As Colin approached the office building, he noticed Chandler pacing on the sidewalk in front of the store. That kid was a bundle of nerves even on a good day, but today he seemed especially tense. After the meeting he'd had with Gina and her client, he didn't particularly relish the idea of another challenging conversation. All he wanted to do was get back to his desk and finish Miguel's manuscript. But he had to at least offer to help the boy; he was supposed to be mentoring him after all.
"Chandler," he called. "How are you?"
At the sound of his name, Chandler blanched. "I'm fine, sir."
"We're back to 'sir' now are we?" He'd meant it as a little joke, but Chandler didn't laugh. "You don't seem fine. Anything I can do?"
He shifted from one foot to the other, avoiding eye contact.
"Come on," said Colin. "Let me buy you lunch." Whatever was on the kid's mind, it was serious. They walked to Espressamente in silence and ordered their coffee and sandwich wraps. When Colin pulled out his wallet, Chandler stopped him.
"I got it," he said, then handed over a couple of bills and waved off the change.
The place was packed; business people, families and tourists had all piled into the cafe. Before long, a spot opened up at the bar along the wall and they wedged themselves through the crowd to grab it.
"So," said Colin, hoisting himself onto a stool. "What's on your mind?"
"I've made a decision." Chandler took a deep breath and in that moment, Colin admired him. Looking closer, he could see that something had changed. He had the nervous excitement of a young man about to embark on an adventure. "I quit my job," he said. "I don't want to work in publishing."
It hardly came as a surprise. "Congratulations!" said Colin. In truth, he envied him. "What did your grandfather have to say?"
"He wasn't too pleased."
"I'll bet."
"It's just not me. I get that it has benefits and stuff, but no one's happy."
"It's not as bad as all that," said Colin, chuckling.
"What I mean is . . ." He struggled to find the words. "Everyone there seems to want to be somewhere else, doing something else."
That was hard to argue with. Given his druthers, he'd be writing a novel, or lounging on a beach with Grace. "When you have family obligations, you do what you have to do."
"What about my obligation to myself?" Chandler pushed his sandwich away. He'd yet to take a bite. "I don't know what the future holds, but I know I want to be happy. Whatever I do for a living, I want to enjoy it. And if I do get married and have kids, won't I be a better husband and father if I'm there because I want to be, not because I'm obligated?"
Again, Colin found it hard to argue.
"I mean, you're the best employee Grandad has, and I know there's something else you'd rather do."
"Why do you say that?"
Here, Chandler's uneasiness returned. "Because a guy who likes his life doesn't, you know . . ."
"No, I don't know."
"He doesn't . . . do what you did."
In the far recesses of Colin's mind, a little warning bell started to ring. "What did I do, exactly?"
Chandler shifted in his seat. "The video," he said. His voice had dropped so low, Colin barely heard him.
"What video?"
"You know . . ." The kid looked anywhere but at him. "The rare books room."
The warning bell now sounded more like an air raid siren, and sweat beaded his top lip. When he didn't respond, Chandler's eyes widened. "You haven't seen the news?"
He shook his head. His mouth had gone dry. Chandler handed over his phone, and with trembling hands, Colin played the YouTube video cued on the screen. There, in all its horrifying glory, was a video of him and Grace in the rare books room. She, spread over the glass display case and he, behind her. His face had been blurred out, but hers was lifted in ecstasy toward the camera.
"Security cameras were installed in January," said Chandler. "Just a few weeks before . . ."
Dear God. Grace.
Without a second thought, he pulled out the phone Seduction had given him and dialled her number. Not surprisingly, it went straight to voicemail. "I just saw the news," said Colin. His voice had a strange sort of choked sound to it. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Please, can we talk?" He hung up and sent her a text, although he knew the chance of her replying was slim.
His mind raced back over the video and then forward through the ramifications of this nightmare. Why was Grace singled out, and why had his identity been protected? And the rare books room . . . the jewel of the Staadt empire . . . "Does Henry know?"
Chandler nodded. "The whole staff knows. That ink stain on your shirt is pretty visible. Enough people remembered it to identify you, and, well . . . word spread."
He groaned. "I need to talk to him."
"I'd stay away from the office today if I were you. Besides, Henry isn't there."
"Your grandfather . . . he knows too?"
Chandler nodded.
"How bad is it?"
He took a deep breath before replying. "They're firing you, effective immediately. No severance. And if you go quietly, they won't sue you either for the damage you've done to Staadt Publishing's reputation, or for the extra security costs."
Colin looked up in confusion.
"The store is packed. Couples want to ah . . . visit the rare books room."
Colin buried his head in his hands. He was mortified.
"Anyway, maybe you should just head home."
Home. Shit. Maureen had seen the ink stain on his shirt too. She'd flipped out about it in fact, and sooner or later, she'd see the video.
"I gotta go," said Chandler. "I need to talk to my mom — try to explain my decision."
I've got to go too, thought Colin. Talk to my wife — try to explain my actions.