Tuesday
“Where did you get it?” Mac asked on the phone after he saw the screen shot.
“Um, I found it in a Marlboro crush-proof cigarette pack.”
“What is this? A setup for a joke about spies?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Ellie. You’ve seen it in dozens of movies.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Where were you when you found it?” I was about to reply when he added, “You know what? Maybe we shouldn’t talk about this over the phone.”
I bristled. “Oh, come on. You’re always worried about stuff like that.”
“That’s because I know who I’m dealing with.”
I sighed dramatically. “There’s nothing to worry about, except my wounded ego.”
“I’m not sure I like the direction this conversation is taking,” he said.
“I’m not liking this entire day.” I swirled the wine. I needed more. I walked the glass down to the kitchen and filled it again. “So, do you know anyone who could take a look at it?”
“The flash drive?”
“I’d like to know what’s on it.”
“Why? It has nothing to do with you.”
I hesitated. “Well, um, that may not be the case.”
“Okay. Enough bullshit. What’s going on?”
I took a breath. “Yesterday and today have been the days from hell. I got an email from Delcroft this morning.”
“From?”
“Dave Foxhall, the corporate communications guy.”
“Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like this?”
“Because you’re clairvoyant.” I told him about the meeting the day before, how angry Charlotte Hollander had been, the cold, humiliating way she’d burned us, and how we’d been fired via email. Then I told him I’d called Gregory Parks. I reminded him who he was. “But here’s the punch line,” I said. “Are you online?”
“Of course.”
“Google his name, or just hop over to the channel seven website.”
There was a minute of silence. Then: “Holy shit, Ellie.”
I told him what had happened at the Jackson CTA station. How shocked and scared I was. “I’m still shaky.” I also told him how I didn’t say anything to the police.
He interrupted me. “That’s got to be a first. But what about the flash drive?”
“It was an accident. I found the cigarette box near the edge of the platform where he jumped.”
“So, let me get this straight. You were there when it happened?”
“I was.”
“And you didn’t talk to the cops and explain your connection to him.”
“I did talk to the cops, but I didn’t say I knew him.”
Mac went quiet.
“So, I’m wondering if you know anyone who might be able to decrypt the files.”
“Why do you care? Just because some guy you barely know jumps off a subway platform doesn’t prove the Marlboro box was his. Or that it’s any of your business.”
“I guess that means no,” I said.
“Ellie, you can’t mess around with people who work for Delcroft.”
“He’s a consultant. He’s not an employee.”
“Yeah, and look what happened to him.”
Mac had a point. “I get it, but consider this. What if the drive did belong to Parks? Maybe he stole data from Delcroft. If I can return it, quietly, with no fanfare, maybe we’ll get back in their good graces?” I said hopefully.
Mac took a moment to respond. “There’s so much wrong with that assumption I don’t know where to start. First of all, you can’t suck up to a company like Delcroft. You won’t win. Second, you have absolutely no proof the flash drive belonged to Parks, or had anything to do with Delcroft. Third—”
“But I’d really like to know what’s on that drive. Wouldn’t you?”
“Not a chance. You have to drop this, Ellie. You’re way above your pay grade. It could get ugly fast.”
“Mac, you’re scaring me.”
“I hope so. Throw the fucking drive in the lake. Go find us a new client instead.”
“Let me ask you this. What if it wasn’t suicide?”
“Now you think he was murdered?”
“If Delcroft is as powerful as you say, who knows?”
“I have no idea. And neither do you. I’ll admit this is probably the craziest thing you’ve ever been involved in. Wait, I take that back. One of the craziest. But just leave it alone. Like I said, find us another show to produce.”