I wrapped up the paperwork and printed it just minutes before the deadline. Knocking on André’s office door, I let out a breath.
I could survive until Monday. No, not I could. Iwould.
Excerpt from the Testimony of Sebastian Saidi
Taken on Monday, November 2nd
SS: What can I say about Vera? She’s a smart girl.
(Pause.)
SS: I didn’t think so at first. I mean, it took me a while to realise there was a brain beneath that blonde mane. Don’t get me wrong, please. It’s like a stereotype, isn’t it? The dumb blonde. I fell for it. My bad. It’s just that… Well, yes, at first, I thought it was a joke. When I saw the girl that my uncle had chosen for an internship at the firm, I thought he was messing with me. I’ll be a little blunt here. It’s necessary to set the scene: seven-thirty in the morning, the first Monday after summer vacation. I’m at the reception desk, covering Sarah’s shift. My uncle tells me the new hire will be arriving that morning. Fine, I think. I’m absorbed in my papers, only looking up to sip my coffee, and not much else. Until I hear a deep voice. Hi. I’m Vera. Vera Rodríguez. It’s my first day. I keep my gaze fixed on the desk. André will want to see you first, I tell her. To which she responds, she doesn’t know where his office is. For heaven’s sake, there was a huge sign with his name on the door! I looked at her. Blonde hair, long and wavy. Big almond eyes. A shy smile. That’s when I thought that it was a joke from my uncle. I mean, Vera’s question was pretty silly. Now I know she sometimes gets nervous and says things like that. And André isn’t the kind of person who jokes around, you know? I pointed her towards his office, and the girl disappeared in that direction. As she walked away, I noticed she was wearing a pair of stiletto heels.
I had seen Vera Rodríguez’s résumé myself. Impressive. A year ahead in her studies. Winner of the Chance Program, which all the law students in the English-speaking world apply for… The girl who showed up at the office —I really am sorry, I don’t think like this anymore, I’m just trying to help you paint a picture— didn’t match the profile. Minutes later, she emerged from my uncle’s office with him. They shook hands, and he showed her to her office. “We’ll have a nameplate made for your door,” he told her. Vera just smiled, as if it made perfect sense that a girl like her had landed a job at Saidi. As if it were a trifle. Something easy to accomplish.
What I want to make clear is that Vera is deceptive. She’s not easy to get to know. You could say she has a public and a private life. I think André chose her as his assistant on the Garros case for two reasons: to let her prove what she’s capable of, and because there would be cameras and reporters following the case. Vera’s smile could light up a whole room, and she works hard.
(Pause.)
SS: I don’t admit this often, because I would have liked to be the one handling the case, but everyonein the office knew she’d win. I knew she’d win, even if I was praying she’d lose. She’s one of the smartest people I’ve met.
Her private life? Ah, well… As I said, her family is humble. Vera almost never talks about them. I think it’s best if you ask her directly. Can we move on to a different topic?
Chapter 3
THE DAY. Please, make sure to put that in the report with capital letters. I knew it would be a good day before it even started. The moment I opened my eyes, I just felt it. I mean, come on, it was Friday! Finally! Fridays can never suck too badly. It’s a rule.
I live with my friend Gina. We met just over three years ago through an ad. She wanted to move to London, even though she wasn’t even eighteen yet, and was looking for a roommate who was already of age so she could sneak into clubs. Meanwhile, I needed a placeto live. I’m quite chaotic—too much so, according to her; she says it’s because my chakras are all out of whack—but we became close friends. I’m a morning person. I relish taking my time getting ready and having breakfast. It’s a little ritual, small moments that are mine alone. I follow the same routine every morning: I get out of bed, open the windows, and jump into the shower. Gina, on the other hand, sleeps until three in the afternoon every day, so I try to be as quiet as possible.
Sometimes, after my shower, I’ll stand by the window a bit longer, pretending I’m out in the countryside, imagining the breeze wafting in is fresh and clean, and that the smell from the sewers below is something earthy, like cow manure, instead of… well, what we all know it really is. Then, I close the windows and get dressed.
That’s exactly what I did that morning, in that order. And then I SAW IT. Yes, put that in all caps too.
I SAW IT.
A dark grey duffle bag, sitting at the foot of my bed. Call me boring, uptight, dumb, whatever you like. But if there’s one thing I’m not, that’s athletic. I’ve never owned a duffel bag. And I know Gina doesn’t, either. Come on, she wakes up at three and by five in the afternoon she’s splattered on the sofa, eating the daily special from the Indian place downstairs, and smoking a cigarette. Tandoori chicken and a smoke. Palak paneer and a smoke. Some days, I’ll join her after work for an improvised snack. Gulab jamun and a smoke. If I ever came home and found her doing squats instead of sinking her teeth into a piece of falafel, I’d probably call 911.
What I’m saying is, as soon as I saw it, I knew that duffel bag wasn’t ours. And it hadn’t been there the night before, when I went to bed. Gina must have left it there. Maybe itbelonged to a friend of hers, or who knows.
I tugged at the zipper, teeth grinding against each other as it slid open. My breath caught in my throat. It sounds like something out of a dream, doesn’t it? Waking up to a mountain of cash at your feet! My heart pounded in my chest. There was more money in that bag than I had ever laid eyes on before.
“Gina!”
I barged into her room, the heavy scent of incense and vanilla hitting me like a wave. Gina lay face down in a sea of fashion magazines and torn newspaper clippings. Did I mention Gina is a design student? She didn’t move, refusing to give me anything but the back of her head and her butt.
“Vera? What time is it?”
“Quarter to seven.”
“In the evening?”
I navigated the arrangement of clothes thrown across the floor like a makeshift carpet. Gina’s mattress rested on the floor, so I crouched down, lowering myself to meet her where she lay.
“In the morning.”
“Ugh, Vera! I just got into bed.” She rolled over, her makeup smudged around her sharp gaze, her ruby-red bangs plastered to her forehead. Her long, black hair was gathered into a messy ponytail.
“Gina Meng. This is serious.”
