I watch the rain streak down the window, the sky grey and gloomy beyond. “I know.”
“And you’re going to take a massive tax hit.”
“I’m aware.”
“Yes, of course you are.” Daniel sighs. “Where do you want the proceeds?”
“Split across some new accounts. I’ll send you the details. And I’m going to need to access it internationally.”
A longer pause this time. “Are you moving abroad?”
“Nothing like that.”Exactly like that.“Let’s say I’ll be traveling for a while.”
“I see.” He clicks his tongue, a habit he has. “If you need anything beyond the portfolio—legal contacts, banking in Europe—let me know.”
“Kind of you to ask.” I hesitate, considering. “All right. Who do you know in real estate?”
The day passes in a whirl of a hundred necessary tasks, and when I glance at the time, it’s already gone eight.
Shit. I wanted to see Vicky. Maybe she’s back home, waiting for me.
But the dot’s where it’s been all day.
I pick my phone up and send her a text, her response comes immediately.
Sorry, I’m still not feeling well. Feeling worse, if anything. Aches and pains all over.
You’re still at Carol’s?
The dot tells me she is. But it would be odd if I didn’t ask; she might think I’m doing exactly what I’m doing: tracking her.
Do you want a picture of her living room?
I laugh. She’s taken it as mistrust anyway. The irony is… well…pointed.
Of course not. It’s enough to know where you are.
Which I will always do, from now on.
Sorry. I’m grouchy. For… reasons.
Maybe this is the reason for the other times she was short with me. I genuinely can’t remember the last time she had her period; she must’ve just not told me.
Rita knocks on my door and walks in, then closes the door with meticulous care.
“Just a second,” I say, and type a reply.
I quite understand. Tomorrow, though? I’m going to leave early. I’ll pick you up if you’re not feeling well enough to travel.
The three dots of typing come, then go, then return.Sounds good.
And I find I’m looking forward to it too.
I throw my phone onto the desk. “Well?”
She walks to the chair before my desk and sits before she replies. One leg crosses over the other, her short skirt riding up. She must know it’s too late for that; I think she does it out of habit.
“Good news and bad.”
