Transparency Charles Royce (phonics reader .TXT) 📖

C h a p t e r   1 9

AFTER A BRISK walk in the rain through Hell’s Kitchen Park, I arrived at the existing Élan corporate headquarters at 45th and 12th. I went through the revolving door, aggravated by its lack of mobility.

“Jesus Christ,” I said under my breath as I finally pushed hard enough to break through to the lobby.

“I know, I hate those things.” It was Kimberly Nicholson, CEO James West’s assistant, who was passing through the turnstile to the elevator foyer. “But we won’t have to deal with them much longer.”

“Thank God.”

Kimberly noticed my frustration. “How are you, Josh? I was thinking for sure you’d take today off.”

I nodded, then pushed through the turnstile while trying to retract my flimsy New York five-dollar umbrella.

Kimberly took the moment of silence to greet me with a hug. “No, seriously, I want to know. How are you, man? Quite a weekend, huh? Lead story, Times online, Nightly News, ABC, NBC. Then yesterday? Front page news, Sunday New York Times. Not too shabby.”

“Right. Glamour, entertainment, publishing, murder. Now that’s a party.” The overdue click of my retracted umbrella finally came to fruition. “Hey, Kimbo, you think Mr. West could carve out some time for me this afternoon? I really need to talk to him about the grand opening.”

“Sure, no problem. He’s got a full schedule today but let me work my magic.”

Kimbo could definitely work magic. That’s one of the things I loved about him. A southern-born work acquaintance, Kimbo was a short, striking, feisty forty-four-year-old going on thirty who took to me the moment we got sloshed together after a company party two years ago. He’d revealed that he’d grown up in a small Louisiana town called Tallulah, right across the Mississippi River Bridge from my hometown of Vicksburg, Mississippi.

We’d also talked about our mutual fascination with spy movies, drunkenly quoting Mission: Impossible lines, both from the movie and the television series, adding “in your pants” to whatever we were quoting.

“This is your mission, should you choose to accept it.”

“In your pants.”

“I’m going to disavow you.”

“In your pants.”

We thought it was hilarious. Boom, friendship accomplished.

That same night, Kimbo also divulged details about his hush-hush executive assistant world, where the word assistant didn’t even begin to describe what these people did. Literally living for their bosses, organizing their personal and professional lives, knowing every single nuance of their boss’s personality, anticipating their every move, and staying two steps ahead of them, executive assistants were less like admins and more like special plenipotentiaries that were among the top paid executives at the organization. Up to that moment, I guess I’d been naïve as to what an executive assistant actually did.

After swiping our cards through security, I thanked Kimbo, and we both got on the elevator that had just arrived. I hit the button reading “Élan, Floor 30,” where my office was located. Kimberly pressed the button labeled “Executive Suites, Floor 31.” We stood there in silence. We were alone.

Kimbo broke the tension. “Horrible about Walter.”

“Yes. And poor Hillary. I can’t even imagine.” I continued looking straight ahead.

Kimbo nodded in agreement. The elevator opened and I stepped out, searching for my security card to get through the next set of doors. As the elevator began to close, I saw Kimbo turn to me, then heard him say one last thing.

“You know Walter Gordon was working with us, don’t you?”

C h a p t e r   2 0

“DEAR GOD, MAN,” Shawn says. “What was the point of all that?”

“I think it was to let you know they have a thing for each other,” Jenna says.

Josh looks at her. “We’ve talked about your mouth.”

“Can we concentrate?” Shawn slaps the table.

“The point was Kimbo told me about Walter Gordon,” Josh says.

“That’s not news,” Shawn says. “One of the first reports the night he was murdered said that Walter was an employee at Élan.”

“He was a consultant, actually, but what Kimbo was saying is that Walter Gordon was brought in to work directly with his boss, James West.” Josh’s eyes widen.

“I don’t get it,” Shawn says.

“You gotta understand our office,” Josh explains. “Not to mention the vow of silence that these executive assistants follow. Normally Kimbo would never even think of telling me that. He’d never let me in on anything James West would do. It’s almost forbidden. But this? This little quip in the elevator? It was pointed. It was like he was saying, I choose you to know this.”

“What Josh is saying is this.” Jenna leans forward. “Josh and I had met just the day before, talking about Lennox and the murder. Remember, Josh, at that restaurant? With the cool sign that changes from AM to PM, and then back again?”

“Yes.”

“It was the day of the big thunderstorm; the day Micah was officially arrested. After Josh and I left the restaurant, we took a walk up to Thompkins Square Park, chatting about the weirdness of the company. At that time, it was only raining a little bit, sprinkling, lovely.”

“I remember that day,” Shawn says.

Jenna nods. “I was fresh off of hanging out with Tracy the day before, where we’d shared all the weird things we both knew about Élan—bugging phone conversations, following people, documenting their private lives, employees shipped overseas. Shawn, do you remember me telling you all these things during the storm? I called you shortly after.”

“Vividly,” Shawn says.

“Well, Josh and I had just talked about all the strange company behavior,” Jenna says, “then Kimbo tells him this oddly intimate thing on the elevator the very next day. We knew Kimbo knew a lot more than he was saying.”

“And now Kimbo’s missing,” Josh says.

The room goes silent.

“Tell him about the email,” Jenna says.

“Kimbo sent me an email right before he disappeared.” Josh pulls it out of the red folder, passes it to Shawn.

“Looks like a normal message.” Shawn reads it out loud.

Hi Josh, just wanted to say I may go on vacation soon. I’ll contact you