There was no word from Blatchford that week. I’d given him a cell phone and set up a private e-mail account. It felt strange to occupy the position of a client, waiting for results.
I thought of my own client Ritesh Ghosh, whose nine-year-old daughter had disappeared, who had exhausted every possible means, spared no expense. And for nothing. Jasmine Ghosh’s whereabouts after leaving the grocery store near their house had yet to be discovered. I’d watched the store’s blurred surveillance footage a thousand times, sometimes on a loop. See the girl walk through the aisles. See her pay for her sour keys and fuzzy peaches. See her go tiptoe to slide the change from the counter into her cupped hand. Then see her walk out the door, unhesitating and happy, into the bright white nothing of the next eight years.
I’d waited six days on Blatchford. I could hold out longer.
The next Monday I met Jeff Chen at the Congee Noodle House, Broadway and Main. He was already seated by the glass windowfront, tucking into a bowl of watery jook. His honeymoon tan was long faded. Bags decorated the undersides of his eyes from long hours spent mollifying corporate clients. Jeff shook hands and smiled pleasantly, which was not a good sign.
“How’s Kay?”
“We’re keeping her in-office, like you asked. Glad your lack of computer skills don’t run in the family.”
I sat down. Jeff had a glass of Coke with a lemon wedge floating in it. I ordered the same.
“No food?” Jeff asked.
“I don’t think we’re going to want to sit eating with each other, time the conversation ends.”
He tilted his head slightly to acknowledge the point. “Good news is we only lost Solis,” he said, “and they’d been talking about making a move anyway.”
“That’s a relief.”
He grinned, still spooning up broth. “No, it isn’t,” he said. “You don’t give a shit about that side of the business. The profitable side.”
“You’re right.”
“This isn’t even about the Sorenson case. I don’t blame you. Ultimately we have very different philosophies on business.”
“This does sound like a breakup, doesn’t it?”
“And I respect your philosophy,” Jeff said. “Really. I just—I didn’t sign up for a crusade. Y’know? I’ve got a kid coming. After the miscarriage, Marie was worried she’d never have another. Now everything’s finally on track. And I feel like, work-wise, I’ve compromised all I can.”
“You’ve been more than fair,” I said. “I seem to be hardwired to push things.”
“And people.”
“And people,” I agreed. “It’s not you, Jeff, it’s me. So name your terms.”
“You’re not leaving broke. I’d buy you out. I could borrow a lump sum, or you’d have a non-participatory interest in the company, a percentage for a certain number of years.”
“Either or. Could Kay stay on?”
I held out my hand. Jeff said, “What about price?”
“Work it out later.”
We shook hands.
“I don’t want to feel like I’m abandoning you when you’re down,” he said. “I’m sure this shit’ll blow over. What’ll you do now?”
“Don’t know,” I said. “Start over, maybe.”
“You’d have to sign a non-compete, at least for two years,” Jeff said. We stared at each other. “Or maybe we could limit that to corporate security and home protection.”
“Gigs I wouldn’t get, anyway.”
I finished my drink, dropped some coins on the table. I felt empty in the best possible sense. I didn’t want to burden Jeff any further. We’d been close, maybe friends. We knew each other’s secrets and sins. He’d accepted me unquestioningly, and I knew he’d told the truth; it had been the business that had ended our partnership. A small distinction, but it meant something to me.
I walked.