He lets out a short breath, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Okay, well, if that’s true…then what’s another day or two?”
Oh shit. Another day or two.
Monday! The layoffs!
I grab Greg’s arm, gripping it for dear life. “I have his password!” I exclaim. “Did you bring your laptop?”
We move into the diner next to the gas station, using Greg’s phone as a Wi-Fi hotspot.
I sign in to my Slack account, download the spreadsheet Mom found, enter the password, and—oh my God, everything is here, all laid out. Every clandestine payment made from TKCORP to one of the GERBO LLCs to Mark Winterson and then on to what seems to be Erickson’s offshore bank account, in an amount just shy of $10,000.
There are routing numbers in the spreadsheet, too, apparently for Mark Winterson’s own reference.
He was even using one tab as a to-do list.
WIND DOWN SPECIAL PURPOSE ENTITIES
ENSURE SOX COMPLIANCE
PREPARE FOR IPO
So Erickson has been stealing from TKCORP—ever since he started, probably. And now that they want to take the company public, he brought in Mark Winterson to cover it up before they have to make more disclosures about the company’s finances.
Greg peers over my shoulder from behind and whistles.
“Um, yeah, I think we have enough to make a stink,” he says in a low voice. “Do you…know anyone in the media?”
I remember Anna from the reunion, telling me about her struggles in journalism. Maybe now she won’t have to sell her eggs.
I write everything up in an email, attach all the evidence, and send it.
And then I text her:Hey Anna! I know it’s the weekend, but I’ve got a huge scoop for you. Call me!
After I finish talking to Anna, we get back on the road, sandy earth and big sky stretching out around us while we sit in exhausted silence. An email notification pops onto my screen—a message from DocuSign.Update to: Relationship Contract.And in a text block in the body, it says:
Contract terminated in person (fleeing). Clauses one, four, and five still binding, as per agreement. —MW
I can’t help it—I start laughing, desperately, unstoppably, gasping for air, clutching my sides.
“What’s funny?” Greg asks.
“I’m such an idiot.”
My adrenaline peaked long ago, and now I’m crashing, my aching, hungover limbs so heavy, thoughts slowing and growing thick. My eyelids close and I drift off to sleep.
Chapter
53
“Ruby. Hey,” Greg says, nudging my shoulder. “We’re here.”
I straighten up in the passenger seat and rub my sleep-swollen eyes. Outside it’s the golden hour, and we’re parked in front of my house. Jacaranda petals litter the sidewalk, shocking violet against the gray concrete.
“I really passed out there,” I say, flipping down the visor mirror and checking my wild hair. I shook it out of its bun sometime before we crossed back into California.
“Yeah,” Greg says. “Your snoring was cute.”
Everything that happened today rushes back—especially how Greg stopped me when I tried to kiss him.
