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“Do you think he’s involved somehow?”
“I did, but I don’t think so anymore. That’s not the point, though. The point is he interpreted my questioning as classism.”
“Classism?”
“Yes. Discrimination against people of a certain socioeconomic—”
"I know what classism is. I mean, really? That's how he took it?"
“I’m sure he has his reasons. The real point is that he was convinced I was coming after him because it was easier to blame the poor pool boy than the rich tech mogul. The shitty part is that he’s right.”
“The hell he is. Just because he can’t handle a tough conversation doesn’t mean you’re an asshole for doing your job.”
“We are though, if you think about it.”
“How so?”
Lena pointed at the screen. “The ME lied. Pushed to or not, he let the world believe that Lila Kensington’s death was an accident because that was easier than admitting the possibility that someone rich and powerful could have committed that crime. Letting such a person get away with it was easier than risking that person’s anger toward you.”
“So cry me a river, build me a bridge and deal with it. The world’s not perfect. I gave up trying to make it that way twenty years ago.”
“Nathan Harlow hasn’t.”
“Nathan Harlow’s a kid.”
“He’s still right.”
Harris sighed and slumped. “So what do you want to do?”
“I want to care.”
Harris stared blankly at her. “You want to care?”
“Someone has to.”
“The kid say that to?”
“He did.”
“You sure you’re not just hot for the sexy pool boy?”
Lena chuckled. “That’s a fun thought, but no. I like my men old and bitter.”
“He seemed pretty bitter.”
“He also seemed young enough to order a happy meal.”
“Anyone can order a happy meal.”
Lena rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ll tell you what. As challenging as it is, I’ll keep my shirt buttoned at least until we discover what really happened to Lila Kensington.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
He rolled his eyes. “So what do you want to do?”
“I want to have a conversation with Dr. Basler.”
