Secret Keeper

by Harlan, Christopher

  “You could say that, yeah. Just a little.”

  “I figured. I could tell that you were a decent man, even when you were throwing me out of the building. That’s why I confided the truth in you that day.”

  It’s all making more sense now, but I’m still curious about just what it is that she’s getting at. “What did you want to give me?”

  “There he is again—Mr. Get-To-The-Point. I guess you’re right, I’m just kind of rambling, aren’t I? Fine, let’s get to the point.” She reaches down into her bag and pulls out a small envelope. “Here. I should have given this to you the first time you came out here to see me, but I wasn’t ready yet.”

  I open the envelope. Inside there’s a small black object. I turn the envelope over, and a small flash drive falls into the palm of my hand. I look back at Teresa, puzzled. “What’s this?”

  “Ammunition you might need one day soon. Names, dates, transactions, everything Chandler doesn’t want anyone to know—and something he doesn’t know that I have.”

  Holy shit. I can’t believe she’s offering me this. It seems too good to be true. I don’t mean to seem paranoid, but this situation has made me that way. “Why not just use it yourself? Tell the world how he wronged you?”

  “Because he paid me off. Plain and simple.”

  I can’t believe my ears. “What? What are you talking about?”

  “He offered me more money than I’ve ever seen in my life. Gave me the severance package I wasn’t offered when he let me go—plus enough money in my bank account to raise ten kids.”

  This sounds familiar. “Let me guess. All you had to do in order to accept this generous offer was to sign an NDA, right?”

  “You’re learning, Dylan. I hate to say it, but I had to do what was best for me and the baby, even if that meant taking his hush money. But that doesn’t mean you can’t use this. That bastard deserves what’s coming to him.”

  That’s right, Teresa. For once, we agree on something.

  32

  Dylan

  I’m back home.

  In my pocket is everything I need to destroy Chandler, and I know exactly what I’m going to do with it. This isn’t about ego or personal shit between me and him. I can take being fired, even though I technically wasn’t an employee. I can take being threatened, but don’t fuck with the woman I’m falling for.

  The flash drive I’m in possession of is what I know best—a secret. Not just a secret—the secret. The one Chandler would do anything to have not come out. And even better than just having it, is the fact that he doesn’t know that I have it.

  I’m going to use this to do the only thing that’s right—get Chandler to back off Penelope’s sister and get him to back off of Penelope.

  But first I want to talk to Graham.

  He and Soraya invited me over for dinner. Scratch that—I basically invited myself over for dinner. I need to talk, and I need to lick my wounds a little. No matter what happens with Chandler, I did lie to Penelope, and I feel like shit about it. If she’d just give me a chance to explain, maybe I could make her understand.

  I don’t even know how, but I need to figure something out.

  But first, dinner.

  I walk in looking as tired as I feel. Soraya catches it right away. “You’ve had better days, huh?”

  “That’s the understatement of the year. But forget me for a second, what’s that smell?”

  “Chicken Parmesan.”

  “Jesus Christ that smells like the answer to every problem the world has ever had. What the hell would the world do without Italian women?”

  “We’d wither and die, to answer your question, but before you gush, it’s take-out.”

  “I don’t care if the devil himself cooked it up in your soon to be abandoned kitchen, I need some of it in my stomach, asap.”

  “Jeez, you really did have a bad day. Like, a really bad one.”

  “Bad week.”

  Just then Graham comes around the corner looking exhausted himself. “Holy shit, what’s the matter with you, man?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  So, I tell it as we eat. Even though I wasn’t planning on saying all of this in front of Soraya, I tell them the entire story, beginning to end. I spare no detail, including me and Penelope. Graham doesn’t say anything. Soraya stops me every other sentence to ask questions—all of them trying to gather information that only women want to know.

  How did it start?

  Who initiated the first kiss?

  Did she leave Chandler?

  When I finish, she has about a thousand more questions, but it’s Graham’s silence that catches my attention. “You haven’t said a word. What are you thinking?”

  “Never get involved. I told you that.”

  I knew this was coming. The dad lecture. “Yeah, I know. She’s the exception.”

  “There are no exceptions!”

  I’ve never heard Graham raise his voice, but when he does I feel terrible about what’s happened. But I’m not going to feel ashamed of what I did—I have real feelings for Penelope, it’s not just some hook up.

  “Look, man, I’m sorry, alright. If this in any way affects you at all, I’m sorry, but that’s all I’m sorry for.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me. This isn’t some slip up in judgment, Graham. Penelope isn’t a lapse in my professional ethics—she’s an amazing woman who I’m really falling for. I was willing to risk everything to be with her, alright, and now that it’s all out in the open, I’m screwed. I need help, so if you can’t help me then I’ll move on, but I had to ask. I don’t know how to play this.”

  “Play what?”

  I left the punchline out, until now. He has to know this part also. “I. . . I was given something that’s pretty damning.”

  “What are you talking about?” Graham asks.

  That’s when I pull it out of my pocket. “This is all the dirt on Chandler’s data sharing - from a former employee, who also happens to have been his VP and is the woman he knocked up. It has names, dates, transaction fees to the data mining companies. It’s all here.”

  “And what exactly do you plan on doing with that, Dylan? Blackmailing him like it’s some movie? Does Chandler strike you as the type who easily backs down?”

  “Not at all. But I don’t care how easily he backs down, Graham. He’s going to back down.”

  “And you want what, exactly?” This time the question is coming from Soraya, who looks genuinely concerned as she’s speaking to me.

  “I only want one thing. And that’s for him to back off of threatening Penelope’s sister. The creep has been paying for her care—she has special needs. He threatened to stop paying for her private care facility if Penelope didn’t go back to him.”

  “And?” I hear Graham’s voice and I turn to him, shocked at what I’m hearing.

  “What do you mean, ‘and’?”

  “I hate to be the bad guy here, Dylan, but Chandler is under no obligation to pay for his ex-fiancé’s sister. What if they’d mutually broken up and he’d married someone else? Would you expect him to keep paying for Penelope’s sister then?”

  He has a point. I hate to say it but he has a point. “No, I wouldn’t. But there are ways to do things, you know that. If he told her, helped her pay for a few more months, or handled the situation with any sort of grace then it would be different. But he’s using the girl as leverage—trying to force Penelope to be with him by threatening her disabled sister—that’s just plain fucking wrong, Graham, and you know it. And yeah, if I need to, I’ll threaten to expose him. That has to work.”

  Graham pulls his phone out of his pocket and checks a notification that just sounded.

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Dylan.”

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Check your phone. New York Times app.”

  I pull it out and see a breaking news report. I read the headline three times to make sure I’
m not hallucinating.

  Finalist for Pulitzer Prize for Journalism— Tomas Snyder—Arrested—Charges Pending

  33

  Dylan

  I read the story as quickly as I can.

  Respected journalist and finalist for the Pulitzer, Tomas Snyder, was escorted out of his office today by the NYPD on pending charges that have yet to be released to the public. A spokesperson for the newspaper commented that he was, quote, “shocked to hear of this turn of events”. Mr. Snyder is one of the most respected journalists in New York, having worked at various times for the Associated Press, The New York Times, and many other respected publications. This allegation comes on the heels of a pending story that Snyder had recently hinted at breaking regarding, as he stated, a very large company.

  I’m not halfway done before I realize that this is all Chandler’s handiwork. I can read people, and Tomas was a stand-up guy, a reporter all about his ethics. There’s no way in hell he did whatever it is they’re saying he did. Am I supposed to believe that it’s just a coincidence that this is happening right before he was going to publish the story on Chandler’s company?

  This is all just a little too convenient.

  “This is all him. No way Tomas is corrupt. I met him.”

  “Wasn’t this part of what he asked you to do? Interact with Tomas?”

  Shit. Even though it’s incredibly obvious once he says it, I never even put two and two together. I led Chandler to Tomas. I told him what he knew and what he didn’t know. I set this up, and now Chandler is covering his bases to make sure no one can touch him.

  First it was paying off Teresa, and now it’s Tomas.

  He’s threatened Penelope.

  That only leaves one person.

  “You need to help me here, Graham. I know you don’t agree with what I did with Penelope. I get it. And the last thing I’d ever want to do is disappoint you, but I need to know how to play this thing with Chandler. I need your help.”

  He stops and listens. I can tell he’s disappointed, but I also know that he’s one of the best human beings I know underneath the rough exterior. He takes a minute before answering me. “Let me think. Give me the night, okay? I have a million things going on but I’ll think of what to do.”

  “Thanks, man.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We shake hands, and I feel a little better. But my mind is really on something else. Scratch that—my mind is really on someone else. I keep thinking of her nonstop. She’s in my head like no other woman I’ve ever met before, and, of all the stupid shit I’ve done since meeting Chandler, I regret how things went with Penelope at the end the most. I need to make that right.

  As the evening dies down, Graham steps out into a back room to take a call. The man’s always working. I guess that’s why he has a life like he has. Maybe that’s waiting for me in the future. Who knows. But what I do know is that I can’t imagine a future without her—without Penelope. I know I haven’t known her that long, but it feels like we were meant to know one another.

  I get up to help Soraya clean up and do the dishes. “Oh no, it’s okay, you don’t need to help.”

  “Are you kidding? I’d have to be a real scumbag to just sit here staring at the wall while my pregnant host cleans up all the dishes. In fact, you know what? Why don’t you sit down and let me finish cleaning up?”

  “Dylan, you don’t. . .”

  “Eh, eh, eh. I’m not asking you. I know it’s your house and I’m your guest, but, as politely as I can, I need to tell you to sit your pregnant ass down on that chair right now and watch me rinse some plates.”

  She smiles. That’s all I was going for. “Yes, sir. And thank you.”

  “Thanks for having me. I needed to get out tonight. Even though we ended up talking about my drama in the end, it was nice to be out and around people and just eat some chicken parm and drink some wine. I needed that.”

  “I’m glad. You work hard. You could use a relaxing night, even if that didn’t actually happen.”

  “What I really need I can’t have right now.” I stop washing for a second and rub my eyes. “I really fucked things up, Soraya. I fucked them up good.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell her right away that Chandler hired you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe I thought that. . . shit, I don’t even know what I was thinking.”

  “You’ve liked her for a long time, haven’t you?”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Because,” she continues. “If it was just that night, just that date, there’s no way you’d need to keep the truth from her. Sure, you didn’t want to betray Chandler’s confidence, but I think there’s more than that—I think you didn’t say anything because you didn’t want to take the chance she’d be turned off and not like you.”

  There’s something to what she’s saying. I’ve never thought of it that way, but, now that Soraya’s saying it to me, it all makes sense. I was attracted to her the first time I saw her, and it’s only grown from there.

  “You’re right. I know it’s complicated, and I know I wasn’t following the rules, but I need her back, Soraya. What the hell can I do? She’s pissed.”

  “Own your mistake. Reach out. Tell her the truth. If it’s real then she’ll listen to you, but at least you’ll know one way or the other.”

  “I have. I’ve texted her a couple of times since she stormed off. I called her twice. Nothing. She’s not getting back to me.”

  “Then maybe she just needs some time. You can’t rush these things, Dylan. It sounds cliché, but she may just need a little time to process everything. I know it’s not satisfying right now, but give her time. If she’s really yours, then she’ll come back to you. That I do know.”

  I say my goodbyes and retreat to my apartment. The bed looks like the answer to all my prayers right now, and after I throw my clothes to the ground I collapse onto it.

  As I start to leave consciousness behind, I hear Soraya’s words echoing in my mind. . .

  If she’s really yours, then she’ll come back to you.

  God, I hope she’s right.

  34

  Penelope

  A week later

  I miss him so much.

  I know that I’m the one who walked away and blew Dylan off, but I’m missing him, body and soul. Being here in my old apartment feels wrong—like a part of my life that’s dead and decayed, yet I’m still living inside of it somehow.

  But this isn’t what I want.

  Dylan is what I want.

  Not only him, but a new life that I can see with him. We haven’t known each other that long, but there’s something about how he makes me feel that tells me we could have a real future together. When I’m with him the whole world seems very small—there are no problems, no worries, only the sea of his blue eyes for me to get lost in, and the way my body comes to life when we’re together.

  But, right now, it’s not even a possibility. I’m a prisoner in my old home. A prisoner in my old life.

  This is where my choices have led me.

  I’m standing in my old bedroom, getting ready to try on a dress that my ex fiancé bought me for a party he’s forcing me to go to. I used to care so much about his company, about his success, about the future it was going to bring us. Now that’s all up in smoke, and I’m a prisoner, doing what I have to do for my sister.

  But my mind won’t stop thinking about Dylan.

  He’s texted me a few times over the past week and I’ve been too proud and stressed out to answer him back. But I’ve really wanted to. As I slip on this cocktail dress and the jewelry Chandler wants me to wear, I look at my phone on the bed. I have it open to Dylan’s last text from a few days ago.

  Dylan: I miss you. I’m so sorry. Please give me a chance to explain. It’s not what you think.

  Maybe I was too harsh. I let my anger at Chandler affect how I reacted to Dylan. He’s a good man. There’s got to be more to the story than what Chandler shared with me.
But for some reason I walked away, and here I am, thinking about him endlessly.

  I need to text him back. The party is tonight. I’ll be surrounded by hundreds of people—press, other business people, a sea of empty suits and dresses, but the only place I want to be is in his bed, in his arms, with my head pressed against his warm chest.

  I can’t take it anymore.

  I slip out of my dress and pick up my phone.

  Me: I’m sorry. I miss you too. I have to go to this party at Chandler’s headquarters. I’ll text you after and we can figure things out.

  I put my phone back down on the bed. My body follows. I take a deep breath and look in the mirror that sits across the room. I really wished that I recognized the woman staring back at me.

  35

  Dylan

  I read her text, twice.

  Once to understand the words, and the second to make sure I’m not hallucinating.

  Soraya was right.

  I don’t want to wait. I can’t believe that she’s going to be with that asshole tonight, when she should be with me.

  All of a sudden, an idea pops into my head. Objectively, it’s a bad idea. Career suicide. The worst solution to a problem in the history of solutions.

  It’s also exactly what I’m going to do. I have no choice.

  I run to my closet to make sure it’s in there. There it is! Still clean and pressed.

  Perfect.

  I thought my evening was going to be boring. But now, I have a party to attend.

  36

  Penelope

  Later that evening

  I’m surrounded by noise, but I feel so alone.

  I have one of the richest men in the world at my side, and all I want to do is run out of here.