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“So even after chritonium was strongly suspected to be harmful, they persuaded my dad to take part in these secret and ‘oh, so important’ projects—dangling the carrot of promotions and better pay. He was book smart and desperate to get ahead so that he could give us a better life, but not so smart about his rights, or their obligations, and they totally took advantage of that fact.”
“So your dad worked for Cavanagh Corp when it was still Maclean Enterprises?”
“Yeah, and right up until a few years ago when his health became so bad, he just couldn’t carry on. But like I said, all this stuff was going down right when they sold out. Maclean Enterprises was going under, so Cavanagh Corp swept in and bought them up for a rock-bottom price. Seems like all Cavanagh wanted was a profitable purchase, it was all about the bottom line, and doing the right thing by loyal employees would hurt the profit margin, so they went back on their word.”
“Motherfucker.” That was putting it mildly.
* * *
I woke up a few hours later with a pressing need to get out of there. The whole situation was ridiculous, and I needed to shut it down before it got any more out of hand than it already was.
I also desperately needed advice, because my head was messed up. It was the kind of situation that made me wish my mom was around. But she wasn’t, so like everything else in my life, I’d have to figure it out for myself with a little help from my friends. I figured Rocky was the perfect person to talk to, given what she’d been through with Drew’s friend Xavier.
Me: Boo, I need to talk you. Big time. Stat.
Rocky: Okay. About anything in particular?
Me: Someone in particular.
Rocky: Umm…lemme guess. Built like an ancient god, looks like trouble. Goes by the name of Drew?
Me: #nailedit
Rocky: Been there, done that, got the emotional scars to prove it.
This was a reference to her emotional rollercoaster ride of a relationship with Drew’s best friend, and equally evil asshole when he wanted to be, Xavier Cross. The pair—Xavier and Drew—had gone to school together, and ran Cygnus Dei, the secret society at their college. I just hoped they didn’t ever decide to run anything else together, neither a business, nor the world. They’d be the most diabolical pairing since Hitler and Göring
Me: I know. That’s why I need you. When are you free. Tomorrow?
Rocky: My schedule is so full RN, it’s a fucking joke, but you know I’ll move heaven and earth for my girl. I can do tomorrow, but only if we meet on campus. Early.
Me: Okay, that’s cool, I can make that work.
Rocky: Okay, great. 9:00 at the campus coffee shop—Where You Bean. OK?
Me: Great. Thank you! LY.
Rocky: NP. See you then. LYT.
Chapter 26
Kik
I walked into the offices of Ritchmond & Associates, and still couldn’t believe my luck. I’d been devastated when just before filing the initial complaint, my lawyer at the time had pulled out of any involvement in the case. He’d given me some feeble-assed crap about his caseload, and some kind of conflict, but I didn’t buy it for a moment.
I knew more than most that the first thing lawyers did before taking on a case was check out all that stuff. He wasn’t some schmuck operating out of a shopfront in Eastchester. He had a rock-solid reputation, and a great track record of pro-bono cases like mine. There was no way he hadn’t done due diligence before saying yes.
The whole thing stank like five-day-old rotten fish, but I didn’t have the time or energy to call bullshit—it wouldn’t have made any difference, anyway. It’s not like I could force him to continue with the case against his will, or that it would be in my interests to do so, even if I could. A case like this would end up being front-page news, given that it featured a major company like Cavanagh Corp—a reluctant lawyer at the helm wasn’t a good look.
All that was behind me now, though, and it just proved the old cliché that as one door closed, another opened, because by some fluke, or act of God, I’d managed to secure an even better lawyer to take on the case, also pro-bono. I literally pinched myself at the fact that I was even sitting in the reception area of Ritchmond & Associates, waiting to see Alan Ritchmond himself. If I ignored the totally fucked-up circumstances that had brought me there, it was a dream come true.
As though on cue, a door opened, and in walked Alan—a tall silver fox who was good looking if you kind of scrunched your eyes a little. He stood across the room with the confidence of a man who knew that everything would go his way, always.
It was something I’d noticed since I’d met Drew, and seen his friends that first night. Wealth, and I guess power, gave these guys some kind of innate confidence, that they were probably born with. It was the confidence that the world was designed to benefit them. That no matter what they did, they could do no wrong, even when they were actually doing plenty wrong. In fact, especially then. I both hated and was infinitely fascinated by their rich boy swag.
The older man walked toward me, his arm outstretched. “Ms. Sanchez. Nice to see you again. Come this way.” Not only did he have swag, but his exquisite tailored suit—complete with vest and pocket square—and his impeccable grooming, spoke of money, as did his voice. It was rich and low, and dripping in class.
Nobody I knew, outside of Ernie and his friends (all except Martin), and Drew and his boys, spoke anything like that. So often, I wondered why most words had so many letters in them— the majority of people I knew didn’t pronounce at least half of them.
