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“Rob,” I barked. My best friend and CFO of Cody Technology jumped up from his desk, and I watched his face run through several expressions back-to-back. Surprise, sympathy, irritation, back to sympathy. “You left a message?”
He came around the desk and reached out his arms as if he were going to pull me into a hug, but then seemed to think better of it. He crossed his arms and ran a hand across his jaw. “Ollie, I’m so sorry, man.”
I shook my head. I didn’t want his sympathy. I didn’t want anyone’s sympathy. It was part of why I’d avoided seeing anyone I knew after the funeral. They didn’t know me, anyway. How could they, when I didn’t even know myself? The lawyer had confirmed that. “What’s going on?” I asked, my voice sharp as I stood tense in the center of his office.
“I just…” Rob struggled, and I watched us from somewhere above, totally removed. I’d known Rob since we were kids. I could read him like a book, and he looked like a kid now—confused and uncertain. “Do you wanna go get a drink, man? Talk a bit?”
“Let me make this easy,” I said. “Adam’s gone. I’m gone. I’m going to sell my shares as soon as I can, and you can do whatever you want with what’s left.”
Rob’s face slackened, his dark eyes widening. “What? You can’t do that, Oliver. I mean…why would you do that?”
“Things have changed.”
“I know you were searching before the accident, trying to figure some things out,” he said. “But…” He shook his head, his eyes falling to the plush carpet as if he might find the answers there in the complex weave. “This place is your legacy, man.”
His words felt like a punch to the gut and I realized how much I wanted a drink. Just not with Rob. Not with anyone who believed they knew exactly who Oliver Cody was.
“Like I said,” I told him, turning to go. “Things have changed. I’ll make a formal offer to you and Tony first, and then I’ll offer my shares to the board. After that…” I pushed through the office door into the center area where Rob’s secretary still sat looking flustered.
“Mr. Cody, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
I glared at her and watched her shrink from my gaze and then pretend to be busy arranging Post-it notes in her desk drawer.
“Oliver,” Rob said, following me out. His suit was slate gray and perfectly tailored, his tie in place as always. This place might have been in upheaval since my parents were killed, but Rob seemed to be cut out for the job.
“You’ve got this,” I told him, ignoring his protests and finding my way out to the elevators.
I went to a bar on Wilshire and stayed there for a couple hours, taking a shot every time my mind began to form a coherent thought. I had a fleeting urge to call Celia—I’d seen her just once since I’d been back, at the funeral. She’d given up being angry with me for leaving and breaking off our engagement, and given me the wide-eyed pity I was beginning to dread. Still, she’d suggested I call her.
In the end, I found it easier to be alone. Celia knew the version of me who’d thought going to travel was some kind of bold choice, a way to ferret out some cosmic truth about life. What I hadn’t known then, what Celia still didn’t know, was how little truth my life had been composed of in the first place. Adam and Sonja had lied to me my whole life. They’d lied, and then they’d died.
