Young Lies (Young Series)

by Kimble, W. R.

  She rolls her eyes and pushes away from the banister before making her way downstairs. I meet her at the bottom and she wraps me in a tight hug. “How are you, sweetheart?” she asks, pulling away and examining me with a critical, concerned eye. “I can’t tell you how devastated we all were to hear about...” She trails off, shaking her head sadly. “Well, you know.”

  I nod. “I’m okay,” I say quietly. “And I had planned on coming to see you; I’ve just had a lot on plate.”

  Giving me a sympathetic smile, she leaves on arm around my shoulders and leads me to a chair. “I’m sure you have,” she says gently. “How long are you in town?”

  Shrugging, I sit down. “At this point, indefinitely,” I tell her. “Matt left everything to Tyler and me, and we decided to use what he gave us.” Saying these words to anyone else might show me in an unfavorable light, but I know Bonnie understands me and my relationship with Matthew. Unlike so many other people, she knows what I felt for him wasn’t based on his net worth and she knows Matthew would have given me the entire world tied up with a bow if I asked him for it.

  “Well, it’s good to have you back,” Bonnie tells me gently. “Is that boyfriend of yours here as well?”

  I snort a laugh. “No,” I say. “Tom and I broke up.”

  “I’d say I’m sorry to hear that...”

  “But you’re not?” I finish, grinning.

  Bonnie winks. “He seemed nice enough, but you know me—I’m a big believer in soul mates. And you and Matty—” She stops suddenly, realizing what she’s saying and gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry, Samantha.”

  “It’s okay,” I tell her honestly. “I agree. Tom and I wouldn’t have been happy ten years or so down the line. I couldn’t be what he deserved—which is a woman who’s utterly devoted him—and he couldn’t be what I wanted—which was Matt. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of us.”

  She pats my hand and changes the subject. “Did I see you talking to Frank Marone earlier?” she asks curiously.

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. “I was looking for a part-time job and Leo told me Frank needed an office manager. I start Monday.” I’m not sure what to make of the expression on her face. “What?”

  “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Frank’s a nice young man. He’s just got a bit of a reputation in town.”

  My brow furrows. “What sort of reputation?” I ask cautiously. The last thing I need is to get involved in anything that might bring more drama into my already overly dramatized life.

  “Nothing like you’re thinking,” Bonnie scolds, though I have no clue how she knows what I’m thinking. “It just seems like he’s got a new girlfriend every other week.”

  “Ah,” I say in realization. “Well, I don’t think that’s going to be an issue for me. I’m there to work, not date.”

  I remain in the bookstore with Bonnie for another hour or so until an afternoon rush comes in and takes all her attention. As I leave, I assure her I’ll pop back in next week to let her know how the new job is going, and I head back to the car feeling lighter than I have in months. And for once, I can actually see myself getting through what had seemed only a couple days ago an insurmountable situation.

  -------------o-------------

  Being dead has its perks. For years, I’ve been trying to figure out a way to keep my phone from ringing constantly; now, even if my phone was turned on, I doubt it would ring at all. It gives me a chance to observe people and things around me knowing nobody will interrupt me for a sign off on whatever project they need approved. I notice things about my peers at Young Technologies that I wouldn’t have noticed otherwise—I now know which ones were playing the ass-kissing yes-man; which ones were fake from the very beginning; which ones were truly my friends. Once this mess is over and done with, there will be some serious reconstruction of the hierarchy in my company.

  Currently I’m approaching the place that for so long was considered my second home. Built from the ground up specifically for my use, the building that houses my company is as impenetrable as any federal building. When it was designed, we took into account the possibility of break-ins, fires, and even hostage situations. Below the building is a maze of tunnels we modeled after the ones in use by the Pentagon. Secret doors, some of which lead nowhere, line the tunnels. It started out as a joke between Leo and me about how to best confuse a person who found themselves down there. The mouth of the tunnel is nearly a mile and a half from the building itself, and in case of hostile takeover, any possible intended targets can make a safe escape. One of the doors opens directly into my office, a trapdoor beneath my desk.

  Aside from the tunnels, we’ve got invisible electric fencing. Anyone who tries to cross that line will get one hell of a shock. Literally. If a car tries to bypass the main gates without scanning their company ID, spikes will rise from the cement and shred the tires. We’ve got armed guards doing searches through the grounds and they are not afraid to shoot on sight. To even enter the building through the ground level doors, one will have to produce their ID card, submit to a retinal scan, and enter an employee number before even accessing the elevators.

  In the beginning of my company, these things seemed rather unnecessary to me. I was well aware that we needed security and I helped develop and program the different systems in place around the building. None of it really came into play before the bombing on my building five years ago. Despite our intense investigations, we still don’t know who was behind it or how they got through security. All I really remember was walking down a hallway with a couple of my senior lab techs, passing a few windows, a flash of light, a deafening crack, then nothing. The only clear thought in my head after the blast was that I wouldn’t be going home to my wife and son that night and worrying about who would take care of them and keep them safe.

  When I finally regained consciousness, the first face I saw was Samantha’s. I knew without having to ask that she’d barely left my bedside. She looked tired, her eyes were puffy and red from crying, but I’d never seen a more beautiful sight. I remember watching her, wondering what she was thinking about that made her look so utterly defeated and devastated. I’d reached out to touch her hand, which had been resting on my mattress. The look of shock when she realized was almost amusing until she threw herself against my uninjured side and began sobbing uncontrollably. I’ll never be able to tell her how much it meant to me that she was at my side all throughout my recovery. Even on the days when I wanted to give up and resign myself to the fact that my shoulder would never be the same, even when I lashed out at her because I was frustrated with how long it was taking to get back to normal. There were days when I was a downright dick to her and she still stayed.

  It wasn’t until I returned to work that I started to wonder why she put up with me and my never-ending bullshit. She never asked to watch her husband suffer through months of painful physical therapy that left him hurting, angry, and frustrated. She never signed on to share the dangers of my life. And our son... the thought of something happening to him was overwhelming and I knew I had to give Samantha a chance to live her life without constant fear. To my own devastation, she took the option of leaving. I know it hurt her as much as it hurt me for her to walk away from our marriage, but it was her choice. I made the biggest mistake of my life by letting her leave, even after telling her I’d respect her decision. I fell into my default mode of keeping my mind occupied, doing what needed to be done. I had the divorce papers drawn up along with a letter that explained to her I would remain out of her life unless she ever needed absolutely anything, she or Tyler, or if there was ever any danger that directly affected them. She never responded to that letter and I took that to mean she accepted my terms.

  Shaking myself back into reality, I glance over my shoulder as I make my way through the dark underground corridors beneath my building to confirm that I correctly disengaged the tunnel’s security system. It’s nearing 3AM and the building should be clear aside from a few of the security guar
ds, none of whom are aware of the existence of the tunnels. Only a handful of people know about them and I’m suddenly glad I kept it that way. Technically, I could rightfully walk through the front door, but considering my current status, that’s probably not a good idea.

  Instead I pull open a door to a closet that is no wider than the narrow ladder that occupies it. I close myself in and begin climbing until I reach the trapdoor. After taking a few minutes to listen for anybody in my office, I slowly push open the door and continue climbing up, listening for the soft click of my office door locking itself—another security feature I never thought I’d have to use.

  Nothing’s changed since I was last here. My inbox is still overflowing. There are still glasses mostly emptied of bourbon on my desk. And the files I need are still in my desk drawer. Sitting down behind my desk, I hit the tiny button installed beside my right knee and watch the clear windows turn opaque to ensure any passersby have to actually open the door to know I’m here. I fire up my laptop and while it boots, I go through the documents I came for. It contains everything we learned about the Russians and I’m hoping to find some link between them and whoever has been leaking information from inside my circle. I’ve got phone records, photos, license plate numbers, bank account information... Once it’s all handed over to the proper authorities, I can start making sense of everything.

  I quickly scan through my emails, but nothing catches my eye. I remove the flash drive I brought along with me, plug it into the computer, and download everything I might need onto it. With that business taken care of, I hesitate to leave without doing one final thing. I’ve got about half an hour before security starts checking this floor of the building and I might as well take advantage of that.

  Before I can change my mind, I start a program that allows me to view the surveillance cameras in my home. It’s understandably dark and quiet, and I know I shouldn’t feel disappointed by the lack of activity, but I do. All I want is once glance of Samantha and Tyler, just so I know they’re where they belong and safe until I can be with them again. With a few clicks of the mouse, I switch between the views of the camera. The front gate. The front door. The formal living room, kitchen, and dining room. The basement. Upstairs hallways. The backdoor. The dock where my boat is tied.

  The only thing that seems out of place is when I spot Leo sitting on the deck of the guest house, staring at the main house as he smokes a cigarette. I know immediately he’s reverted back to the days after he returned from overseas when he didn’t sleep; all he did for weeks was sit around in the middle of the night smoking and drinking. It took an intervention on my part to snap him out of that depression.

  The motion-activated cameras in the house automatically switch views when someone walks past them and I feel myself smiling to find Samantha stumbling half-asleep towards the staircase. For a moment, I’m thrown off, since it looks as though she came out of the guest bedroom rather than mine like I expected. Rolling my eyes at myself I come to the conclusion that she can’t bear to sleep there without me. Hell, I did the same thing after she left.

  With every sensor she trips as she makes her way down to the kitchen, the camera feed changes. She switches on a light and gets a glass of water, then leans against the kitchen counter. Even through video, I can see what this entire situation has done to her. I’m almost sorry Saunders left the way he did. Of course I hadn’t foreseen this outcome when I sent him packing to Omaha before sending Samantha and Ty to my sister’s, but at least at this point, she’d be with someone who loves her and would take care of her. And despite my feelings towards Tom Saunders, I believe he really loved her. I’m glad for that. It shows me she’s been taken care of over the last five years when I couldn’t be there for her. Though admittedly, every time I think of them together, and everything I heard the night I kissed her in my office, I’m filled with a jealous rage. Then I remind myself she never once faked an orgasm with me and Tom must be fucking clueless if he hadn’t realized that’s what she’d done. Either that or he’s just never pleased her.

  I smirk proudly at the thought. When this is over, Samantha will never have to consider faking it for the rest of her life. I’ll make sure of that...

  Movement at the corner of the screen catches my eye and I see Leo enter the picture. I assume he saw the light in the kitchen and came up to see if everything was okay. Samantha nods and mouths a response—since the cameras only record video, I don’t know what she’s saying—and Leo smiles knowingly before sitting across from her at the kitchen table. One of the last things I said to him before I left to meet my plane leaving Russia was to take care of Samantha and Tyler. He’s the only person I trust with them and I know he’ll protect them with his life.

  There’s a sound outside my office door and my head snaps up. Security is doing their rounds. I can see the dulled lights of their flashlights and I have no doubt they’ll notice the oddity of my windows having changed color. Quickly, I gather up the files, loose documents, and my flash drive, stuffing all of it unceremoniously into the laptop bag I stow beneath my desk. As much as I’d prefer to just shove the laptop itself into my bag, I can’t risk it. It’ll take security ages to realize the files I’ve taken are gone, but only a second to notice a missing laptop. Just as I finish, there’s a rattling at the door—someone’s testing the doorknob. I hear a muffled voice say the door is locked before the security guard turns and walks away.

  Breathing a sigh of relief, I think I’ve managed to avoid a real issue. That is until I look back at my computer screen to see Leo on his feet, his phone pressed to his ear as he seemingly barks orders to whomever he’s speaking, gesticulating in a way that has Sam frozen to the spot and staring at Leo with her jaw dropped. There are more voices outside my office, all of them moving closer, and I realize the security guard who tested the doorknob contacted Leo.

  “Fuck,” I bite out, quickly closing out all the programs I opened and wiping the history to make it seem as though the laptop hadn’t been used in weeks. Without hesitation, I drop down below the desk, open the trapdoor again, toss the laptop bag down into the dark, and slide myself into the opening before reaching up to hit the button that will unlock the door. Hopefully they’ll think there was a malfunction with the door locks. The moment I hear the almost inaudible click of the lock retreating, I press the button to return the windows to their normal state and slide a little further down the hole, pulling the door down with me so I can still hear what’s going on in my office.

  The door bursts open and I close the door completely, my ear pressed against it as several pairs of footsteps enter.

  I climb down the ladder until I reach the ground and feel around for my laptop bag. There’s no doubt in my mind that Leo had been contacted, apprised of the situation, and will very shortly be arriving at Young Technologies to help with whatever investigation is about to take place. And since he is one of the very few people aware of the existence of both the tunnels and the trapdoor beneath my desk, I need to make my escape quick. I can’t yet risk anybody knowing the truth. Not even my best friend.

  16

  The last several days have been hectic to say the very least. A few nights ago, at some point approaching 3AM, when I stumbled down to the kitchen for a drink of water and Leo came to check on me, he received a phone call that immediately had him on edge. I didn’t even have a chance to ask him what was going on before he’d called three other people and was backing his car out of the driveway. When he got back in the mid-morning, I didn’t let him out of my sight before he gave me a very reluctant explanation. And I wished I hadn’t asked.

  Somebody has broken into Young Technologies. Worse than that, somebody broke into Matthew’s office specifically. From what Leo learned, the intruder had no interest in visiting any other part of the building and they were still working on what it is the intruder was after. The only fingerprints to be found belong to Matthew or faded ones left by the people who he’d come into contact with the last time he was there. I’m not
sure why this has hit me so hard; Leo said he was surprised it had taken someone this long to pull something like this and it seems par for the course that somebody is going to try to get their hands on everything that was once Matthew’s. I suppose it’s just the idea that a place Matthew once considered his second home has been violated along with the memories I have of the place. I can’t say how many times I joined him in his office for lunch. Or how many times those innocent lunch dates turned into something much less innocent...

  Though Matthew had given me a tour of his building the first time I visited, there were still parts of it I wasn’t allowed to see. And I understood why he couldn’t share every bit of the company with me; only a handful of people had the security clearance to know of the existence of some of those departments. There were times Matthew had been stuck at work for days because he couldn’t risk leaving whatever top secret project he was working on. I tried to understand the seriousness of Matthew’s job but I don’t think I really did until the first time he came home in the middle of a day in a rush and very calmly told me to pack a bag, that we were going away for a couple days. That was the first time I really realized Leo’s role in Matthew’s life. Aside from being his best friend, Leo was head of Matthew’s security and he took that role incredibly seriously. Maybe it was me being a wide-eyed farm girl who still believed there was more good in the world than bad, but I honestly never really noticed the amount of security personnel or procedures that directed our lives. I remember mentioning this to Matthew and how he’d smiled sadly at me, telling me it had been his intention that I never be aware of the dangers that surrounded us. And he was just sorry it was making such a sudden appearance in my life.

  The reason we had taken that impromptu vacation was because Matthew had had the audacity to sell a piece of technology to the United States government as opposed to a group outside the country. He never gave me details. I don’t know who was involved. I don’t even know what the threat specifically entailed. All he would tell me was that I was safe with him and he would make sure that never changed.