Too bad my search of these files is not so lovely. There’s no blatant sign, no flashing lights that say “Hey, here’s the person that leaked all this!” Whoever it was, they were careful. And very high up at Corvus.
What’s there is explosive, the choice bits from the panopticon program that give a perfect overview of the entire program. And the information about the back door into Corvus makes me gasp.
Minerva would have had access to all this. But… but there’s nothing in here from outside the panopticon program. So maybe the person who sent it could only get to the panopticon files. Which wouldn’t be Minerva, who has free run over everything—and if she’s snapped and decided to expose Corvus, why not send everything?
It could also be someone low level who’s hacked into their boss’s account. I’m assuming it has to be someone given access to the panopticon stuff, but they might have also stolen it.
I rub my forehead. This is making my head spin with too many possibilities. I need a name, just one, and there’s nothing but rabbit holes here.
January popped in this morning, and I told her everything. Including about the fake engagement. She took it… not well. I think she’s worried for me, although she was trying to hide it. She likes Paul, so she wasn’t ready to openly criticize him. Although she was shocked.
We went through what I’d already pulled out of the files too and came up with nothing. Maybe that’s why my brain keeps hopping off into speculative territory—there’s nothing here to build a real case on.
My phone rings, snapping me out of my conspiracy theories. I pick it up, check the caller ID, then almost set it back down.
My parents are calling. I was supposed to call them after the Pixio interview, and I didn’t. It feels like an entire lifetime has passed since then.
They’ll want to know about the interview, and I’ll have to admit I failed. I’ll want to tell them about the engagement, but they’ll be horrified. Not telling them would be the same as lying to them though.
I’m in so much trouble.
“Hello?”
“Are you getting sick? Your voice sounds creaky.” My mom doesn’t miss a thing.
“You should make sure your chest stays warm,” Dad says. Great, they’re on speakerphone together. “Are you wearing a sweater?”
They fuss over me, but it’s lovely to be this loved. “I’m okay, really I am. I was working and surprised when you called. That’s all.”
“Are you sure?” Mom’s suspicious.
“Yes, I am.”
“How was the interview?” Dad asks.
I chew on my lip. “The interview went well.” I’m not technically lying, because it did. “Unfortunately…”
I swallow hard and force myself to breathe. This is so hard to tell them, because they sacrificed so much to get me here. We all sacrificed so much for my schooling, my scholarships, applying for my visa. It wasn’t just my dream—both my parents worked even harder than I did to get me where I am. I was the family project, all of us bent on my success, and I’ve failed.
“You can tell us,” Mom says gently. She sounds like she already knows what’s coming.
It’s the resigned disappointment in her voice—not directed at me but at the world in general—that decides for me.
“Unfortunately,” I say more firmly, “we won’t hear back from Immigration Services for a while.”
It’s true—only the lawyers have so far said it’s hopeless. Not the government themselves.
“Did you talk to the law team yesterday? Did they know how long it might take?” Dad always gets down to the practicalities.
“I didn’t.” Which isn’t an outright lie but still feels wrong to say.
“How long do you have until the visa expires?” Mom asks. It’s almost like she senses what I’m holding back and is ready to sniff out the real truth.
“Um, almost five weeks.”
There’s a long pause. “That seems very soon,” Dad says. “I hope the paperwork can be processed in time.”
Oh God. Here’s where I should tell them the paperwork won’t be processed in time because it will never be processed. But I don’t, because I’ve decided that it’s easier to be a bad daughter than to tell my parents the truth.
“We’ll see,” I say. “The lawyers are working on it.”
What I’m doing now—searching within illegally obtained files for the identity of a mole—I’ll never tell them about. They would be terrified for me. I also never told them about what exactly I did to get fired from Corvus. They’ve never asked for details, possibly because they were somewhat relieved when I was let go—the stories I told them about working there were never happy.
Another long pause. “It would be hard for Immigration Services to deny Pixio, wouldn’t it?” Mom asks.
Finally I have to be brave, at least a little bit. “It’s been known to happen. This isn’t settled yet even if I was offered the job.”
“A job offer at Pixio is a very good thing,” Dad says bracingly, finding the small bit of luck in all this. “You would be privileged to work there.”
“I would,” I agree solemnly. Too bad it won’t happen.
Mom sighs. “What have you been doing besides preparing for your interview? Have you been eating properly? What did you cook this week?”
“I cooked some soup. Chicken was on sale.” My stomach unknots as we move into more ordinary things. I should be able to keep them talking about food, how well I’ve been sleeping, and my general health until they hang up.
“Good,” Mom says. She believes cooking for yourself at home at least once a week is the way to keep in good health. If she knew how much I ate out—and American food at that—she’d faint from shock.
Dad clears his throat. “Has Mr. Tsai said anything?”
I go very still. My parents know that Paul is helping me, but to them he’s some far-off figure, too famous to really be helping their daughter. They almost never mention him when I call, but they ask a lot about the lawyers and what they have to say.
“Mr. Tsai arranged for the interview at Pixio,” I say. “He… he has many contacts within the government here.”
“He talked to them for you?” Mom asks cautiously.
“He did.” I don’t elaborate on what those contacts told him. “He’s been very kind.”
“Of course,” Mom says. “To arrange for the lawyers, to speak to the officials. We can never repay him.”
No, we can’t. And she says we because keeping me in America is a family effort. If I get a green card, it would be a triumph for all three of us.
Dad hums deep in his throat, the noise he makes when he’s not certain of something. Or when he hears something he believes to be untrue but can’t outright speak against it. “You’ve also worked very hard to be worthy of the opportunities Mr. Tsai is providing,” he says to me. “Don’t forget that.”
He means that I shouldn’t give all the credit to Paul—but I must also keep striving and not rely on Paul’s favors too much. Because someday they will not be there.
Before I can respond, Paul opens the office door and pokes his head in. “Hi. Just seeing how you’re doing. Do you want any lunch?” He smiles sheepishly. “Well, Anjie is ordering lunch, so whether you want it or not, some is coming. She doesn’t take no for an answer very well.”
My phone is on speaker. My parents heard every word.
“Who is that?” Mom asks.
“It’s Mr. Tsai,” I say. My parents, I mouth at Paul.
“Ah,” he says softly. And comes into the room.
I’m blinking madly at him when my mother says, “He’s there? With you?”
I jerk at my throat, making a slashing motion. Shut up, disappear, don’t give away a thing are all notions I’m trying to get across with that one motion.
“A pleasure to speak with you, Mr. and Mrs. Li,” he says, all golden, perfect manners. Of course he has to be polite and not simply disappear.
“We thank you for ever
ything you’ve done for Grace,” Mom says. There’s a delighted flutter in her voice.
Dad says nothing. I don’t think Paul’s won him over like he has Mom.
“It was nothing.” Paul looks right into my eyes as he says it. “Of course we must keep Grace here. She’s worked so hard for the opportunity.”
Mom laughs softly. “She has. I’m glad you appreciate that.” She’s preening because Paul is complimenting all of us even if he doesn’t know it.
Or maybe he does. Certainly he understands the deep ties of family.
“We’ll call again tomorrow,” Dad says. “You should get back to work now.”
He never asked me exactly what I’m working on. He simply trusts that I’m doing something important and should get back to it. That kind of trust is a blessing, and I’m abusing it.
But if I can resolve my visa issues, it will all be worth it.
“Okay,” I say, my finger hovering over the End Call button.
“Keep warm and eat properly,” Mom warns.
“I’ll make sure of it,” Paul says.
Before this call can get any worse, I say “Bye” as quickly as I can, then end the call. But I’m still flushed all over from the way Paul said that. Like he was pretending for my parents that we’re really engaged.
“They don’t know,” I say so that he understands. “All they know is that I was fired and I’m trying to get a new job. And that you’re helping with the job search and paying for the lawyers. Not about the engagement.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You’re lying to your parents?”
I simply stare at him. That’s really something coming from him.
“I mean,” he says, “you don’t seem like the kind of person to do that.”
“I’m not.” I stare at the phone, which is dark. “But circumstances are extreme at the moment. If I can get this visa without them knowing about everything else happening… They don’t need the stress. They’ve already done so much to get me here.”
After what happened to my uncle, my father deserves some ease. Deserves to have his daughter be happy and secure in the life he wanted for her. It’s the least I can give him.
Paul nods. “I understand. Family is…” He smiles and lifts his hands in a gesture that says everything he can’t.
“Exactly.”
Our eyes lock and we share a moment of sympathy and understanding. And after a heartbeat, it sparks into something more.
Then we both blink and the moment’s gone. “I’ll bring you some lunch,” Paul says.
I should protest, tell him he doesn’t have to, I can get it myself. But I kind of like the idea of him waiting on me. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” His voice vibrates and skips through all the sensitive parts of me.
And when he leaves, I can’t stop running my tongue over the mark he left on my lip.
Chapter Twelve
All the Bastards are assembled in the conference room, and they’re looking at me funny.
I can’t tell if it’s because I’ve called a partners’ meeting out of the blue or if it’s because they heard about my engagement. Probably both.
“I’m still not sure if I’m supposed to congratulate you or not,” Mark says. “January wasn’t clear on that.”
Grace and January have probably been talking all morning about… everything. I’m not sure how much of what they talked about got back to Mark, but clearly it was enough to confuse him.
“Thanks, but there’s no need for congratulations.”
The entire room goes silent at that. I realize that while they’ve always been on my side, faking an engagement with an innocent woman might be a bridge too far for even them.
“She agreed,” I say hastily. “It’s all completely impersonal.”
Except for that kiss last night. That was deeply, deeply personal. Hell, I’m getting hot just remembering it.
“So…” Logan tilts his head, confused. “Congratulations? I don’t get it.”
Logan is happily married—although he wasn’t for a while—and he’s been disgustingly sappy since he and Callie reconciled and she got pregnant. He’s not going to be enthused about faking an engagement.
I sigh. Explaining my family to them isn’t going to be easy. “It’s complicated.”
Although Grace understood almost immediately. Yeah, she protested at first and wasn’t entirely happy about learning all my cousins’ names, but in the end, she got it. Explaining things to her was never a chore.
“I really hope you’re not fucking with Grace,” Mark says wearily. “January will lose it if you are, and I’ll have to fight you.”
I roll my eyes. I might not have the muscle mass of Mark, but I guarantee I’ve got him beat in hand-to-hand combat, especially when I attend grappling sessions weekly. “Yeah, I’m really scared. And no, I’m not fucking with Grace. We’re only pretending to be engaged, and we’re both on the same page.”
But what page might that be now? The one we meant to start and stay on or the one that includes kissing? And other things?
These are not questions I can or want to answer.
Finn looks like I told them I’ve decided to walk backward for the rest of my life. “Why would you do that?”
“Because my mother decided I needed to get married and even picked out the girl for me.” I keep my tone carefully free of any judgment on my mother. I can be mad at her about it, but no one else can. I mean, she’s still my mother.
Logan’s jaw drops. “That’s, uh, that’s kind of extreme.” I get the sense he wants to use a different word, one closer to crazy. He clears his throat when I don’t respond. “Of course, she’s your mom, and I’m sure the girl is nice—”
“I don’t know if I’d call her nice,” I say as I recall Amelia’s expression and demeanor when she was talking to Grace at the restaurant the other night. No, she hadn’t looked nice then.
Maybe Lucy is right about Amelia. Thank God I’m not going to marry her.
I focus back on Logan. “But my mother thinks she’s suitable.”
Finn bursts out laughing. “Suitable? Like you’re a duke or something?”
It does sound pretty ridiculous when he puts it like that. Except I do need to find a suitable wife to help me manage my family. I can’t marry just anyone.
I shrug. “I had to think fast, with my mother announcing she’d brought Amelia with her and I ought to propose soon. Grace happened to be right there and went along with it. But none of it is real. We’re faking it.”
“I’m sure she is,” Finn says with a wicked grin.
I’m tempted to kick his shin under the table, but I hold back. “I’m sure you have a lot of experience with that.”
Finn snorts. “You’re projecting, dude.”
I have to stop and catch my breath before I can go on, because I’m going to miss this. The banter, the jokes, having five almost brothers who love me and tease me in equal measures. I’d never give up my family back home, but finding a family like this—one we made ourselves—was something I never expected when I moved here.
God, now I’m getting as sappy as Logan.
“I’m not going to say any more because I respect Doc too much.” I try to look noble. It’s a weak response, but I was too busy getting choked up to come up with anything better.
Finn rolls his eyes, but there’s a hint of concern in his expression. Like he knows I almost lost it.
Telling them all I’m leaving soon is going to be harder than I imagined.
“Are you actually going to marry her?” asks Dev.
Everyone gets quiet. It’s a strange question from him, especially since he’s the loner among us. We’re all close, but I sometimes get the sense Dev would be perfectly fine if we all disappeared tomorrow.
“No,” I say quietly. “She’s not staying here. And neither am I. I need to go back to Taipei.”
I can tell from their expressions they don’t understand, that they think it will be a short trip.
“Probably kind of forever,” I say, keeping my tone level even as my throat tightens.
The only response to that is a shocked silence. Then they all start talking at once. It’s mostly denials and yells of “bullshit” and “what the fuck” and “why are you leaving,” and all of it warms my heart, strangely enough.
I came to America to get a break from my family. To be something besides Lillian’s son and the heir to everything. To get away from always being perfect and responsible and worthy of my title. These guys became a second family to me and let me be something entirely different. I’m going to miss it. Way more than I expected.
But it’s not like I’m dying here.
“I’m not giving up my partnership,” I say, motioning for them to quiet down. “I can work remotely from Taipei; it’s not a big deal. I’m not abandoning you.”
“But why?” Mark asks. “Why do you have to leave the Bay Area then?”
“My mother wants to retire,” I say simply. “I can’t tell her no.”
Finn visibly softens. “Ah, man, your mom. If you gotta do it for her…”
“Yeah,” Logan says gruffly. “If your mom needs you, then she needs you.”
I clear my throat, harder this time. I’m definitely not going to cry, not a chance, but my chest is kind of tight. And my eyes burn, a little. Just a little.
“I figured you guys would understand,” I say, forcing my voice down low so it doesn’t break. “We all knew I’d have to take over the family business someday.”
I knew, of course, have known my entire life, but facing it—leaving my life in America behind—is tough. Even knowing that this was coming isn’t making it any easier.
“Of course we understand. But we’ll miss your beautiful face,” Mark says with a grin.
“And your connections.” Logan makes that a blunt joke.
Elliott moves then, and I suddenly realize how still he’s been this entire time. “And where does that leave Grace?”
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