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I narrow my eyes. “How would my working on Wall Street exact true social change?”
“You will burn it down. I don’t know how exactly, but someone like you could infiltrate the entire structure over there. You can quietly research the shit out of them. Then write the book that shows all the corruption and back-slapping that happens. Prove how rigged it is for the rich to get richer as the poor become poorer. You could do this!”
“Why would I want to?” I ask, but her enthusiasm is starting to catch. The idea of infiltrating and studying the inner workings of Wall Street–not as the hardworking brainiac from Jersey who needs to put her brother through college but as an undercover researcher–has a certain appeal. I’d be playing a role, knowing it was only a role. There’s freedom in that.
“Think of the good you’d do with that kind of salary! You wouldn’t have to live with your mom and brother anymore.”
“With the right position, I might even be able to cover all of Brayden’s college tuition.”
“Totally!” Aubrey slaps her hand down on mine. “You could help me pay my college tuition. I’m just kidding.”
“We could move in together,” I offer, already starting to see the plan. Aubrey has also been living at home for the last year and a half to save money.
“I would love that!” She beams at me. She points at my open laptop on the coffee table. “Go find a job.”
“I can’t believe you, of all people, actually want me to work on Wall Street.”
Aubrey waggles her brows as she nods enthusiastically. “This is going to be great. Epic. This is better than Occupy Wall Street. It’s “Infiltrate Wall Street.”
I look down at the acceptance letter from Harvard. “I could write and ask for a deferral. Tell them I’m starting my sociology studies on the ground on Wall Street. They will either love it or hate it. Either way, I’m being authentic for once.”
“Ooh, the irony. Your most authentic moment is when you fake a Wall Street hard-on. Perfect. I freaking love it!”
I sort of love it, too.
I flip open my laptop and start the process.
Wall Street, here I come.
ChapterOne
Brick
The view from the Moon Co.’s executive suite would make a lesser man, a human, dizzy. The building is so tall, it sways in the wind. But that’s the price of tasting rare air, and having all of Lower Manhattan at your feet.
Up here, it’s easy to forget you’re mortal. Up here, it’s easy to feel like a god.
A shadow falls across the glass as Billy, my second in command, comes to stand beside me.
“We’re almost there,” he says quietly. I know he’s referring to the vow we made years ago, in our dorm at Yale, on the worst day of my life. The day my father was murdered and our enemies destroyed everything he’d built.
“Almost,” I growl. We both stare at the building across from us. The building our enemies erected to taunt us.
“We’re close.” He claps his hand on my shoulder. “The Adalwulfs won’t know what hit them.”
I pivot and take a seat at the head of the conference room table. Billy heads to open the door, to signal that the meeting is about to start. The rest of the executive team starts to file in.
That's when it hits me. A sweet scent, both bright and citrus-y but complex like nutmeg. Mouthwatering.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to cuss and ream someone out. Perfumes and colognes of any type are banned from the premises. It’s stated clearly in the employee handbook, practically on the first page. Billy takes great joy in firing the new hires that forget.
But it’s not perfume. It’s someone’s natural scent. But whose?
There, by the elevator.
New Girl.
I fired my assistant Friday, which means her assistant, Indira, moved up the ladder, and there’s a new starry-eyed college grad in Indira’s place.
