said. “I don’t know if you want to hear that or not—”
“Of course I do,” he interrupted. “Selfishly, I’m glad you’ve missed me. It gives me hope.”
I shook my head. “Don’t. Don’t say that. I can’t be responsible for your happiness. I will fail you.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“People are inherently selfish. They hurt those they care about. Even when they don’t want to. It’s inevitable.”
“Pain in life is inevitable,” he said. “I agree with that. It’s naive and foolish to think you’ll go through life unscathed. But neither can you fear the hurt so much that you wall yourself off from people and close relationships. I think the vast majority of people would say that they’d still choose the same path, even if it ended badly.”
The attendant brought us back our drinks, and I thought about it. I wondered what my mom would’ve said to that. If she’d have still chosen to fall in love with Danvers, knowing her life would end at his hands. I couldn’t imagine that she would.
“I doubt my mother would agree with you,” I said.
“Oh, I think she would.”
My gaze turned skeptical. “Why on earth would you think that? She died because of misplaced love and trust.”
“But she had you. I don’t think even knowing how it turned out would’ve made her regret the path that brought you about.”
Tears stung my eyes and I hurriedly looked out the window, gulping down my Red Bull to conceal my emotion. To his credit, Jackson said nothing more. He rose and retrieved his laptop, moving to another table so he could work, and leaving me to my thoughts.
Jackson changed into a suit before we landed, making me glance down at my own attire. Jeans and my S.P.E.W. T-shirt.
“I don’t think I’m dressed appropriately,” I said. Programmer Business Casual was fine for work, but not for meeting with the CEO of a company who managed assets worth more than $150 billion.
“It’s New York,” Jackson said, straightening his tie. “We’ll stop somewhere.”
Clothes shopping. One of my least favorite activities. The only thing I enjoyed shopping for was lingerie. The perfect bra still eluded me despite drawers full of them in my bedroom.
We landed in New York to beautiful weather. The sun was shining in a cloudless, brilliant blue sky. The temperature was a crisp sixty-eight, making it deliciously warm in the sun. I lingered on the tarmac for a moment, breathing it in. Closing my eyes, I took a moment to feel the sun on my face. Vitamin D was good for the body. Sunshine was good for the soul. The majority of light on my skin was from the glow of a computer monitor.
A black sedan was waiting for us, and Jackson held the door open for me to get in while the driver stowed our luggage in the trunk. I realized, somewhat ruefully, that I was pretty darn spoiled by Jackson’s lifestyle. They said money couldn’t buy happiness, but it sure made life easier and more pleasant.
I looked out the window as we drove into the city. I’d never been to New York before. The number of taxis in the streets was incredible. It seemed as though every other car was a taxi. Traffic was heavy and we moved at a snail’s pace.
“Charlie, let’s make a stop at Bergdorf Goodman,” Jackson said.
“Yes, sir.”
“That sounds expensive,” I said.
“It’s New York. Everything is expensive.”
It wasn’t as though I was destitute. I made good money and had a healthy savings account, but it seemed frivolous to spend a lot of money on one outfit. I saw a Forever 21 up ahead. “What about there?”
“You want to go into a meeting wearing a twenty-dollar dress and ask the CEO to believe you know what you’re talking about and aren’t just some weird tinfoil-hat conspiracy theorist?”
I pushed my glasses up my nose. “Well, that’s one way of looking at it.”
“Clothes are your first impression,” he said. “They make a statement. You want it to be the right one.”
The driver pulled up outside a beautiful building on the corner of Fifth Avenue. I craned my neck to see, then nearly fell out of the car when the driver opened the door. He caught my arm and stopped my tumble.
“Thanks.” I recovered as gracefully as I could.
“I’ll call when we’re ready,” Jackson said, rounding the car to where I stood on the sidewalk. “I’d guess a couple of hours or so.”
“Yes, sir.”
“A couple of hours?” I protested as Charlie drove off. “To buy an outfit?”
“Have you ever been to New York before?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then we should stay a day or two. Go to the theater. Sightsee. You could use a few days off.”
His phone rang before I could reply, and he glanced at the screen. “Go on inside,” he said. “Personal shoppers are on the fourth floor. I’ll be up in a minute.”
The doors were intimidating in and of themselves, but the inside made my jaw drop. Champagne-colored carpet, chandeliers, and people dressed in clothes nicer than anything I owned. And that was just the employees.
To say I didn’t fit in would be an understatement. A woman passed me with a diamond on her finger the size of a marble, expensive perfume wafting in her wake. I felt like I was the round peg, and this square hole was really uncomfortable.
I took a deep breath. I was a grown woman. I had four degrees and a six-figure job. This would be simple. A shopper would make it even easier, and quicker. So . . . fourth floor it was.
Making my way through the store to the elevators, I rode it to the fourth floor. An opulent lobby greeted me, clothes tastefully displayed—not on racks, but one complete outfit at a time.
I wandered forward, drawn to an elaborate evening gown in rose silk. The neckline plunged, as did the back, soft lace in the V inserts that would be see-through when worn. The skirt flowed to the floor, a slit concealed up one side. It looked exquisite, like something a princess would wear.
“May I help you?”
I jumped, startled, and whirled around to see that a woman had approached me. She had an I’m-paid-to-be-friendly smile and was dressed simply in a black just-below-the-knee skirt and white blouse. Her black heels were sensible but classic.
“Um, yeah.” I pushed my glasses up my nose. “I need to buy a business outfit. Can you help me?”
She glanced at my ponytail, her gaze drifting down my T-shirt to my jeans and worn tennis shoes. “The clothes we have here are very . . . exclusive. There is an excellent Lord & Taylor down the street. Or perhaps Macy’s might be a better choice for you.”
A flush of embarrassment crept up my neck, but anger burned as well. I narrowed my eyes.
“Are you implying that I’m not good enough to wear these clothes?”
Her lips thinned. “No,” she said, her voice curt. “I’m implying that you can’t afford them. And I don’t have time to waste on a tourist wanting to try on designer clothes as a lark, no doubt posting photos to Instagram and Twitter and sucking up my entire afternoon with your nonsense.” She paused to take a breath and continued more calmly. “So please show yourself out.”
I was pissed now. “Excuse me,” I said to her retreating back, my voice like ice. “I am a customer and you are paid to help me. Or shall I tell your manager that you’ve not only insulted a client but refused to sell me merchandise? Your position here might be in jeopardy if I were to do that.
“Not to mention that it’s grossly out of date and out of touch to assume I can’t afford the clothes here just by looking at me,” I continued. “I realize you may have to deal with tourists, but you shouldn’t assume.” I took a breath. “Now. I need a business outfit. Will you help me or not?” Though at this point, I should probably have just asked for a different salesperson. But for some reason, she’d pushed my buttons.
Her eyes were wide and she took a moment, then smiled thinly. “Of course. You are correct. My apologies, Miss . . . ?”
“China,” I said. “You can call me China.”
It was at this moment that the elevator doors opened, and Jackson stepped out. He spotted me and walked over to stand behind me. He glanced at the saleslady and our standoff, a question in his eyes.
The lady’s mouth gaped. Obviously, she’d recognized him. Her face paled.
“I-I’m so sorry . . . China,” she stammered, dragging her gaze from Jackson to me. “It was a long weekend and I shouldn’t have taken that out on you. Please accept my most sincere apology.”
I wanted to roll my eyes but refrained. Of course it would take a man showing up for her to take me seriously.
“What’s going on here?” Jackson asked.
“She thought I should leave because I obviously can’t afford any of their clothes,” I replied.
Jackson’s gaze turned cold. “Maybe we should go elsewhere.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” the lady hastily interjected. “We have many things that would complement China’s beautiful coloring and figure.”
I took pity on her. She probably did have to deal with annoying tourists, and, considering my attire, I shouldn’t blame her for assuming. Though she had been rude about it.
“It’s fine,” I said to Jackson. “I’m sure . . .” I waited, looking at the lady.
“Brenda,” she said.
“I’m sure Brenda will be able to help me,” I finished.
Her relief was evident in her smile. “Absolutely. Follow me, please.”
Brenda showed Jackson to a seating area and took me into a private room before scurrying off to find clothes. I was surprised that she didn’t even ask my size, but when she returned and I began trying on clothes, I could tell she hadn’t needed to ask. She had me pegged perfectly.
Usually, business trousers were too long on me, but the petite in the ones Brenda brought fit perfectly. Black with a thin pinstripe, they hugged my hips and tapered to hug my ankles. The blouse was thin, crimson silk with a scoop neck and short sleeves. Brenda slipped on a jacket that matched the pants. A jacket would also be too long, but this one hit right at my hips. Buttoning the single button at my navel pulled the fabric in to accentuate my waist.
Brenda brought a pair of shoes the exact same shade as my blouse. They were closed toe with an open insole and a tiny strap that buckled around my ankle. The heel was only a couple inches high, but it was skinny. I wasn’t positive I wouldn’t break an ankle, but I decided to try anyway.
When she stepped back and I saw myself in the mirror, I was stunned. Surely the woman staring back was a different China. Yes, I looked young, but my ponytail and glasses fit the outfit. Business Chic is what Mia would’ve said. Feminine without being provocative. In short, I loved it.
“I’ll take it,” I said. “Do you have more stuff like this?”
Brenda smiled, a real one this time. “Absolutely.”
As she headed out of the dressing area, Jackson walked in. “Give us a second,” he said to her. She nodded and disappeared.
“What do you think?” I asked, doing a slow 360.
He looked me over from head to toe, and smiled. “Perfect.”
I could’ve sworn his gaze lingered on my ass.
I shrugged off the jacket, carefully replacing it on the hanger. “She went to get me a few more things. Another outfit or two wouldn’t hurt.”
The blouse was sleeveless and had a single keyhole button behind my neck. I struggled with it for a minute before Jackson stepped forward.
“Here, let me.”
I bent my head and waited. The soft brush of his fingers against my skin gave me goose bumps. He was close enough for me to smell his cologne and feel the heat of his body. It took him longer than it should’ve to undo the button. When he did, I lifted my head and caught our reflection in the full-length mirror.
Jackson was looking down at me, his hands settling on my shoulders before drifting down my arms in a light caress. The expression on his face was pained.
Settling on my waist, he tugged at the fabric, untucking it from my pants. He lifted and I obediently raised my arms so he could take off the blouse. It floated to the floor. Bending, he pressed his lips to my bare shoulder.
I shuddered, my eyes slipping closed. His lips moved closer to my neck, and I tilted my head to the side. I heard him breathe in deeply, as though reacquainting himself with my scent. The thought brought tears to my eyes.
He touched me and kissed my skin with such tenderness, it was nearly reverent. Grasping his hands in mine, I crossed my arms over my chest, enclosing myself in his embrace.
My skin was pale against the black of his suit, my bra a matching black lace. Even with the red heels, he still stood head and shoulders above me. His head was bowed and his eyes were closed, his lips an inch from my ear. I could feel the warmth of his breath and the beat of his heart.
Jackson slid his hands from mine and stepped back. His eyes met mine in the mirror. His expression was blank now, the pain from before gone.
“I’ll send Brenda in,” he said, and left the room.
The rest of the session was a blur, my mind preoccupied with Jackson. I took what Brenda suggested for another two sets of business attire, then decided to leave, wearing the first outfit.
When I finally emerged, Jackson was waiting in the padded chair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee while he thumbed through his phone.
Brenda hovered nearby and glanced uncertainly between Jackson and me. Ah yes. The bill.
“Allow me,” Jackson said, reaching for his wallet.
My pride reared its head. “No.” That came out more sharply than I’d intended. They both looked at me. “I can pay for my own clothes, Jackson, but thank you for the offer.” There. A socially acceptable thanks-but-no-thanks.
Jackson’s lips twitched slightly, and he lifted his arms in a gesture of surrender. “As you wish.”
I reached for my backpack. Brenda visibly winced at my Buffy wallet but took my credit card readily enough. The total was enough to make me think the fabric here was spun from fairy dust and angel wings. I could’ve bought another Iron Man. Or two.
“Hungry?” Jackson asked once I’d signed the receipt. “I set up the meeting for four this afternoon.”
It was almost one and I hadn’t eaten all day. “Yeah, that sounds good.”
“There’s a place on the seventh floor here that’s good. And has a great view of Central Park.”
The host recognized Jackson with a smile and nod, leading us to a table for two. The chairs reminded me more of thrones, plush and with backs that curved up and over my head. Way over my head. I was just glad my feet didn’t dangle. Once we were seated, our faces were half-hidden from any casual observers.
The table was right next to a window with a smack-dab center view of Central Park. It was a gorgeous view, with spring flowers blooming and foliage gradually filling out the trees.
The menu was full of things that I wouldn’t eat, including lobster mac and cheese. Why would they ruin a perfectly good bowl of mac and cheese by putting the rubbery innards of an exoskeleton in it? I’d always wondered how hungry the first person had been who’d looked at a lobster or crab and said, Hey, I wonder if I could eat that?
I went with a plain roasted chicken breast. “Can they leave off the asparagus sauce?” That didn’t sound like something I’d like.
“Of course,” the waiter said. “And for you, sir?”
“I’ll have the filet. Medium rare.”
“Very good, sir.”
The waiter left us and I sipped the white wine Jackson had ordered. I felt decadent, wearing designer duds, eating a gourmet lunch in New York, overlooking Central Park, and drinking before five. Lifestyles of the rich and famous.
My cell buzzed and I glanced at the screen. Clark.
“I should take this,” I said to Jackson.
He nodded and rose. “I’ll give you privacy.”
“Hi,” I answered as he walked away from the table and went to take a seat at the bar.
“The video is authentic,” Clark said.
“I figured as much. I put a request in today for the official police report of the accident. I don’t really remember what happened.”
“You don’t think it was an accident anymore, obviously.”
“I think her death was too coincidental, given what she said on the tape.”
“I’ve got a buddy at the CIA. We do favors for each other, usually under the radar. I’m going to have him look up your mom’s case file. If she was an agent, she must’ve had a handler. Maybe they’re still around.”
“Thanks. That’s a good idea.”
There was a pause. “Where are you?”
I pretended ignorance. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, I went by your place and you’re not there. So where are you?”
Time to bite the bullet. I grimaced. Ugh. Bad choice of idiom. “I’m in New York.”
“New York? Why?”
“I want to meet with the man who runs Fortress Securities. I’m hoping he knows more information about the company’s history back then, or anything about malicious code in the Exchange that might’ve been found between then and now.” I conveniently left out any mention of Jackson.
“I see.” His voice was ice. “And I’m betting you didn’t fly commercial.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked. “I would’ve gone with you.”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t have wanted you to, but Jackson has the clout to get a meeting with this guy,” I said. “He offered to help.” I glanced toward Jackson, who was half-turned toward me, his elbow resting on the bar.
“I bet he did.”
Irritation bit at me. “What does it matter?” I snapped. “You aren’t my boyfriend or my boss. I don’t need your permission.”
Silence met that and I immediately regretted my words. It wasn’t that they weren’t true, but I’d said that in a way Mia would’ve described as bitchy.
“That didn’t come out right,” I hastily added. “I meant—”
“I know what you meant.” He cut me off, his tone suddenly as casual as if we were discussing the weather. “You’re right. We’re just fuck buddies. Have a good time in the Big Apple.” He ended the call.
I had the feeling that hadn’t had gone very well, despite his change in tone. His use of the term fuck buddies was needlessly vulgar and made me flinch.
“Everything okay?” Jackson asked, taking his seat.
I nodded and forced a fake smile. “Yep. Everything’s fine.”
He looked like he was going to ask another question, but our food arrived. I concentrated on not getting anything on my clothes, and Jackson didn’t pursue my phone conversation. I knew he had to have guessed it was Clark, but I certainly didn’t want to talk about it. But it had sucked the joy I’d been feeling right out of me.
We finished lunch and Jackson accepted the check the waiter handed him.
“We can go dutch,” I offered.
Jackson shot me a look and slid his credit card into the black leather folder. I put my Buffy wallet back in my backpack.
The drive to the Fortress offices took forty minutes. It passed mostly in silence. I people-watched, which in New York I realized could be an Olympic sport. I craned my neck to see around Time’s Square, my eyes wide at the huge glowing billboards and masses of tourists.
“Oh my God! Did you see that?”
I spun toward Jackson’s window as we drove by. He looked out. “What?”
“There’s a man wearing nothing but a cowboy hat, underwear, and a guitar!”
“Oh. Yeah, that’s the Naked Cowboy. Makes his money off taking pictures with tourists.”
“Does he do that year-round?” It couldn’t be a healthy profession in winter.
Jackson chuckled. “I doubt it.”
I saw others dressed as Spiderman and even a Wonder Woman. “Aren’t they worried they’ll be sued for copyright infringement?”
“They’re probably more worried about paying their rent than being sued.”
That was probably true. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs would deem a roof over one’s head more important than the threat of litigation.
Fortress Securities was housed in a skyscraper on Wall Street. We got out of the car and had to go through security—showing our IDs and walking through metal detectors—before being allowed to approach the elevator bank.
My ears popped as we zoomed to the thirty-fifth floor. I followed Jackson off the elevator into the reception area of Fortress. Glass and metal and modern decor greeted us, meant to impress without being ostentatious. My stomach tightened in knots, and I was suddenly very glad Jackson was with me.
Jackson gave his name to the receptionist, who looked like a slightly older version of Mia. Her eyes widened and she smiled so brightly at him, I was surprised not to see our reflection in her pearly whites.
“Right this way, Mr. Cooper.”
She led the way to a corner office buried deep in the building, her hips sashaying in a skirt two inches shorter than mine on legs five inches longer. Knocking on a door, she opened it to reveal an outer office that housed a secretary sitting at her desk, and couches and chairs.
“Please have a seat. Joan will take care of you. And my name is Tess, if you need anything, Mr. Cooper.” Another smile for him as she ignored me. If I wasn’t so used to it, I’d be offended.
We sat as Tess whispered something to Joan, then left, closing the door quietly behind her. Joan murmured something into the headset she wore. Five minutes later, she walked us into the inner office.
The view made me catch my breath. Sunlight glittered off the skyscrapers of Lower Manhattan, the streets and noise far below. Between the buildings, I could see the Freedom Tower, stretching toward the sky.
“Jackson, how good to finally meet you.”
A man rose from behind a spare glass-and-metal desk, rounding it to come shake Jackson’s hand. He was older than Jackson, perhaps late forties, and his smile showed perfectly even, white teeth. His suit screamed dollar signs, and he wore it as someone used to nice things. His eyes were shrewd and gleamed with intelligence and vitality. This was a man at the top of his career and in the prime of his life.
“Bruce, it’s good to meet you, too,” Jackson replied. “This is China Mack, a colleague of mine.”
I put on my Polite Smile and shook his hand. His grip was warm and firm.
“Pleasure to meet you,” he said. “Please, come, sit down. Tell me what I can do for you.” We followed him to a seating area, and each of us took a separate armchair. “I was certainly surprised to hear from you. We don’t exactly operate in the same marketplace.”
“We have some information you might be interested in,” Jackson said. “And were hoping you’d be able to answer some questions for us.”
“Of course.”
Jackson looked at me. “It has to do with something that happened before you took over as CEO,” I began. “Information has come to light about the work Fortress did back in 1999 for the New York Stock Exchange, specifically, the Y2K compliance-software update.”
Bruce stiffened ever so slightly. “What about it?”
“We have credible intel that the software was compromised,” I said. “That there was a back door installed by an employee of Fortress at the behest of a foreign power.”
Tension gripped Bruce and his eyes narrowed. “How the hell did you find out?”