Ethan
There’s a long list of things about my job that don’t change. People’s personalities—both the co-workers I know now well and the investors we deal with regularly—tend to stay static.
I always show up around the same time every morning, and, without fail, stay way too fucking late into the evening. In some cases, I run back to my apartment for a short nap and a shower before walking the two blocks back to the office and starting it all over again.
Another rock fucking solid constant is that there’s always a calamity of some kind. A good chunk of people working at the firm are experts at panicking, giving in to fear at every opportunity.
I couldn’t imagine living like that. I’m lucky I’m predisposed, for whatever reason, to keeping my fucking cool and efficiently dealing with crises as they come.
My co-workers are lucky that somebody like me is always there to lend some soothing stoicism and to just fucking take care of things.
This morning, the feeling of electric angst throughout the firm is so strong that I can feel it in the Woolworth Building lobby, and even more strongly on the elevator up to the twenty-eighth floor.
I enter the suite of offices where the ambient anxiety is so strong I can almost feel my hairs standing up on end.
While I don’t appreciate being infected with useless worry, I know that a lot of people at the firm, from partners down to interns, are terrified at the thought of getting caught up in headline-making criminal proceedings.
The hallway leading to my office is buzzing with chatter. Everyone ignores me; maybe they’re assuming I’m responsible for getting them into this shit.
Once again, I’ll have to handle this for the sake of everyone’s sanity. It’s just going to take longer than usual.
Behind me, I hear all the noises of this morning—the quiet, tense conversations of interns, the shuffling of papers, the harried footsteps—suddenly stop with the hasty closing of office doors.
This is the second time I’ve heard that particular concerto, and it can only mean one thing.
“Good morning, Mister Barrett.”
Five years and five thousand miles from where I last heard it, that clear, high, and lovely voice is part of my life again. Crises are part of my routine, but this is a whole different set of challenges.
I let some time elapse, soaking in the rare quiet of the office corridor, quietly inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly before finally turning to face Madeline.
That nervous energy is still floating around. I hope Madeline doesn’t sense any of it. As for me, I still have a dry mouth, and my heart is pounding hard against my chest.
“I didn’t mean to send everyone running,” she exclaims from down the hall. She’s wearing a form-fitting dark gray pinstriped suit that flatters her curves perfectly. Her hair is pulled back in a French twist, letting her distinctly striking facial features shine on their own.
She still looks good and knows how to dress well. Good for her.
I’ve got other things to deal with right now. Madeline-related things. But they’ve got nothing to do with her appearance.
“Don’t take it personally,” I reply, walking towards her this time. “Everyone here is very busy, you understand.”
“Of course.”
Drawing closer, I’m struck by a familiar aroma. Roses and vanilla. They remind of other things, memories that come flooding back so strongly—ocean air, pineapple, rum. I almost need to stop walking.
“I know you’re not familiar with our firm,” I say, “but we have a lot of people visit. Keep in mind that not everything that happens is because of you.”
I stop a few feet away from Madeline, keeping a distance that’s slightly too far for a comfortable conversation. I’m close enough that I can’t escape that aroma, which, I’ll admit, is really nice, but I don’t look at her directly.
“It doesn’t matter.” She still has a way of being perfectly cold when she wants, but I’m not going to think about that or let it get to me. “As of now, I only need to speak with you. You’ve got—or can get—everything I need.”
I look up at the gothic ceiling, taking in every nuance of the architecture.
“I’m sure I do.”
I’m being sarcastic and saying nothing of consequence. I make the mistake of tilting my eyes downward a bit too far, and I end up catching the vivid emerald force of Madeline’s eyes, fixed right on me and, for some reason, betraying discomfort at what I just said.
She’s reading too much into things.
“Well, for the sake of your workplace, I hope everyone gets used to the idea of my presence. I’d like to make this as quick and painless as possible, but I don’t want to lie to you...”
“Likewise,” I counter.
I’m not considering my responses or my interruptions. I’m more or less listening to myself speak while studying the wood-grain patterns on a closed office door.
That was kind of fucking stupid of me to say to the investigator, but I’m admittedly unschooled in the way this works. It seems unusual right now, but I won’t let it throw me off.
“Uh, good. Anyway, this’ll be quick. This is just another preliminary visit. In the spirit of honesty, since you seem to believe in it, I’ll tell you that we already have a file with all the documents we’ll probably need. That’s not what I’m here for.”
I nod, although I do feel a bit irritated at the bureaucracy. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
I’m positive everyone else in the office right now is crouched and crowded on the other side of these closed doors—just like they were yesterday—listening for clues as to what the fuck is going on.
I’m sure my last statement didn’t help.
“That’s what I’m here for.” Madeline’s quick answer and assured tone give me a little jolt. A specific kind of charge that I thought I’d forgotten about.
That I’ve tried to forget about.
Feeling it again is going to set me back. Like I said, this is the biggest set of challenges I’ve had, but it’s still just another crisis.
I want to tell her that, along with the whole commission, she’s wasting her time with this.
I would actually do it if it wouldn’t make me sound desperate and shady as hell.
I’ll just have to let her waste this time and take her word for it that it will be quick and painless.
“Mister Barrett...you said I could call you Ethan, right?” Madeline’s voice is much gentler now, but it’s still clear and confident.
I feel another one of those charges, and my eyes are drawn to hers again.
I look away before I can even register their color or intensity. This time, I focus on the carpet, the toes of my polished derby shoes, and the pointed black tips of Madeline’s business pumps.
“Yeah, I said that.”
“Ethan,” Madeline addresses me softly, walking closer. I wish she would stop. “I realize this isn’t easy. Especially when everybody here, it seems, sort of abandoned you to face me alone.”
“I think I can handle it,” I say while staring straight down at our shoes facing each other.
“Hey, Ethan? Ahem, Earth to Ethan.” I see Madeline wave her hand in front of my downward-cast face, and I finally force myself to look up.
She’s smiling lightly.
Okay, she’s won me over enough for that. She’s personable, which must come in handy with her job.
“What?” I ask.
“It’s important that you hear what I’m saying; otherwise, this could end up a lot more difficult for everyone.”
“Okay, Madeline.”
Madeline’s smile changes from cautiously polite to subtly wistful, and she glances down herself, for probably less than a second, before shooting her green gaze back to me.
“This investigation is my life right now, so I’ll tell you what—I can work with your schedule. I don’t want to have to rush anything or create some sort of issue that could muddy or delay things.”
I glimpse at my wristwatch for no reason.
“My schedule? Yes, that can be a problem, sometimes.”
“I know, Ethan. So, here’s what I’m going to do.” Madeline reaches into a side pocket I didn’t even know was there and pulls out an off-white business card.
Fuck, I said her name. Has she even introduced herself in the office?
She hands me her card, and it appears legitimate enough. Her name is printed there, first and last.
If there was ever a time or a place to deny it, it’s not here, and it’s not now.
Another break in routine today: I go home shortly after five in the afternoon. It’s still light outside when I get home.