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He will be here. He is always here.
Not many people know about this location. Only a select few. I consider myself lucky. After I park my car halfway up the block, I get out and walk the rest of the way.
Protocol.
There is no point in announcing myself or even ringing the bell, not that he has one. The door is opening as soon as my feet touch the concrete tiles. His state-of-the-art surveillance system is doing the job, opening like magic. It blends with the street, understated, to give the illusion of nothing beyond a run-down building, but inside tells another story.
“You don’t even call anymore,” he says, eyebrow raised. He’s still seated behind his monster of a desk, not bothering to stand to greet me.
“Who are you kidding? You wouldn’t have answered,” I chide.
“You’re right. I wouldn’t. Now get in here before anyone sees you.”
With that, I step inside, and the door slams behind me. As I walk into the cavernous space, no matter how often I come here, I’m still shocked. I saw the before and after of the building. Saw each step in the transformation process.
It’s no longer the crumbling warehouse with questionable infrastructure.
Concrete, stainless steel, and metal are now entwined to mix the urban feel with cutting-edge design. Flat-panel computer monitors are the only thing on the walls, but not just one or two. There are dozens.
These monitors display the outside of the warehouse. Hence the door opening for me.
And standing there, in front of millions of dollars’ worth of equipment, I tell my best friend exactly what I need.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
PAYTON
I’m running late. Again.
This is officially the story of my life since I moved in with Trent.
Every morning, I wake up and clean this asshole’s loft. Wouldn’t bother me if I got to pick the time, but for some reason, he now wants me to do it after he leaves for work, but before I go to school.
I wake up at five in the morning now, which again wouldn’t be a problem alone, but I’m up until two every night, studying.
Worst part? I’m not even studying stuff for my major. I’m studying things ‘Trent deems appropriate.’ Gail’s words. Not mine. Though she gave me a heads-up on the next curriculum Trent set up, and I’m pretty sure that’s a major breach of procedure for her.
On the train, I find myself muttering the same sentence to myself
“What doesn’t kill us only makes us stronger.”
It’s my mantra these days. It’s either that or “Fuck. My. Life.”
And I’m still secretly comprising a list of all my grievances against Trent Aldridge.
What started as a way to prepare myself for a court case has now become therapy journaling. I pull out the journal and spend the entire train ride reviewing the list, debating what to add to it.
It reads like this:
Without written notice that the Trustee would no longer pay my bills, all services and tuition payments were canceled.
Without warning or legal timing to find alternative housing, I was evicted from the home that should have been paid for by Trustee.
My mode of transportation payments was canceled by Trustee and vehicle repossessed.
Without telling me the rate and penalty ahead of time, I get charged two thousand per minute from the trust when I arrive late to meetings the Trustee requested.
