The Thousandth Floor
What did you have in mind? he answered, a little intrigued.
His name is Atlas Fuller. Tell me something I don’t know about him, and the job is yours.
Nadia found Atlas instantly. He was at home—on the thousandth floor. Watt was stunned. This guy actually lived on the thousandth floor? Not that Watt had given the Tower’s penthouse much thought, but if pressed, he wouldn’t have guessed a teenager lived there. What an idiot, Watt thought, running away when that was your life.
“Can we hack their home comp?” Watt asked Nadia, thinking maybe he could get a snap of Atlas in his bedroom.
But Nadia wasn’t having any luck. “It’s an incredibly sophisticated system,” she told Watt, which he knew meant that it could take weeks. Better to get something now. This job was too good to lose.
His messages, then. That would be easier to hack. Sure enough, Nadia immediately pulled up Atlas’s most recent messages. A few had been sent to guys named Ty and Maxton, and the rest to someone named Avery. None were that exciting. Watt sent them all over anyway.
Moments later the girl’s reply came in.
Congratulations, you’re hired. Now I need you to find as much as you can about what Atlas has been doing the past year.
As you wish, Watt couldn’t help replying.
In addition, the girl went on, ignoring the sarcastic turn of phrase, I’m offering a weekly payment in exchange for constant updates on him—what he’s doing, where he’s going, any information you can provide. This is all for his own safety, she concluded, in an incredibly unconvincing afterthought.
His safety, sure, Watt thought with a laugh. He knew a spurned-lover post when he saw one. This had to be either Atlas’s ex-girlfriend trying to win him back, or a current girlfriend worried about him cheating on her. Either way, the job was a freaking gold mine. Watt had never even seen a request for a hacker on retainer before; most [email protected] Haus posts were one-time gigs, because most hacks were, by nature, one-and-dones. This girl wanted to send him weekly payments, just to track her crush’s movements? It was easy money, and he had no intention of messing it up.
“Leda Cole,” Watt said aloud as he pushed SEND, “it’s going to be a real pleasure doing business with you.”
LEDA
“GOOD AFTERNOON, MISS Cole,” said Jeffrey, the doorman at Altitude Club, as Leda walked up to the elevator bank the next day. Altitude had biosecurity too, of course: Leda knew her retina had been scanned the moment she stepped into the entrance hall. But Jeffrey was the kind of personalized and old-fashioned touch that made Altitude membership so expensive. He was a constant fixture of the club, practically an institution himself by now—always at the elevator wearing white gloves and a green jacket and a warm, crinkly smile.
Jeffrey moved aside, and Leda walked into the enormous brass members-only elevator. The doors closed behind her with a satisfying click as she was whisked up from the 930th floor entrance hall, past the tennis courts and spa treatment rooms to the club’s main floor.
The Altitude lobby was lined with imposing dark mahogany and portraits of dead members. Afternoon sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the north and west walls. Leda glanced at the various groups gathered near empty fireplaces and clusters of couches, trying to seem nonchalant as she searched for Atlas. If this so-called “Nadia” person was right, his squash game should be ending right about now.
She still couldn’t believe she’d posted on that sketchy website. It had been nerve-racking—and yet a little thrilling too, doing something so clearly illegal, and dangerous.
She’d tried to upgrade her security first, but Leda still couldn’t help wondering if Nadia knew more than he or she was letting on: about who Leda was, and why she was curious about Atlas. Oh well, she thought, none of it really mattered. “Nadia” probably didn’t live in the Tower—probably wasn’t even a girl. And Leda had no intentions of dealing with her, or him, ever again once she’d gotten what she wanted.
A moment later she saw Atlas walking out of the locker room. He had on a soft blue polo that brought out the caramel-colored strands of his hair, still wet from the shower. Nice work, Nadia. “Atlas,” she said, with what she hoped was the right amount of surprise. “What are you up to?”
“Just finished a squash match with David York.” He flashed her a smile.
“Sounds like it’s all back to normal, then,” Leda replied, a little more sarcastically than she’d meant to. She wondered what the Fullers thought about his reappearance, the way he’d just materialized inexplicably at Cord’s party and jumped right back into their lives as if nothing had happened. Then again, they were the ones obsessed with maintaining appearances; this whole illusion of normalcy was probably their idea.
“About that.” He sighed. “I wish I could explain everything, but it’s complicated.”
Isn’t it always, with you? “I’m just glad you’re back okay.”
“Me too,” Atlas said softly, then glanced around the club as if noticing the flow of activity for the first time: kids heading to afternoon tennis lessons and friends meeting up for drinks on the enclosed terrace. “Sorry, were you waiting for someone?”
“I was on my way to the juice bar,” Leda lied. “Want to come?”
“You and Avery still drink that liquid spinach?” Atlas laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll pass, thanks. Wanna do the Grill instead?”