The Assistant's Secret

by Emerald O'Brien

  She folds her hands on the table in front of her with a small smile. “I want to build back your trust. It’s very… difficult with a past like mine.”

  “I want to understand you better, take the time to listen.”

  “I’d appreciate that.” Tears pool in her eyes, and she lets out a self-soothing, whooshing breath. “I really think this time’s different.”

  “Why?”

  She runs her fingers through her hair and cocks her head to the side, taking a deep breath. “Last time, I came the closest to death. Before, I was only thinking of myself and my pain, but after, in the hospital, I thought about Andy. What would have happened… if…” She wipes her eyes and clears her throat. “I don’t want that for him. I haven’t always been good for him, and when I see the pain I’ve caused him, the bad things that seem to stick, it hurts like hell, but next time… I don’t think I’ll make it.” She sniffles and releases a loud sigh, holding her face in her hands.

  I stand, rounding the table, and sit beside her, grabbing her hand. “I want to be more open and honest with you, and I want to let you know that’s part of the reason I am the way I am with you. It’s like I’m protecting myself from disappointment—devastation.”

  “I get that,” she says in a shaky voice, “but I need you, Joey.” She breaks down, and I hug her, rubbing her shoulders as she weeps gently into my neck. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’re doing for us. You’re the best person I know. Besides Andy.”

  We both laugh a bit, and I nod, but everything I’ve done this last week would prove the opposite. The things I’ve let happen, been forced to do or chose to do. I want an end to it, and if I do this right, I’ll be free. We’ll all be free.

  “Do you trust me?” I pull away, searching her face.

  She nods. “More than anyone, ever.”

  “Okay, then I’m going to tell you a few things, and you can’t ask me about them. Not yet.” She nods. “I need you to pack a bag for Andy, and for you.” She frowns. “And I need you to be ready to leave here if I text or call you, or if I don’t come home one night.”

  “What?” Her expression changes to fear. “Leave?”

  “I’ll meet you at dad’s old hunting cabin, alright? I don’t know what condition it’s in, but we’ll go from there—”

  “Jo, are you in trouble?”

  “I might be leaving my job, and if I do, we can’t stay here anymore. That’s all I can tell you for now.”

  “But I can get a job.”

  I nod. “You can. I believe in that now, and I’m sorry I held you back, but we’ll do it somewhere else, okay? You trust me, right?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, her head bobbing a little as she rocks herself back and forth in her seat. “You’re really scaring me, Jo.”

  “I want to be able to tell you things, so I need you to handle them as best you can until I can tell you more. There’s one other thing, and it’s good news.”

  “Okay,” she whispers, leaning back, as if preparing herself for another shock.

  I stare into her eyes, selfishly wanting her reaction when she digests my words. To see the burden lift from her face. “The debt’s been paid.”

  She frowns. “The rehab debt?”

  “It’s paid in full, and you can’t ask me how, not right now, but it’s something we don’t have to worry about anymore.” You don’t have to worry about.

  I knew the price of rehab. I don’t know the price that accompanies having the debt paid off for me.

  She shakes her head. “I’m so confused.” But her eyes light up, a little sparkle in the last of the setting sun.

  If I could just understand Tackman’s intentions, I’d know if this was the greatest good deed I’ve been given or a debt that looms over me even worse than the creditors calling me all the time, than Cathrine’s threats, or than my own shame and guilt for what I’ve gotten myself into.

  He doesn’t have to call, or write, or anything for me to know I owe him.

  The threat is there, no matter what.

  “Joey, you’re out of debt?” she asks with a laugh, like it’s just sinking in, or she’s somehow put her curiosity aside to live in the moment. “This is wild.”

  “I know.” I smile, taking her hand in mine and squeezing it tightly. “Just trust me, and in a few days, I’ll tell you everything. I promise.”

  And I will. No more secrets between us.

  Tomorrow, I’ll try again for the password. My last chance before the party.

  And then, I’ll go for the gun.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Flash Drive

  As I ride the elevator up to the seventh floor, I absorb the fact that this morning is the first I haven’t been called by the debt collectors. The remaining weight I carry is this tray with four coffees, an empty flash drive, and the gun with my fingerprints at Tackman’s, waiting to ruin me if I step out of line.

  I step off the elevator and turn down the dark hall as Orrick strides toward me, giving me a charming smile that grows as recognition flashes before his eyes.

  “Josephine.” He nods his head slightly as he passes me and steps into the elevator. “We’ll see you at the party, yes?”

  If all goes according to plan with Fern’s password, I won’t be able to free myself before then, but it could be the last time I have to see any of these people.

  I give him a polite smile and nod as he presses a button. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

  “That’s what I like to hear,” he says as the door closes over.

  I take a deep breath and keep walking as Fern catches my attention, waving me over from her desk behind the glass door. I stop in front of it and wait. She stares at me, like she’s forgotten to push the button, completely oblivious.

  I stare down at the handle, my hands full, and shake my head, but she keeps staring. No—glaring.

  An air pocket rises in my throat.

  I can’t enter without her buzzing me in, and she knows that. She knows that about yesterday.

  She stands up, walks to the glass door slowly and holds up the framed photo of her cats. “How did you do it?” she mouths.

  I try to fix my face with a confused expression, but she knows I know I’m caught. “You must have just left, and I caught the door at the right time.”

  She walks back to her desk and focuses on her work as if nothing happened, but letting me know she has confirmed her suspicion.

  I need to sort this out with her. I need to make sure she doesn’t talk to Cathrine about this. What was I thinking? I wasn’t. I’m too stressed out.

  I stand there with the coffees like an awkward fool, but she doesn’t look up. A pit forms in my stomach—an aching, heavy pit. I’ve been caught. She still doesn’t know my motive for going in, but she knows I took the opportunity when they’d just left.

  She knows I must have seen them leave, even if I wasn’t the one who planned it. I have to come up with another excuse, a reason I was in there that she’ll believe, fast. Today’s the last day I can use her password to get the proof of Cathrine’s equity in the company—a document that may not even be there anymore. If I can’t get in through the system, is there another way? Would the proof be anywhere else? Would anyone else know besides Orrick? No. And he won’t confess it to me.

  Fern’s password is the only way.

  Okay, why was I in there? Why would I have gone in if it wasn’t to check and make sure they’d evacuated?

  Maybe it has to be something bad. Maybe I have to reveal something that makes me look bad and hope she doesn’t tell Cathrine. I can’t. I can’t take that chance. But it’s misdirection, and it’s all I have left.

  What would be in that room or Cathrine’s office that I’d want? What would Fern believe I’d want access to that she might not tell Cathrine about?

  My own file.

  The records of my employment and the notes they have on me. She’ll believe I know I’m in over my head—she knew it even before I did on the
day I was given the client opportunity. She’ll believe I’m desperate to know where I stand with the company.

  This has to seem natural, real, and who I was last week would have done it. Would have cared where I stood. I have to channel her.

  Fern glances over at me. “Please,” I mouth.

  She pushes the button, and I walk in, setting the tray of coffees on her desk beside her pictures, as usual, and she stares up at me from behind her thick-framed glasses.

  “Can we talk?” I ask. She continues to stare at me, unflinching. “I need to explain myself, for yesterday—”

  “You need to take Cathrine’s coffees to her.” She turns away, back to her computer. She doesn’t want to listen. I have to make her.

  “I started the fire,” I say in a low voice, just loud enough for her to hear, and her gaze shifts toward me slowly, eerily. “I did it on purpose to get in here. To get on your computer.” She raises her brow, her expression stoic. “That day, when I got the opportunity to have my own client, I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I’ve disappointed Cathrine, and I’ve caused some issues.”

  “You have.” Not a question. She knows. Maybe she knows everything.

  “All I want is to advance in this company.” She raises her brow, purses her lips, and turns to the computer. She doesn’t believe me. I don’t believe me. “It’s just business—you’ve taught me that—I know that now, and the only thing I care about is redeeming myself.”

  I shake my head, staring off past her at the far wall with the door in the middle to Cathrine’s office.

  Everything I’ve been put through flashes before my eyes—and it began there. “I’ve done things. Unspeakable things,” I mutter under my breath. “Not just because I have no one to talk to, but I’m not allowed to discuss them with anyone. I thought I was being given a chance to prove myself. That people were finally seeing what I’ve fought so hard to prove. That I’ve earned all the opportunities I’ve ever been given in life, and that I’ll earn my place in each position I’m promoted to, and earn the respect of everyone here. I thought I could do that. I was wrong.”

  You can’t earn these people’s respect. They’ll give it when it suits them, profits them, and take it away just as soon as it doesn’t. As soon as I do something they don’t approve of.

  I was fighting to be seen, known, successful, worthy, and now all I want is my life back so I can live it the way I’m supposed to. The way I was always supposed to, with my family.

  “I was all wrong, and now I’m scared there’s no way—” No way out. I turn to Fern as tears drip down my chin, and her face has softened. I wipe my chin and take a deep breath, shaking my head. Not out. Up. “No way to redeem myself. I’m scared of what Cathrine thinks of me. That everything I dreamed of accomplishing here will never come true.”

  But not as scared as I am of the person I became when I still wanted that same dream, despite what I’d seen and done.

  “I wanted to see my file, the records on me, to see if I even have a chance. If I have a hope of digging my way out from beneath all this.”

  Fern’s face hardens again, and she squints back to the computer, pursing her lips. It doesn’t matter to her. Whether she believes me or not—she couldn’t care less about my hopes and dreams, or my fears. She’d know best what I’m afraid of, having been with the company for fifty years. An assistant to Lawrence Locke—the man who created a place where the wealthy can feel safe—protected. Now an assistant to Cathrine Locke—the woman I wanted to be like.

  Fern knows this insidious company better than anyone here, I’ll bet. What has she done? What has she seen?

  Staring down at the small woman behind the computer screen, I feel sorry for her.

  Did she still think it was worth it when she realized what this company really was? Was she ever scared like me? Did she share Lawrence’s vision from the beginning? And now she’s finally ready to leave, and with her goes my own hopes of leaving.

  I turn toward the door, my last hope. “Thank you for all you’ve done to guide me. I’m sorry I wasn’t enough.”

  And maybe I’m not for this company, but it doesn’t matter anymore.

  I take a step toward the door.

  “Josephine.” I turn to her. “Come here.”

  I step back in front of her, and she flicks her finger around the desk with a tight-lipped, forceful expression. Frowning, I walk around the desk as her fingers tap the keys and she tilts her head to the side. Come closer. I stand beside her, and she gestures to the screen. I bend down slightly to read it, my name sitting at the top.

  Employee file 2035: Josephine Oliver

  Click here for employee contact information.

  Click here for payroll information.

  Click here for history of employment.

  Click here for employee review information.

  Fern clicks the last button, and Cathrine’s notes come up. She scrolls from the top where only a few sentences were written beside each year I’d been with the company to the bottom, this year’s notes.

  She stands and grabs two of the coffees from the tray. “I’ll be in with Cathrine for a moment.” She walks toward the office and leaves me stunned, behind the desk, in front of the file I’d have done anything to get my hands on. The answers to why I was chosen for the position. Why I was chosen for the client. What they really think of me.

  She tucks one coffee between her arm and her blouse and grabs the doorknob, then turns over her shoulder to face me with a sparkle in her eye. “I think you have a bright future at this company, Josephine. If you can get out of your own way and learn to mind your business. Have a little faith in Cathrine, hmm?”

  As she disappears, I turn back to the screen, the words of all Cathrine’s personal thoughts and opinions in front of me, and without wasting a second, I minimize the page and click on the database on the home screen of the computer.

  The interface for the system opens on the screen and asks for a password.

  No. No, this can’t be happening. Not another password.

  I have to try. What could it be? I turn to her frame. Her family. The only thing that truly matters to her. I type in her cats’ names, each on their own, and all nine variations of the three of them together, but it doesn’t work.

  Her family…

  I type CathrineLocke

  Please reenter the correct password. 3 more attempts and you’ll be locked out of the system.

  I type LawrenceLocke

  Please reenter the correct password. 2 more attempts and you’ll be locked out of the system.

  I might never get it.

  My palms sweat as I rub my cold hands together.

  I have to try. I scan her pictures for something I miss, and my eyes land on the two coffee cups left behind.

  I type caramelmachiatto.

  Please reenter the correct password. 1 more attempt and you’ll be locked out of the system.

  A new red asterisk sits beside the open field for the password.

  I turn to the keyboard, and a little dot above the caps lock key is turned on. I hit it and type caramelmachiatto again.

  The screen opens up, and a huge list of folders appears. Billy said it would be in a legal file…

  I cast nervous glances at the door as I scroll through the folders to the “L” and click on Locke Industries Legal Department, scrolling through the list of names and reaching Lawrence Locke. I click on it and scroll down to Transfer of Assets and Ownership and open the file as the door to Cathrine’s office opens.

  Fern steps out, walking backwards, still talking to Cathrine, her hand hanging on the doorknob.

  I scan the file and at the bottom, under the division of assets and shares section, it’s written plain as day.

  Ownership shares to be divided equally between Founder’s son, Orrick Locke, and Founder’s cousin, Cathrine Locke.

  I scroll all the way down, glancing at Fern as she takes another step back, and find Lawrence’s signature at the b
ottom.

  I don’t have time for my flash drive or even to take a picture. Fern closes the door and her eyes meet mine.

  No way to prove this.

  But I know it now. I know where it exists, and she doesn’t.

  I exit out of the first box as Fern walks over to me, heels clicking against the floor, tick tock, time’s up.

  I exit out of the interface and maximize my file as she rounds the desk and smiles down at me while I tap the caps lock key discreetly.

  “Do you feel better now?” she asks with the hint of a smile.

  I release a deep, dark breath and smile up at her through the tears in my eyes and nod. “Much.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Celebration

  Sitting in my car, phone in hand, I type a message to the unknown contact in my phone.

  It’s Tackman’s number, but I can’t assign his name to it any more than I can assign a name to who he is in my life.

  Private Benefactor. Drug and Arms Dealer. Volunteer. Murderer.

  Client—for now.

  He said it multiple times, and Danes shared the sentiment with me personally.

  He needs someone he can trust, and I think he trusts me now.

  Can I come over tonight? I send the message and stare up at the gates on Cordelia Lane.

  It has to be tonight.

  If Cathrine believes me, if I buy my freedom at this party, Tackman won’t be my client anymore. He won’t be anything to me, not even my captor, as long as I can get the gun.

  Then I’m taking Maggie and Andy away from here, and we’ll all get to start fresh with each other.

  We’ll have to leave fast, tonight, but we can do it. We’ll pack light, sell Maggie’s car to help with first and last month’s rent where we end up, and we’ll live off my last paycheck until we can get other jobs.

  Where will we work?

  Who will I be?

  A businesswoman—no. A free woman—yes.

  That’s all that matters.

  I drive up to the gate and press the button. “Josephine Oliver for the celebration.”