Chapter 14
The auditorium on the ground floor of ReidCorp was filled with cameras. Their cords snaked down the aisles and beneath the audience. Over a dozen microphones were attached to the single podium in the center of the stage. Every row in the thousand-seat auditorium was filled. Fossil-fuel industry leaders and ReidCorp executives. Every reporter in town, and even some who had flown in from out of town, wanted to be on hand for Sebastian Reid’s big disclosure. Morgan had scanned the list. She was surprised to see so many environmental outlets included. But she was glad. He was really turning over a new leaf.
Morgan stood offstage with Sebastian. At first he had talked about going onstage with her at his side, introducing her as his fiancée. Morgan wasn’t crazy about the idea, but she kept her mouth shut. Eventually he decided that the optics were better with just him, making his declaration and taking a few questions.
Sebastian was wearing one of his favorite navy-blue suits. He also had on a tie that was a nearly black shade of green and a shirt that was slightly off-white to green. That had been Morgan’s touch. She thought he should go green all around.
“How do I look,” he asked.
She straightened his tie. Although it didn’t really need straightening. She just wanted an excuse to touch him, to seem needed. His assistant wasn’t around today. He had given her a vacation when they had taken one, and apparently, she wasn’t back yet. Good. Morgan could start to be the one who did things for him. Things she could keep up if she decided to become his wife.
She patted his tie into place. “You look perfect,” she said.
“Here goes,” he said, and walked out through the curtains into the blinding stage lights.
The buzz of conversation was strong in the room, until Sebastian walked out on the stage. Then everything quickly hushed.
He was small on the vast stage. Above him was a huge monitor that showed a close shot of his head and shoulders above the podium that bore the ReidCorp logo.
Sebastian cleared his throat. “Good afternoon,” he began. “Thank you all for coming today.” He looked down at the statement that he and his team had written.
“A decade ago, when my parents were killed in an airplane crash,” he began, “I had no idea how I’d be able to continue to run my father’s company. My father, as many of you know, was a force of nature. If he wanted something to happen, it happened. Which is why he was one of the early pioneers of fracking. ‘What do you mean, there’s no oil down there? What do you mean, we can’t get to it? I’ll make a way!’ Of course, I was the one who shifted ReidCorp away from fracking.” He made a fist and shook it at the sky. “You’re not the boss of everything, Dad.”
The audience laughed.
“But on a more serious note, I was really uncertain about how to run his company. My company. I was twenty-three and a mess. Irresponsible. Partying. Running up the credit card. Crashing my car. I’m sure some of you have dug up the DUIs I have to prove it. But losing my parents was sobering. Not that I went to AA or anything, but it changed the trajectory of my life. I expected to get a nepotistic job in my dad’s company and only pretend to work for a decade or even two before I had to settle down and really take any of my responsibilities seriously as the heir to ReidCorp. But when they died, everything changed. I only tell you this so you can understand.”
He took a sip of water.
“I am proud of some of my accomplishments at ReidCorp. Not only pushing back on the fracking, but also diversifying our portfolio overall. Investing in renewables. And, of course, a huge investment to continue my mother’s work and the ReidCorp Family Foundation. I’ve had some real successes over these ten years.”
He looked down at his shoes. “But I’ve also made some significant mistakes and missteps. The Calanez fire, for example. We took full responsibility for that. We paid huge settlements to those plaintiffs. Nothing can bring back lost loved ones or family homes. Still, we’ve paid restitution in every way we could. Or the Mercantile oil spills in North Dakota. Again, we paid huge settlements, and we invested half a billion dollars to make our pipelines stronger and safer.”
He took a deep breath. “But I didn’t come here today to tell you about the many, many mistakes we’ve made, because there are plenty more. I came to talk about how our company and I—as an individual—strive to take responsibility when we make a mistake. And I, as an individual, have made a huge mistake.”
He cleared his throat and took another sip of water.
“When I was a kid,” he said, “our family friend Mitchell Brightwell was like an uncle to me. When my dad died, he became a confidante, a surrogate father. I depended on him. When he became the chief of sustainable energy transition, I had to choose between keeping him as a surrogate father or continuing to run ReidCorp. I chose the company. I insisted that we have a firewall. I want to state for the record that Michell Brightwell always maintained that firewall. I was the one who attempted to break it down. He came to my apartment to confront me. He asked me to make a choice. I needed to step down from ReidCorp or stop calling him. But I wanted it both ways. I offered him a bribe to circumvent it, so we could continue to talk. He refused.”
Sebastian looked down at his notes.
“But I wouldn’t be deterred,” he said. “I put a bag of uncut diamonds into his wife’s hands at a fundraiser in mid-November. They were worth five hundred million dollars. Since then, Mitchell and his wife have been trying to give the bag back. It has been an awkward project since we are not supposed to have any contact. But as an uncle, he was hoping to give me a graceful exit. And his attempts to rectify my mistake have failed so completely. I don’t want him to be at risk anymore in his attempts to save my ass. I did it. I take full responsibility. And I can see—in all this—that I am not a qualified CEO. I’m just a guy who misses his parents. Who has a lot of growing up to do before he could even consider running this energy corporation upon which so many people depend.”
Sebastian took another sip of water.
“Today, I announce my resignation,” he said. “I will be stepping down. I will be participating with the board and various advisers to determine how to move forward. When we have a new CEO, we will let you know. Meanwhile, I am willing to talk with any and all legal authorities and cooperate with any investigations into my misconduct. Thank you for your time.”
It was like an explosion after he stepped back from the podium. A barrage of voices: “Mr. Reid! Mr. Reid! Mr. Reid” But he waved and walked off, as if they had merely been applauding.
* * *
Ever since Morgan returned from the Caribbean, New York seemed grimy. She walked past a pile of blackened snow that was slowly melting to reveal a pile of trash. Maybe she and Sebastian could leave. Move somewhere . . . beautiful. She could work with him over time to use his influence to work on climate. Scientists kept giving the human race a shorter and shorter timeline to turn things around in terms of fossil-fuel use, but she needed to take a little more time to get to know Sebastian to turn him around. He had moved so much already.
Marriage? They didn’t have to rush. She wasn’t quite in love with him yet, but she was getting there. She felt warm toward him. Really warm. The sex was so much better now. He was attentive and willing to put in the work. He didn’t . . . quite do it for her the way Kevin did. But what could be more dramatic and romantic than a forbidden spy lover? That wasn’t real life. Nobody could sustain that kind of intensity. She could have something real with Sebastian. And if they were both committed to putting in the work, they could have a really good life.
Three days after she got back she went out to brunch with Dashawna. It was time to tell her what had been going on, to show her the ring, and to let her know that she might get her big wedding planning payoff after all.
Morgan laughed to herself. She would also need to set up a time for Sebastian and Dashawna to meet. Her first thought was about how to coach Dashawna to make a good impression, but then she caught herself. Old habits die hard. Fuck that. She was going to be herself, and so should her best friend. She was on the subway to meet Dashawna in Brooklyn when her phone went off. It had been so long that she didn’t recognize the sound. A clinking sound. What was that?
She picked it up and realized it was the audio-recording device in the study. Someone was in there talking? How could that be? Sebastian had said he was going out to an all-day board meeting.
Morgan played the conversation back in her mind. Sebastian had asked what she was up to. She’d said she needed to catch up with her best friend in Brooklyn. He’d said he had a board meeting downtown. He’d be home by dinner. Did she want him to call her a car? No, she would take the subway. But it takes so much longer, he’d said. Only an hour each way; I’ll be home by dinner time, too. Sebastian had kissed her goodbye and said he’d see her then.
But if there was noise in the study? Had he come back? That seemed odd. Then an even worse thought struck her. What if Kevin had somehow broken in? Was he getting the camera?
The train pulled into the next station, and Morgan ran across the platform to catch the train back uptown.
Morgan waved to the doorman on her way into the building and stepped onto the elevator. When she got up to the apartment, Sebastian was walking down the hall toward her.
“Darling,” he said. “What a pleasant surprise.” He kissed her.
Morgan pulled out of the kiss and laughed. “I forgot something,” she said. “You, too?”
“A whole stack of papers,” he said. “What’d you forget?”
“Some fabric swatches,” she said. “It’s great that you’re home, I’d love to get a couple of things out of that storage space behind your study.”
“Ugh,” he said. “I’m redecorating right now. It’s hard to get through. Can I get them for you tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she said. “Let me just get the other stuff out of my studio.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll wait and walk out with you.”
Morgan offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile and walked to her studio. Something was off. What was he doing home? Why was he making excuses for why she couldn’t go into his study? He never waited for her.
She walked to her room and snatched up some random pieces of fabric. She dug out the remote control for the camera, which she kept in a pile of old electronics in plain sight.
On her way back down the hall, she turned on the camera. She prayed it would work. She hadn’t checked the batteries. But if—if something shady was going on, she would at least have the audio recording.
“Ready?” Sebastian asked.
She smiled at him. “Shows you how relaxed I am after our getaway,” she said. “Forgetting the most important things.”
He laughed, too. “Same here.”
He locked the door behind them.
Sebastian handed a bill to the doorman. “Thanks, pal,” he said. Morgan saw that it wasn’t the usual twenty. It was a hundred.
He must have paid the doorman to alert him if she came home.
Sebastian had been outside the study, with the door locked, waiting for her? Who was in there?
Or was she being paranoid? No. The recording device had been activated. He was there when he wasn’t supposed to be.
They stepped out front. His car was waiting.
“Drop you at the subway?” he asked. “I could even have him drop you in Brooklyn after he takes me to the meeting. You must be running so late by now.”
“No, thanks,” Morgan said. “I’m just going by her house to hang out. Besides, you know I’m an artist. It feeds me to people watch. It’s like research.”
“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you want, darling.”
First he wanted to walk her out. Now he wanted to keep her in the car? He obviously wanted to keep tabs on her. The doorman. The chauffeur. Was this what it meant to be the fiancée or wife of someone this rich? Maybe she was a possession to him. Maybe he was just upgrading her to a higher security clearance, with more scrutiny.
“I’ll ride along with you until we get to Midtown,” she said. “You’re going to ReidCorp HQ, right?”
“Of course,” he said. “Whatever you want.”
She picked a random subway stop and had them drop her there.
She gave him a longer kiss than usual and grinned at him. “Until tonight,” she said.
He smiled back and she slipped into the subway, jumping on the first downtown train that came.
Was it possible that she was being followed? It would be hard but not impossible. She needed to assume she was. She would need to go to Brooklyn. Meet with Dashawna. She needed to contact Kevin on the way.
She texted Dashawna and asked to meet at one of their favorite restaurants.
Dashawna asked: You treating?
Morgan said: Definitely.
Dashawna texted back: See you there.
Morgan texted Kevin: Something’s up. Can you meet me? I’ll be in Brooklyn.
Five minutes later, she gave him the address of the restaurant: I need you to meet me there. Sit near us. No contact. I’m not sure if I’m being followed.
She waited to hear back from him but got nothing. Maybe the signal was iffy. But when the train came aboveground, there was still nothing.
Maybe he had stopped using the burner phone.
She took a deep breath and resent the first text to his usual cell number: Something’s up. Can you meet me?
I’m in the middle of a meeting.
She replied: Something is going down right now. We need to act fast.
This better be good.
She forwarded the second message.
He wrote back: I’m already in BK. See you there.
* * *
Morgan arrived at Mi Viejo San Juan, a Puerto Rican restaurant decorated with paintings of the island—trees, landscapes, and small frogs with large eyes that seemed to be watching her. Dashawna had gotten them seats. There were two mimosas on the table.
“I waited for you,” Dashawna said.
They hugged for a long time.
“I really missed you,” Morgan said. She took off her gloves, hat, jacket, and scarf.
“Maybe you should get Sebastian to move to Brooklyn,” Dashawna said. “Or better yet, have him buy something in Manhattan with a little apartment for me.”
“Anything’s possible,” Morgan said and drained half her glass.
“So,” Dashawna said. “Let me see!”
“See what?” Morgan asked.
“The ring!”
Morgan realized she had it turned around, with the stone in her palm, so it wouldn’t snag on her glove.
She rotated it to the knuckle side, and Dashawna squealed. “Damn, girl,” she said. “It’s the Rock of Gibraltar.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Morgan saw a tall figure walking toward them, Kevin, headed their way. The host seated him at the next table, his back to Morgan.
“So,” Dashawna asked. “How did he propose? Did he get down on one knee?”
Morgan’s face got hot.
“Are you blushing? Did he do it in some freaky way?”
“No,” Morgan said. “Nothing like that.”
“Uh-oh,” Dashawna said. “Has the sex gotten any better?”
“Not really,” Morgan lied.
Dashawna shook her head. “No amount of money is worth putting up with bad sex forever. Of course, you could always have a piece on the side. Do you think he’s teachable?”
The waiter appeared. “Can I take your order?”
“The shrimp mofongo?” Dashawna asked.
“I’ll have the same,” Morgan said. “I need to go to the restroom.”
As Morgan pulled her seat out to get up, she knocked hard into Kevin’s chair.
There was a narrow hallway that led past the kitchen to the restroom. The only toilet was unisex, and it was occupied. As she waited, she heard footsteps behind her.
“Are you waiting?” Kevin asked.
“Yeah,” Morgan said. She turned around to find they were alone.
She began to whisper. “The audio recorder went off this morning when I was on my way here, so I went back and—”
A young mother with a baby and a toddler walked into the hallway behind them.
“You can go ahead of us if you like,” Morgan said.
“Oh, thank you so much.”
They stood in silence until the door opened and a young man walked out.
The woman took her two kids in and locked the door.
Morgan continued: “When I got home, Sebastian was there, which was strange because he had left before I did, saying he had a board meeting. Those are usually four to five hours. I think the doorman tipped him off that I was coming up. I’m telling you, something’s not right. Then, when he left again, he really wanted to have me driven out to Brooklyn in his car. He wanted to keep tabs on me.”
“Did you activate the camera?”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “I turned it on maybe twenty minutes after the audio started. I don’t know who might be in there or if we’ll have missed the most incriminating stuff. But here’s what I do know: Nobody could have gotten out of that apartment through the front door in the time it would have taken me to get upstairs. I’d put money on the fact that whoever he had in the study was still in there when I left. He would have doubled back to finish his meeting. At the very least, the camera would have caught them letting themselves out.”
“What’s our play?”
“I need to get that camera out and bail.”
Kevin’s face was expressionless. “You’ll do it after you leave here?”
“That’s my plan,” Morgan said. “Unless he’s at home.”
“Or maybe after he goes to sleep?” Kevin asked.
“It seems more dangerous that way,” Morgan said.
“I’ll be your backup,” Kevin said.
“I’m not sure how to do this,” Morgan said. “I think he might suspect something. Or just be suspicious in general. Why was he trying to control me by driving me around?”
“Could be either,” Kevin said. “Those rich guys like to control the women in their lives.”
The door opened and the woman came out with her two kids.
“After you,” Kevin said.
“I don’t really have to go,” Morgan whispered.
“I do,” he said. “Text me when you have an update. I’ll be standing by.” He stepped around her into the bathroom.
She heard the door click and walked back to her table.
“Damn,” Dashawna said. “Did you take a shower?”
“I let the lady with the babies go ahead of me,” Morgan said. “I think she had to change a diaper.”
The shrimp mofongo arrived—a pile of fried, mashed plantains with shrimp and tomato sauce. Morgan unrolled her fork from the cloth napkin. She was famished and realized she hadn’t eaten all day.
“I’m proud of you,” Dashawna said. “I didn’t think you had the guts to reel in a billionaire. But you rolled up your sleeves and got a little muddy to make it happen.”
“You have no idea,” Morgan said and took a big bite of shrimp.
* * *
Morgan walked the two blocks from the subway to Sebastian’s apartment. This part of the city was so much cleaner. The dirty snow had all been cleared away.
Maybe she was wrong about all of it. Maybe she was just being paranoid. She had been happy. Maybe not exactly happy but content. She had felt confident she could turn things around with Sebastian. She was a finalist in the CFI competition. But the events of the day had shaken her. She’d have to listen to the tapes to know one way or another. She took a breath and walked into the lobby.
Sebastian was home, alone, with tales of his “board meeting” going well. He had work to do and would be in his study until dinner. What did she want to eat? They decided on Ethiopian.
“Darling,” she said, “I have some fabric I need to send to Pennsylvania. Can a courier help me with that?”
“Sure,” he said. “Call Dawn. She’ll give you the information.”
So, as Sebastian worked in his study, Morgan arranged with Dawn to have all her most prized fabric mailed to her mother. She didn’t like that Sebastian would have her mother’s address, but it couldn’t really be helped. Besides, he was a billionaire. He could probably get hold of that information without her assistance.
She sent four large boxes from her studio. Mostly the clothes she had designed and her most precious fabric, but really all her worldly possessions.
She texted Kevin that she couldn’t get the camera until later tonight or tomorrow morning. He texted back: standing by
She was hedging her bets. Covering herself for the worst-case scenario. She packed her backpack with the things she would need short term. She had no idea where she would stay or how far she would go.
Even after she had mailed several large boxes and packed it all, her studio looked the same. The furniture and knickknacks she had thrown around weren’t anything important to her. It had never really been her space.
On the dresser were the flat iron, the curling iron, the blow-dryer, and the pile of hair accessories. All her makeup. Most of her feminine toiletries: perfumes, body lotions, nail polish. The magnifying mirror that allowed her to look closely at her pores. Her eyelash curler. The fake eyelashes she wore occasionally, sparse and subtle, just a bit of additional length. Her tweezers for those stubborn eyebrow hairs that twirled unruly, like the locks on her head. She left it all. It looked like she still lived here. Really, it was everything that made up the artifice of her that still lived here. The real Morgan was already gone.
Dinner was uneventful. Like it had been before their trip to Jamaica, when she was spying and not a real girlfriend. He talked about his plans and she listened—only half tuned in—with an engaged expression on her face. After dinner they went back to their telenovela marathon. She just sat on the couch and let herself disappear into the drama on the screen. Tried not to feel his arm draped over her shoulder.
“I love that I can watch this with you,” he said. “This is gonna be our life.”
She kissed him on the cheek. “Lucky us.”
* * *
They went to bed at midnight. She tried to get out of bed several times when his breathing became slow and even, but he always stirred. She dozed in between attempts to get up. When she woke again, it was after six. Too late to try. She’d have to wait until he left for the day. She fell back asleep. When she woke again, it was after eight. Sebastian was in the bathroom, and she heard the shower running.
She texted Kevin: No chance last night. I think he’s going out. Stand by.
Kevin texted back: Headed uptown.
When Sebastian came out of the bathroom, she was pretending to wake up.
“Good morning,” she said with a smile and kissed him. “Where are you going?”
“Early meeting,” he said. “I’ll be home in time for lunch. Wanna go out?”
“Sure,” she said.
“I’ll text you later,” he said, and with another kiss he was gone.
Morgan got up and put on leggings. Sneakers. She wanted to be ready to head out at a moment’s notice.
When she heard the door close behind him, she got her backpack and her winter jacket and set them on the couch. She took out her lockpicks and got to work on the study door. But before she could crack it, she heard someone at the front door.
“Hello!” the housekeeper called out. “Anybody home?”
Morgan jumped back, her heart in her throat. “Lena,” she said. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”
Apparently, she had let Dawn know she needed to come in early.
“No problem,” Morgan said. “I’ve got a bunch of things to do.”
Morgan listened for the sounds of cleaning in the kitchen as she worked on the study door. When she finally opened it, she slipped in and was careful to lock it behind her. Lena might move though the house and be unable to find her, but she wouldn’t know where she had gone.
Morgan looked around in Sebastian’s study. A few boxes were lying around. Was this what he meant when he said it was too messy for her to come through? She peeked into them. Looked like old books.
She had more privacy to pick the storage-room lock and worked without worrying about time or noise. When she was inside, she used a pocketknife to cut through the spackle on the Sheetrocked wall. She sliced out a square and pried it out. Behind it, the camera and digital recorder were now coated with a light film of dust from her work. She removed both the devices and brushed them off. She replaced the wall piece the best she could. It was noticeable. She put the screen over it. But when she slipped back into the study, she heard Lena vacuuming in the hallway right outside. Shit. She was trapped.
She texted Kevin: Bailing out soon. You in place?
Two seconds later, he texted back: Out front in a white zone. Silver hatchback with a rideshare sticker.
Okay. This was gonna be a piece of cake. She walked back out into the study.
Lena was still vacuuming. Damn.
She opened the camera and the digital recorder and removed both disks, making them much more portable. Should she keep the recorder and camera? Maybe they were an important part of the evidence? She had no idea. She put the pair of disks into the hip pocket of her sweatpants.
Outside Sebastian’s study, the vacuum continued to run.
Morgan slipped back into the storage space and took her grandmother’s quilt. She had grieved at the thought of leaving it behind. It was worn and nearly frayed, but it meant the world to her.
She shut and relocked the door to the storage room. Still, the sound of vacuuming was too close. She pulled her phone back out and texted Dashawna:
Hey D, I know this sounds crazy but I’ve been spying on Sebastian. For the climate movement. He’s up to something illegal or shady, I’m not sure what. If anything happens to me, please let the authorities know that today was the day I planned to leave him with evidence of his misdeeds. But don’t worry. Nothing’s gonna happen. I’ve got a plan and support to get away clean.
She finished the text, and still the vacuuming sound was too close. As she waited, she rubbed the quilt between her fingers to soothe her nerves.
Finally, the vacuuming stopped. Morgan peeked out through the keyhole. She didn’t see anyone. But it wasn’t until the vacuuming started up in the living room that she dared to open the door.
Lena was standing outside the study.
Morgan jolted, putting a hand on her heart.
“Oh, there you are,” Lena said. “You were in the study?”
“You startled me,” Morgan said, forcing a smile. “He gave me a key, so I can get to my things that are stored in the back.” She was glad she had the quilt covering the camera and digital recorder. “You know we’re engaged now.” She grinned and showed Lena the ring on her other hand.
“Congratulations,” Lena said. “And such a beautiful quilt.”
“It was my grandmother’s,” Morgan said.
Lena ran her hand along the cotton. Morgan was afraid she might feel the electronics underneath.
“Anyway,” Morgan said, stepping back and out of range, “I’m heading out. See you next week.”
* * *
Morgan stepped out of the building wearing a backpack that carried a change of clothes, her passport, a pocketknife, a dark wig, her grandmother’s quilt, and her lockpicks, plus an empty camera and digital recorder. In the internal pocket of her sweatpants, she had two minidisks pressed against her hip bone, like a necklace of Spanish diamonds.
The December morning was bright. Morgan looked out onto Second Avenue for the compact silver hatchback, which was supposed to be on the street in the white loading zone. She couldn’t see around a double-parked truck. She walked briskly toward a silver hatchback on the corner. A mother exited the hatchback and lifted twin toddlers out of their child safety seats. Wrong car.
Morgan stepped into the street to look around the truck. At the far end, on the other side of the block, a tall man beside a silver hatchback opened the door. She turned toward him, but a pair of security guards came out of The Excelsior and cut her off.
Damn! She had been so careful. Casual clothes. Small backpack. Leisurely pace through the lobby.
Morgan pivoted and fled toward the opposite corner, maneuvering past the double stroller that took up nearly the whole sidewalk.
This end of the street was more sparsely populated and she took it at a full sprint, dodging pedestrians and a man walking three dogs. When she hit the other corner, she glanced over her shoulder. The two guards were still chasing her, cutting out into the street to avoid the man and the dogs.
Around the next corner was the subway. She blended into the crowd walking below ground to the station.
Taking the stairs two at a time, she dug in her jacket pocket for a MetroCard. Four train lines stopped here. If she could make it through the fare gates, she could disappear. She swiped the card once, her hand shaking, and had to do it again. But then she was through.
She waited on the platform for the downtown N or R train in a sea of late commuters. A man in front of her was half dancing to music blasting in his headphones. Beyond him she saw frantic movement: the two guards. One of them was looking at an iPhone and the other was scanning in her direction. They pointed at her.
Her heart was in her throat. What the hell? What were the chances that they would know exactly how to find her when they couldn’t have even seen her walk down into the subway? Had her cell phone been bugged with a GPS locator?
She threw the phone into the tracks, causing gasps among the bystanders, and backed away. She rushed toward the other end of the platform. Maybe she should run back out of the station. Maybe it was a coincidence. She could get lost on one of the other platforms. Or better yet, be just far enough ahead of them to jump onto a leaving train.
She ran down the stairs and ducked around a corner. She blended into the crowd heading to the 6 train. No way they could track her without the phone.
On the 6 platform, she looked into the tunnel to see if the train was coming on her side. Instead, she saw the two guards coming down the stairs. Panic twisted in her solar plexus. How the hell had they found her again?
She hustled past three men in suits, past a large advertisement for diamond jewelry. And then she realized. The engagement ring. The setting was big enough for a GPS microchip. The diamond must be worth a million dollars, but not worth her life. She twisted off the ring and flung it into the tracks.
The security guards gaped, and the one with the phone put it in his pocket.
Now she shoved past people to the edge of the platform. There were stairs to exit there. But a steady stream of people walked down, transferring from another train. If she tried to climb the stairs against the flow of traffic, the guards would certainly catch her. She was trapped. Except for the tunnel.
The next stop was six or eight blocks away. The guards were getting closer. She elbowed into the knot of people coming down the stairs and leaped off the end of the platform.
“Give me your hand and I’ll pull you out,” a man called after her. “Think about what you have to live for.”
Fucking idiots.
She kept to the outer edge of the tunnel and soon found a narrow path for subway workers. As she sprinted along the edge, her running footfalls were the loudest sound.
Her heart pounded with the exertion. But then, the voice of one of the guards: “She’s down there.” She felt a spike of fear.
The train came down the tunnel on the other side, the blast of sound and wind nearly knocking her back. Still, she continued to run, her breath burning in and out of her lungs. The train passed. She heard the guards behind her.
A rat skittered ahead, momentarily throwing off her gait. She stumbled, but then righted herself and kept running. She saw the distant light of the next station. The tunnel was dim and dank with puddles of water. She ran on, splashing through them, hearing only one set of footfalls at her back. One of the guards had fallen behind. She said a silent prayer of thanks for her daily runs on the treadmill.
But the guard pursuing her was also in good shape. He was gaining.
A train came on her side. The noise was deafening as it passed her, but she kept running. She felt a stitch under her ribs. Her knees were getting weak. The train slowed up ahead for a moment. Could she jump onto it?
Morgan put on a burst of speed to catch up. Her chest was on fire. Her legs were fatiguing. She heard the running steps of the guard—closer now. The train ahead started to move. With her last ounce of strength, she accelerated, taking a final leap and reaching through space for the handle on the back of the train.
She caught it! The guard at her back reached for her, his hand stretching through air. His fingers slipped off the nylon of her jacket while the train lurched forward.
The train sped up. Morgan watched the guard stop and double over, elbows on his knees. Then the train slowed down again. He was walk-jogging toward her as the train ground to a halt. Should she jump off? Start running again? Could she still run? Her muscles were jangled from the adrenaline of the sprint, the leap, and the sudden cessation of movement in the cold air.
She was ready to jump when the train began to move again, picking up speed, as the guard fell farther and farther behind. She pressed herself against the blessed metal of the car, panting, her body so weak with relief, she nearly crumpled and lost her grip.
They pulled into the next station, and she slipped off the end of the car onto the platform. Her leg had cramped and she was limping, her hair plastered to her head. She hustled, looking back over her shoulder. This was how she bumped into the chest of a man in a suit.
“Excuse me,” she said, and looked up into Sebastian’s face.