Page 23 of Over the Edge


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Slowly Eric lowered the cell and glanced back at the TV screen.

The evening news was still fixated on Robertson’s death.

Not surprising, given the man’s prominent position in the business community.

But he was no great loss. His methods were ruthless, and he didn’t tolerate mistakes. Giving Farley the controller’s job six months ago when the company’s longtime financial chief retired, instead of to the person next in line—namely him—had stunk. All because of the small, easy-to-fix error he’d made on a quarterly report. His fifteen years of dedicated service should have counted for something to the man pulling the strings.

Except they hadn’t.

So “borrowing” funds for an out-of-work brother who’d had major complications after an episode of anaphylactic shock put him in the ICU on a ventilator for a week had been a no-brainer. The money to pay the medical bills had to come from somewhere, and his sister-in-law needed every dime she could get her hands on to feed and house their three kids.

Besides, Robertson owed him after bypassing him for the position he’d deserved.

And with Nolan willing to pay handsomely for proprietaryinformation about upcoming deals after Robertson colluded to jack up the price on that apartment building he’d wanted, repaying the unofficial loan should have been a piece of cake.

Maybe the cat-and-mouse game those two business rivals played had accelerated beyond his comfort level ... and maybe he had a few regrets about his part in it ... but no innocent parties had been hurt.

The only one who’d run into trouble since he and Nolan had made their deal was Robertson, who was far from innocent.

And truth be told, the world was better off without him.

Five

“THANK YOU FOR EXTENDINGyour office hours to see me, Dr. Oliver.” Lindsey rose as the psychologist, attired in his usual sport coat and open-necked shirt, greeted her from the waiting room doorway.

“I’m always happy to accommodate clients, especially in the aftermath of a trauma.” He ushered her through the door. “Would you like water or another beverage?”

“I’d love coffee, but that won’t help my sleeping problem. Water is fine.”

“Make yourself comfortable while I get you a bottle.”

He continued down the hall to the tiny kitchenette as she detoured to the familiar office where she’d spent countless hours over the past eighteen months. Though her visits had tapered off, having this resource to tap into after everything that had happened three days ago was a godsend.

“Here you go.” Dr. Oliver rejoined her as she claimed her favorite seat—a comfortable, cushy wing chair that wrapped its comforting arms around her.

She took the water and twisted off the cap while he sat in the more modern chair angled toward hers in the cozyconversation nook. “I’m sorry to keep you so late.” She motioned to the second-floor window that overlooked the tree-rimmed parking lot, where pole lights cast ghostly pools of illumination in the darkness. “That’s not the best way to start the work week.”

“I knew this wasn’t a nine-to-five job when I signed on.” His calm, welcoming manner imbued the room with tranquility.

The tension in her shoulders began to ease. She owed her therapist in South Carolina a huge debt for researching and recommending Dr. Oliver. Given his empathy, keen insights, and ability to guide without directing, it was amazing he hadn’t had a long waiting list of potential clients.

“I promise not to take up too much of your evening.”

“I’m in no hurry.” As if to demonstrate that, he leaned back and crossed an ankle over a knee. “It sounds as if Friday’s experience has set you back a bit.”

“More than a bit, based on this weekend.” She sipped her water and set it on the side table next to her. “Like I said on the phone, the nightmares are back.”

“Are they disrupting your sleep?”

“Yes.”

“How many hours have you clocked since Friday?”

“I don’t know. Nine or ten, total? Once I wake up, I can’t get back to sleep. None of my usual de-stressing techniques have worked—breathing exercises, progressive muscle relaxation, visualization.”

“That’s not surprising. Friday’s incident is very fresh. Why don’t you walk me through it, then we’ll talk about what you’ve been experiencing in the aftermath, and end with a guided visualization. Sound like a plan?”

“All except the retelling of Friday’s event.”

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