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“I can come by after work. Say around eight?”
“Eight will be fine. We’ll see you then.”
He put his phone away and thought about this all the way into the city.
* * *
Devine was sitting at his cubicle when a message dropped into his business email box.
5:00 top floor. I’ll have someone escort you. BC
He fingered his phone, very glad that all of his “evidence” from that night was safely on his personal cloud. But even with that, Cowl could have something up his sleeve.
He looked around the room and noticed several people staring at him before quickly looking away. This had happened so frequently throughout the day that Devine finally stood and walked over to one woman who had done this multiple times.
“Is there a problem?”
Her name was Lydia White. She had dark hair and was heavyset and was probably going to make it to the finish line at Cowl because she was smart, worked like a dray horse, and knew what she wanted. He hadn’t spoken fifty words to her, and she had never given him the evil eye like this before.
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?”
“And that’s supposed to mean what, exactly?”
All tapping had ceased, and the rest of the Burners stopped working to listen.
“The detectives talked to you,” said White.
“They talked to a lot of people,” replied Devine.
“No, I asked around. It seems they really just talked to you, at least more than once. And you knew Sara.”
“We all knew Sara, everybody in this room.”
“Maybe you knew her better than the rest of us,” said White in an accusatory tone.
“And you’re basing this on what?” he said.
“I don’t have to base it on anything.” She looked him over. “You were in the Army. You know how to kill people.”
“Yeah, I was killing the enemies of this country. And don’t bother thanking me for my service. I think we’re past that.”
White flushed at his words and looked away.
He glanced around at the others. “Anybody else have a problem they’d like to bring to my attention?”
The keys started tapping again, soon turning into an avalanche of sound. That was why most people here wore headphones or AirPods.
Devine sat back down. And put in his AirPods. They did nothing to quell all the noise in his head.
He worked until 4:58. Then the door opened and there appeared Willard Paulson, Cowl’s lapdog. He caught Devine’s eye and motioned him to come.
Devine left with the Burners’ gazes on him the whole way.
Paulson said nothing, and Devine had nothing he wanted to say to the dweeb. Paulson used his card to access the elevator bank. It looked just like Devine’s, a 125, as Valentine had described it. Easily cloneable bullshit.
“I didn’t think this elevator went to the penthouse,” said Devine. “Only Mr. Cowl has access.”
Paulson shot him a glance. “We’ll get off at the floor below and someone will meet you and take you to Mr. Cowl.”
As they approached the fifty-first floor, Devine eyed Paulson, who was looking at his phone. Devine leaned against the wall and used his elbow to nudge the button for that floor. It didn’t light up, and they whizzed right past it.
That’s interesting. Not even the inner circle can get in there.
The doors opened and Devine got off, where he was met by her smiling face.
“Hello, Mr. Devine,” said Michelle Montgomery.
