I told myself he was just like me. That he was only hoping to catch the next train.
In front of me, a pack of tourists clogged the tunnel. They were trying to figure out how the ticket machines worked.
I looked back over my shoulder.
He was only a few steps behind me now.
Sliding around the tourists and their backpacks—zigging right and zagging left—I cut through the crowd.
The man got stuck in the middle of it.
But then I ran right into a group of people who had clumped around the ticket readers. They kept trying to put their hard passes through the paper-card slots.
A line was bunching behind them.
I gave a glance over my shoulder again.
The man had freed himself from the tourists in the tunnel and was heading in my direction.
I considered jumping the turnstile, but there was an actual metro attendant in the information booth. I could get fined.
As the man approached, I angled away from him along the edges of the tourist crowd. From my position I could see down onto the metro tracks. The floor lights lining the platform began to blink. The train was approaching.
And so was the man.
“Excuse me. Pardon me.” I was counting on the tourists being polite.
Sure enough, they began to move out of my way. With a little deft maneuvering, I reached the turnstiles. “Can I show you how to do it?” I asked one of the tourists, holding my card aloft.
They parted like magic.
As I reached the ticket reader, several opportunists had already pushed forward to fill the gaps behind me. “You just—” I laid my card atop the reader and the turnstile withdrew. I ran through and then raced down the escalator.
The train glided to a stop.
I hit the platform. Glanced over my shoulder.
The man appeared at the top of the escalator. He jogged down, taking the steps two at a time.
The train’s doors hadn’t yet opened.
I ran toward the nearest one.
The man reached the bottom of the escalator.
The doors still hadn’t opened.
He pivoted from the escalator, walking toward me.
I retreated down the platform, heading toward the next train door, and then the next, positioning waiting people between us.
By the time I reached the next door, the doors still hadn’t opened.
Inside, impatient passengers were checking their watches and shifting attachés from one hand to another. On the platform, clusters had formed on both sides of the doors.
Open, open, open!
The tourists, seeing they had a chance at catching the train, poured down the escalator like a waterfall, pooling at its base and then spreading out to engulf the platform.
The man was still moving in my direction.
I left the door I was waiting in front of and moved toward the next.
A hiss. A long pause. The doors opened.
I jogged the last few steps and joined the several people waiting on the far side of the door.
The man paused. Swiveled toward the door he’d just walked past. Turned back toward my door.
Was he looking at me?
I tried to keep my head down, hiding behind the woman in front of me as we shuffled forward. But I also tried to keep an eye on the man.
Just as he got on, I backed up, bumping into the woman behind me. “Sorry!”
The doors shut.
The train pulled out, slowly picking up speed, fanning the scent of hot electrical wires and stale dust as it left me behind.
* * *
I trembled.
The tips of my ears were burning. My hands were icy cold.
Memories of the day before assaulted me as panic squeezed the air out of my lungs.
My head began to spin.
I stepped away from the edge of the platform. Took a few deep breaths.
It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re alright.
I could deal with the memories later. The most important thing was to get to my interview. I pulled up Google Maps. Traffic was even worse now across the bridges.
According to the digital display above the platform, the next train was due in three minutes. I could still make it on time.
I waited beneath the elevator by one of its cement piers, trying to stay out of sight.
The platform began to repopulate.
The sign flashed a two-minute delay for my train.
A minute later, a train pulled in on the opposite side. And then, finally, a train pulled in on mine.
I got on as quickly as I could.
As we pulled away from the station, a man walked down the platform on the other side, face turned toward my train. He was wearing a dark suit. His hair was slicked back from his forehead. As I passed, he touched his forehead in a one-finger salute.
Chapter 9
I had almost convinced myself that it was the same man. That he must have gotten off at the next station and hopped a train coming back in my direction. But then I realized he was wearing a red tie.
It was a different man.
A different man who was probably just trying to catch the eye of a pretty girl.
A cold sweat broke out on my brow.
I let out a sigh of relief, tried to slow my breathing as I forced myself to focus on the interview. I repeated the facts I’d learned about the firm.
Established in 1911.
Home to seven former congressmen and one former congresswoman.
First DC-area law firm to name a woman as a partner.
* * *
I made it to the Metro Center station, jogged up two blocks and over one, and entered the lobby of the law firm exactly on time.
“Ms. Garrison?” The receptionist called my name before I even had the chance to sit down.
I smiled. Transferred my attaché to my other hand so I could wipe my sweat-drenched palm on my skirt. “Hi.” As I followed her down the hall, I tried to get my breathing under control. Glanced down to make sure my white silk blouse wasn’t stuck to my chest.
We took an elevator up toward the top of the building and then she led me down a long, carpeted, tastefully decorated hall.
She knocked on a door at the end and waited for an answer. Then she opened it and gestured me through.
It was an office that looked out on the grassy triangle of a city park.
There was a modern sculpture in the corner, a round lacquered conference table positioned in front of the window, and a black angular desk by the far wall. Bold, colorful canvases hung on the walls. The impression was both dramatic and understated. It spoke of power, influence, and wealth.
The woman behind the desk rose and gestured to the table. Then she approached, hand extended. “Ms. Garrison? I’m Sydney Buckingham, assistant director, international trade.”
We sat at the table across from each other. She began the interview with the dreaded, “So tell me about yourself.”
The question was much too broad. But that, I supposed, was the appeal from an interviewer’s perspective. Half of its value resulted from what the interviewee chose to say. Talking about my family’s blue-collar background might earn me points in the specialties of social justice and advocacy, but it would do nothing for me here, in the practice area of international economic law at one of the most prestigious firms in the nation. In environments like this one I had learned that connections mattered. The right connections mattered even more. So I began to tell her about my internship on the Hill instead.
She cut me off. “With Congressman Thorpe’s office, right? Financial Services Committee? I thought I recognized you. I was there.”
Face blindness strikes again. “I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“Not that you would have remembered me. But I was at several of those committee hearings. When Congress finally starts taking notice of cryptocurrency, our firm keeps track of what Congress is noticing.”
I heaved an inward sigh of relief.
> “It must have been fascinating interning up there during that semester. Tell me about it.”
What could I say that wouldn’t take four hours to explain? “The first problem is to define cryptocurrency. It doesn’t exist in a cash format. So can we really call it money, or is it more like property? Should it be regulated like cash or as an investment, like real estate? And can you actually possess something that only exists in digital form? After that? There are just so many stakeholders. Banks and Wall Street. Sovereign nations and tech companies. Should cryptoaccounts be insured by the FDIC as if they were traditional bank accounts? Should they be allowed to trade in traditional financial markets? Should the Federal Reserve have any jurisdiction? And what role does Congress play in legislating currencies that, by definition, aren’t linked to any nation?”
“Sounds like a summary of the hearing agenda. But that was last year. Give me your read on the latest developments.”
“In a word? China. Once they said they were all in on blockchain technology, everything changed.” The blockchain allowed total transparency in digital assets. Whether that asset was a cryptocoin or a property record, instead of waiting for financial statements to be released, or having to access a property assessor’s website, everyone could see transactions, both past and present, in real time. The record of the asset was constantly available for anyone with permission to see it. No need to guess whether money had been laundered to pay for a real estate transaction. And there was no middleman. The trail the asset had made through the digital landscape couldn’t be hidden. It was permanently attached and constantly exposed for everyone to see.
“Everything changed for whom?”
“For everyone. To develop the technology, they created a pilot zone in one of their provinces and they partnered with a cryptocurrency exchange.”
She was nodding. “We were following that experiment. Tell me why it was significant.”
“Whoever sets the rules for the technology will control it. Unless someone steps up to challenge China, they’ll be to the cryptoworld what Microsoft was to the computer world. They’ll set the pace, they’ll create the standards, and they’ll impose the rules.”
“So separate the blockchain technology from its cryptocurrency application. Tell me your thoughts about cryptocurrency specifically.”
She was asking me the equivalent of separating the cash in my wallet from the paper it was printed on. Or the money on my credit card statement from the plastic card itself. Paper could be used for hundreds of purposes, from books to toilet paper, and so could plastic cards. We used them to carry loyalty points from our favorite stores as well as to gain entry to places like parking garages and hotel rooms. “There are obvious benefits to cryptocurrencies.” And those benefits were exactly why I was interested in this field of law. “Since it’s not minted by any nation, since no nation can claim it, it’s apolitical. And because cryptocurrencies carry their records with them on their blockchain, it could put an end to dark money in politics. Everyone could see exactly where a politician’s money has come from.”
Imagine living in a world where money wasn’t tied to economic policy, where governments wouldn’t be able to manipulate its value. Foreign aid couldn’t be hijacked by dictators when spending stipulations or contracts were attached, by the blockchain, to their disbursement. Citizens wouldn’t be punished by the mess their leaders made of the economy or by runaway inflation as they were several years ago in Venezuela. Imagine all the fraud, waste, and abuse that could be eliminated if federal money was forced to be put to the use for which it was intended. The advantage of cryptocurrency was that all sorts of strings could be attached to it. Or none at all.
I kept talking. “I’d like to think that, aside from the few highly publicized scandals, new players in third-world countries who don’t have access to banks could be brought into the international economy. Bank accounts aren’t needed for cryptocurrencies. Cryptoaccounts can be established and managed through cell phones. All those new players would mean new markets. New markets would bring prosperity to areas that haven’t seen development before.”
“Drawbacks?”
I blew out a deep breath. The pros and cons of cryptocurrencies had been something my ex-boyfriend and I had often debated. He had definite opinions as a cybersecurity expert who’d made a fortune heading the start-up of the moment and then licensing the technology to a federal agency. He loved to remind me that even a blockchain could be hacked, and supposedly unalterable digital information had been known to be changed.
But cryptocurrency was something I believed was worth the growing pains. And so had Congressman Thorpe, the chair of the House Financial Services Committee. As an outsider in the world of DC politics, I’d been happy to accept the help of my boyfriend in getting me an internship in his father’s office. While dating him, I’d become the ultimate insider. “There are several drawbacks. Crypto is more than money because of the information that can be encrypted on its supporting blockchain.”
“Am I hearing a but?”
“But not everyone is interested in world peace and prosperity.” That’s what my ex had always argued. He’d laid it down like a trump card at every hint I’d given of my growing passion for the topic. Thing is, he was right. “If the benefit is that money could finally flow to those who need it, then the drawback is that it could simply be redirected to those who already have it.” And that was an age-old problem. “It goes back to the basic question of whether human nature is good or evil.”
Some of the best, most intellectually stimulating conversations I’d ever had were at the Thorpes’ legendary parties, arguing about those very things. Some of my biggest triumphs of the past year had been getting people who mattered, people who made policy, to think differently about cryptocurrency. To realize its vast potential to change just about everything.
Those triumphs, however, had always been challenged by my ex.
“You know she just said that because my father was listening,” he’d say. Or, “You know, he’s heard that a thousand times before. It’s your pretty face he was responding to, not the idea.”
When I thought back on all the times he’d said things like that, I wanted a do-over. I wanted to go back in time and stand up for myself. And beyond that? To punch him. Hit him. Kick him. I wanted to do to him all the things he’d done to me.
Which just made me hate myself even more.
“And why do you want to work for us?”
I blinked. Forced myself out of the past and into the present. I would not let him ruin anything else for me. “Coming out of law school, I know I have a lot to learn. I’d like to learn from the best. I’m building a career and I want to do it here, where I can have a chance to help influence policy.”
“You know that being a junior associate requires a lot of sacrifice. Did you ever pull all-nighters during your degrees?”
“I tried to manage my time so that I didn’t have to.”
“You will here. I can guarantee it. Many times. But hard work is also rewarded.”
That’s what I had been hoping to hear. I’d traded my soul for my student loans. The quicker I could pay them off, the quicker I could start working on things that really mattered.
* * *
I brought up my ride-sharing app before I left the building. When my car was a minute away, I started toward the building’s revolving door. I waited outside, beneath the overhang, phone raised in the universal where-is-my-ride gesture.
A gray car with a ride-share sticker pulled up to the curb. I walked over. Knocked on the window.
The driver rolled down the window. Music poured from the radio.
“Who are you here for?”
He leaned toward me, arm draped over the steering wheel. He was wearing a button-down shirt that was rolled at the sleeves. A gold watch circled his wrist. It looked like a Rolex—my time with my ex had taught me to recognize them—though it was probably a fake.
“You want to sit in front? That�
�s fine.”
“Who are you here for?” Behind him, another car pulled up to the curb.
“It’s unlocked.”
There was a duffel bag on the floor of the passenger seat. I saw something green inside of it.
The car behind him honked. Its rear bumper was sticking out in traffic; cars were stacking up behind him. The driver was gesturing in a sweeping motion. Clearly he wanted the driver I was talking with to leave.
I glanced at my phone to verify details. I’d been told to expect a gray car. The car in front of me was gray. My face blindness made differentiating things like vehicles difficult, but I didn’t have any problems with license plates. I checked his. “Sorry. Wrong car.”
“What?” He leaned over and turned down the radio.
“Wrong car. You must be here for someone else.”
“Just cancel your ride. I can take you.” He leaned over and opened the door. “Come on. Get in. Where do you want to go?”
He was way too aggressive; I was already backing away.
The driver behind him honked. That car was gray too.
I looked at my app to verify the license plate. It matched.
“Hey!” The driver of the first car was yelling at me. “Lady! Where you going?”
I put a knuckle to the passenger window of the other gray car.
The driver rolled it down.
I ignored the first driver, directing my attention to the new one. “Who are you here for?”
The driver shifted to look at the phone that was located in a holder attached to an air vent. “Whitney?”
Relief nearly buckled my knees. I got into the back seat. It was only as I fastened my seat belt that I realized my hands were shaking.
Chapter 10
It took me a while, but by the time I got back across the river, to the library, I’d reasoned myself away from paranoia. I pushed thoughts of the shooting to the back of my mind and then willed them to stay there. As I walked toward the entrance to the library, I tried to focus my thoughts on my students.
I’d worked for one of the big test-prep companies until last year, when I decided to venture out on my own, in Arlington. In such a high-income, high-education county, everyone wanted their child to get ahead, and lots of people were willing to pay for it. It only took one student acing the test for word to spread. I might have been able to turn my coaching into a full-time position, but I would have been lacking benefits. After seeing the progression of the disease that ultimately killed my mother, I didn’t want to be without medical insurance. If nothing else, my job at the Blue Dog provided that.
Everywhere to Hide Page 6