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“What the hell’s going on?” he says, more to Shelly than to me since he still doesn’t like me. “Why didn’t my card work? Did someone fire me when I wasn’t looking?”
“No. It happened to both of us, too. We’re trying to figure it out,” Shelly says, lifting the phone to her ear. She shakes her head. “Another voicemail.”
“Shit. This isn’t good,” he says, more serious than I’ve ever seen him before.
“Hold on. Don’t get worked up. It might be nothing,” I tell him calmly.
He scowls at me and says, “Shelly always knows where the partners are. Don’t you, Shell? If you don’t know…”
Shelly retreats to her desk, and we follow her over there. She starts going through the schedules of the partners, since she coordinates all of their appointments. “Hmm. Well, Lisa has a meeting in Falmouth at nine. And Bill’s clear… but he doesn’t come in Monday mornings. He has a lunch later in the afternoon with Lisa…”
“And the others?”
She frowns. “They’re supposed to be in. This is very odd. I don’t know what to say.”
I don’t, either. I grab my phone and text the only person I can think of, right now. Brooks.
Tenley: Something’s going on. Our keycards didn’t work, and the brothers are missing. Where are you?
He responds almost instantly.
Brooks: Are you serious? I’m on my way in. I’ll stop by Tom’s place—it’s on the way.
Leave it to Brooks to know where Tom lived. I always got the feeling the brothers were inviting him on upstate hunting trips and schmoozy little backyard barbecues with clients. I’m no idiot—I know it’s because he knows how to schmooze and I don’t. He’s pleasant company, and I never have been. But this time, I’m not jealous. I’m thankful.
My man is a man of action. He will be able to get to the bottom of this.
“Hold on. Brooks is going to stop by Tom’s place before he comes in,” I announce.
We all retreat to our offices, but of course, no work gets done. Every time the elevator doors open, new rumors fly. I try to concentrate on tying up loose ends with the Perry case, but it’s practically impossible. Especially when Brooks texts me.
Brooks: HOLY SHIT. You are not going to believe this.
I wait on pins and needles for about five seconds, before I decide I need to know.
Tenley: Tell me.
Brooks: I’m almost in. I’ll be up in a minute.
True to his word, he’s up in a minute. The non-working keycard is no hindrance whatsoever—he probably charmed someone into opening the door for him. He strides in, and though by now there are a dozen people gossiping in the hallway, passes them without a look and makes a bee-line for my office, closing the door behind him.
His face is grave. I know something is wrong. “Is Tom okay?”
“No. It turns out, no one’s okay.” He’s not just upset. He’s shellshocked.
“What do you mean? Did you talk to Tom?”
He shakes his head. “I spoke to his wife. She was on the way to the hospital so she couldn’t talk. Apparently, on Saturday, Lisa and Bill cleared out Foster and Foster’s bank accounts and skipped town.”
“What?”
He nods. “Apparently, they were lovers. And they were planning this for a long time. Tom was so distraught by the whole thing that he had a minor heart attack. And Ed… I don’t know where he is.”
I’m still trying to digest the first part of the story. Lisa and Bill, lovers? Bill was sixty-five, heading into his golden retirement years. I knew his wife had passed a few years ago, but… Lisa? I say her name out loud.
“She has a husband. Young kids,” I say. “Why would she…?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.” He leans against the desk, as if he needs it to support him.
I put a hand on his. “Okay… this can’t mean anything good for us.”
“It means that Foster & Foster is done, that’s what it means. They’re going to have to shutter us. And it also means that we’re out of jobs.”
My mouth gapes. It’s bad enough that I won’t get the partnership. But we won’t have jobs? Exhaling shakily, I scan my tiny office. I’d been taking it for granted, thinking a big, window-filled corner office was everything I wanted—and now, as I look around, I realize even this small desk and chair won’t be mine anymore.
But it’s worse than that. An invisible hand clutches at my heart as I think of my rather empty checking account. I might have a month of rent and expenses saved up, but… more than that is pushing it. “But we’ll get paid, right, for…”
I trail off. The accounts are dry. He already told me that. Brooks confirms it with a terse, “Wouldn’t count on it.”
I look out the window of my office. People are congregating out there. They know Brooks was the one who was going to get answers, and now they’re looking to him.
