Make Your Move

by Laura Heffernan

  “It’s enough to try, right? Are you worried he won’t believe you? Go to Hans. Or better yet, go to the full board of directors.”

  All excellent ideas. All things I would do in a heartbeat, but for Megan’s threats. I tried to change the subject. “I’m starting to think the board doesn’t exist. We haven’t seen or heard anything from any of them except Hans.”

  Ryan watched me carefully for a minute. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes, you do,” he said. “There’s a reason you’re not turning them in. You’re a nice person, but you’re not a doormat. You don’t let people treat you like this, not without a good reason. And don’t feed me more garbage about people not believing you. They can’t believe you if you don’t tell them. The fact that someone’s not likely to listen isn’t a good reason not to tell them what they need to hear.”

  “I know.”

  “Hold on. Did Tyler tell Megan you’re demi? Is that the problem? You’re worried that she’ll tell all the guys, and they’ll give you a hard time?”

  He’d come so close to hitting the nail on the head. But if this were only about me, I’d deal with the fallout. “No.”

  “Hmmm.” Ryan held out one hand. “Give me your phone.”

  “What? Why?”

  “I want to hear that tape for myself. There’s something on it you don’t want me to know.”

  I lowered my gaze to the desk. “You don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes, I do. Give it to me. Now.”

  Our eyes met, but Ryan’s gaze didn’t waver. I saw the determination on his face, knew I couldn’t win this battle. Finally, with a sigh, I unlocked my phone and pulled up the file. Then I slid the device into his hand and averted my eyes. “It’s near the end, if you want to skip ahead.”

  “Think I’ll listen to the whole thing, thanks.” He air-dropped the file into his own phone, then popped earbuds into his ears. Then he leaned back and closed his eyes to listen.

  We sat in silence. The rest of the office was fairly busy, with Dennis leading a focus group in the middle of the room. He had several kids who appeared to be about eight to twelve years old running around and making animal noises, so no one paid any attention to us.

  A quiet gasp told me when Ryan reached the relevant part of the tape. A moment later, he slammed his phone onto the table. “No. Shannon, you’re not doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “You’re not going to let them get away with stealing your ideas to protect me.”

  I lowered my voice. “I can’t out you to save myself. Even if you weren’t a good friend, I would never do that to anyone.”

  “You wouldn’t be outing me. You don’t control Megan. You’re not telling her what to do.”

  “But if I know she’s going to do it, and I allow it to happen, then I’m partially responsible.”

  We stared at each other, locked in a stalemate. Finally, Ryan nodded. “I get why you would think that. And I absolutely appreciate what you’re doing.”

  “Thanks. So you understand—”

  Abruptly, Ryan stood, so fast his chair careened backward into the desk. Then he climbed on top of it, teetering for a second before stepping onto the desk instead. He waved his arms over his head and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Everyone, may I have your attention please? I have an announcement.”

  Too late, I realized what he intended. Oh, no. I grabbed his hand and hissed at him. “Stop. Get down.”

  From the middle of the room, Dennis’s voice boomed out. “What going on? You two getting married?”

  A few nervous laughs skittered around the room. Ryan smiled thinly. “No, but thank you for asking. I wanted to let everyone in the office know that I’m trans.”

  I sought out Megan in the crowd. She stood with her arms crossed, lips pressed so firmly together, they disappeared.

  Someone asked, “What?”

  Ryan repeated himself. “I am a trans man. Assigned female at birth, raised as a girl. A few years ago, I realized my truth, that I am a man. I just thought everyone should know.”

  Stuart looked over from the next desk. “Um, thanks?”

  A high-pitched voice sounded from the direction of the kids playing Dennis’s game. “Coooooooooool!”

  “Any questions?” When no one said anything, Ryan stepped down, and sat. A moment later, he popped back to his feet. “Oh, and also, Megan and Dennis stole Shannon’s idea for the kids’ social deduction games, and Megan told everyone she’d out me if Shannon turned her in. So, here we are. Have a good day.”

  My mouth fell open. “I can’t believe you did that.”

  Megan let out a series of outraged shrieks, but everyone else fell silent. The kids all stared, apparently having decided our interoffice drama was more interesting than Dennis’s game. It took me a minute to find Dennis in the crowd. His stood trembling, hands clenched at his sides.

  Jameson appeared behind us. “Excuse me, but those are some serious allegations, young man.”

  “Yes, I know,” Ryan said. “But she has proof. Shannon?”

  “Get it,” Jameson said. “I want all of you in my office in two minutes.”

  Since the evidence I needed resided on the phone in my pocket, I followed him into his office. Megan and Dennis appeared a moment later. Ryan stood against the back wall, arms folded.

  “Who wants to go first?” Jameson asked.

  “Shannon will,” Ryan said. “She’s the one who figured it all out.”

  It didn’t take long to lay out my evidence: the moved chair, the Construct Me coincidence, the changed password, Megan leaving my apartment early in the morning before work, and Dennis magically knowing all of my ideas by the end of that day.

  Jameson listened to all of it, silencing Megan each time she tried to interrupt. “I always thought the two of you coming up with the same idea was a bit fishy. But it is an old game, and I didn’t want to believe one of my employees was sneaking around, looking in other people’s computers. The fact that it’s my own daughter…I’m appalled. You said you have proof?”

  “I do, sir.” Pulling out my phone, I opened the audio file.

  Before I could tap the Play button, Megan stopped me. “Daddy, you can’t listen to that. It’s illegal in Massachusetts to record a private conversation. Or to ask someone else to play one for you.”

  “After everything I’ve done for you, are you going to have your father arrested for listening to a recording?” Megan visibly shrank under the scrutiny of her father’s gaze. “How do you know what Shannon is about to play for me if she’s lying?”

  Dennis cleared his throat. “I have no idea what Shannon thinks she has, but if she’s secretly recorded me on video, I will be pressing criminal charges.”

  His words seemed to give Megan strength. “Me, too. Not against you, Daddy, but against Shannon.”

  For a long moment, everyone stared at me. Finally, I stood, walking to the water cooler in the corner and taking a long drink. Then I turned and faced the others. “Ryan did something very brave and difficult out there. He stood up and announced something very private, to ensure that Megan and Dennis didn’t get away with what they did.”

  “And I’d do it again,” Ryan said. “I’m not cool with blackmail.”

  I nodded. “It’s time for me to be brave, too. I’m willing to accept the consequences of my actions.”

  “You’re sure about this?” Jameson said.

  “Yeah.” With a deep breath, I pressed Play.

  Megan shrieked and dove for my phone, knocking it out of my hand. She continued to make noise until Dennis stood, wrapping his arms around her and putting a hand over her mouth. On the floor, my phone played.

  “This game is so much fun!” Preston’s voice emanated from the speakers.
A recording from my focus group. Legally obtained, and not remotely incriminating. The real tape wasn’t needed, in light of Megan’s actions. Her desperate attempt to stop me from playing the recording made her deception obvious.

  “My daughter’s reaction shows me everything I need to know. Sweetheart, you’re fired. Get your stuff, and I’ll see you at home.”

  She went pale, stilling instantly in Dennis’s arms. He coughed. “What about me?”

  “Take the rest of the week off,” Jameson said. “I want to compare Shannon’s files with what you gave me, and I’ll be in touch in a few days.”

  It was bad form to smirk at other people’s misfortune, so I struggled to maintain a straight face as I turned to Jameson. “Thank you for listening to me.”

  He put out one hand, which I shook. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention. That took a lot of nerve.”

  My heart sang as I watched the two of them leave together. Megan continued to shoot me scathing looks through the window of Jameson’s office as Dennis practically dragged her to her desk to get her stuff, then out the front door.

  He might be back, since my illegal recording didn’t prove he knew what Megan had done. Producing the actual tape wasn’t worth going to jail when it didn’t give me the needed confession. I needed to prove not only when I came up with the idea, but why Jameson should make me executive game designer over Dennis.

  The Haunted Place was doing well. Thanks to John’s help, copies at Game On! sold quickly. With the resources of BGG, it could become as popular as Betrayal at House at the Hill. It would take me years to get my social deduction game on the shelves without BGG’s distribution and marketing connections.

  My heart wrenched at the thought, but I knew what I needed to do. There was only one way to convince my boss that my game ideas were better than Dennis’s.

  I took a deep breath and counted to ten, not entirely believing what I was about to say. “If you have another moment, sir, I have a couple of things I’d like to show you.”

  Chapter 21

  “Don’t be a ninny. When someone gives you a gift, accept it.” —Nana

  At the end of the day, I left the office, my steps heavy. My conversation with Jameson should have left me feeling optimistic about the future, but for some reason, I felt hollow. A month ago, or even a week ago, I’d been desperate for the executive game designer job. Finally, my boss recognized that I was the best candidate, once I started talking about branching out into making adult games. He loved the ideas I’d shown him and thought The Haunted Place could be ready for a relaunch before Christmas.

  After printing out all my original notes with the screenshots and a few emails, he believed that Dennis had used my ideas to get the promotion. As of two o’clock this afternoon, the title officially did not belong to him, and he’d received a written warning. I wanted him fired, but Jameson strongly suspected that Megan masterminded the deception. I still couldn’t prove Dennis stole my password or that he asked her to do it. For now, I needed to accept that a slap on the wrist was all he was going to get. Completely unfair, but sadly not unexpected. I supposed I should be grateful he didn’t get to keep the promotion.

  If I took the executive game designer job, I’d get everything I ever wanted. I could even devise a mentorship program aimed at finding people from underrepresented groups and teaching them to make games. There was so much good to be done.

  But as I rode the T home that afternoon, it didn’t feel like enough. Handing over the drawings Tyler and I made in order to get a promotion left me hollow. We worked on that game together, intending for it to be marketed and sold as one of my products. Not as part of BGG’s line. Sure, Tyler gave me all the pictures. He wasn’t likely to raise a fuss, especially since he wasn’t speaking to me. But using Speak Easy to get the promotion I’d earned a dozen other ways felt wrong. Did I want the job that badly?

  One thing always helped me think: Nana’s kitchen. More accurately, a conversation with Nana, coffee, and one of her homemade cupcakes. It was almost five o’clock, so she should be home from the hospital. I shuddered to think of the earful the doctors would have received if they tried to stop her from leaving.

  “Nana, it’s your favorite granddaughter!” I announced from the entryway. “Are you decent?”

  She appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, fully dressed and wearing gloves. “Am I decent? What kind of a question is that? Michael and I were expecting you.”

  “Well, you’re wearing rubber gloves, so maybe a valid one.”

  Playfully, she swatted at my arm, but her cheeks were turning pink. “Shush. Now give me a hug.”

  Dutifully, I crossed the room to wrap my arms around her, relieved to see her dressed and upright and not attached to any tubes. “How are you feeling?”

  “Like a million bucks,” she said. “Don’t you worry about me. How are you?”

  “You won’t believe what just happened.” Pacing the living room, I recounted my afternoon at the office. Halfway through, Nana brought me coffee, which I gratefully accepted.

  “That’s quite the offer,” Nana said when I finally stopped to take a breath. “What are you going to do?”

  “I have no idea,” I said. “Honestly, I should probably take it. Take the raise, take the promotion, and get my games into the market. They don’t need my name on them, do they?”

  “Only you can answer that,” she said. “That sounds like a solid plan.”

  “Yeah, it does.” This coffee tasted good, but I needed something more. “I know you’ve had a lot going on, but do you have any cupcakes in the freezer?”

  Before she could answer, I headed for the kitchen. According to Mom, there had been a revolving tray of baked goods in Nana’s freezer since the Ford administration. The fact that she hadn’t been home for a couple of days meant nothing. But when I entered the room, I stopped dead at the sight awaiting me. “What’s going on?”

  A massive stack of cardboard boxes leaned against the far wall. The cabinet doors stood open, and a medium-sized box sat on the ground, half full of brown-paper wrapped bundles that could only contain dishes. Michael knelt in front of the box, wrapping china.

  “Oh, dear,” Nana said. “I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

  “Find out?” I repeated in a daze. For about three seconds, I’d let myself believe she just bought new dishes. “Are you moving?”

  “Why don’t you tell me your news first?”

  “I already told you my news! Nana, tell me you’re not selling the house.”

  “Let’s have a seat and talk about this over an early dinner,” she said. “The sauce is just about finished, and I was poaching eggs before you arrived.”

  Poached eggs. Hollandaise sauce. A glance at the oven showed a tray of bacon inside. I adored breakfast for dinner. If Nana was making my favorite meal when it wasn’t my birthday, I absolutely did not want to hear what she was about to tell me. But it was too late. The boxes and the look on her face said it all.

  Woodenly, I allowed Nana to lead me to the table. My knees bent enough to take a seat. Nana had lived below me for years. We ate breakfast together every morning. We chatted about life while Nana gardened in the summer or drank hot cocoa and baked together in the winter. She was the person I came to for advice whenever anything went wrong.

  “Stop looking like you’ve been invited to my execution,” Nana said. “I’m not moving to France.”

  “But you are moving?” Hearing it confirmed settled my heartbeat a little. Knowing the worst meant I could figure out how to deal with it.

  She nodded. “To be honest, this has been a long time coming. It’s getting harder and harder to climb the porch steps every day.”

  “You know I’d help you!”

  “Well, that’s wonderful,” she said. “Because you never need to leave the house, so you’re free to do nothing but help m
e up and down the stairs all the time.”

  Her words made me flush. “Okay, but what about an elevator or a chair lift?”

  “They’re expensive and would have to be removed when you eventually sell the house after I pass away.”

  “Don’t talk like that.” Then a horrible thought struck me. “Are you sick? I thought the doctors said—”

  “Shh. I’m fine, dear. As long as I don’t exert myself too much. Michael’s place has an elevator. They also have a concierge service to help out with things like bringing deliveries up to the apartment.”

  “I do that, too,” I grumbled.

  “You’ve been a huge help to me,” she said. “But I’m ready to let this old house go. I don’t have the energy to do the repairs it needs, nor do I want to live in a construction zone.”

  I choked on my eggs Benedict. When Nana said she planned to move out, that seemed like the worst that could happen. But now…it sounded like I might have to leave, too. “Are you selling the place?”

  Michael appeared in the kitchen doorway, plate in hand. He moved around the room, getting himself breakfast/dinner while he spoke. “Now, don’t blame your nana, Shannon. This whole thing was my idea.”

  The “whole thing”? The hollandaise sauce turned to glue in my mouth. There was more? Nana got married and suddenly my whole world turned upside down? Unable to speak, I gulped my coffee while Michael settled himself at the table.

  Finally, I said, “What are you talking about? You talked Nana into selling her home?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “I’m not a gold digger, and even if I were, your grandmother is too smart to fall for some hustler.”

  “We were going to wait for the right time to tell you this,” said Nana, “but it seems like the time is now. Don’t stay at a job where you’re not happy just for the money.”

  My brow furrowed at her words. “Thanks for the advice, but what does that have to do with anything?”

  “We’re giving you the house,” Nana said.