3
Calloway
I entered the office on 155th Street. The lobby was pristine, with its granite countertop in the rear, along with the receptionist who guided visitors to the correct floor. A fountain was in the center, emitting the calming sound of running water at every hour of the day—even when the doors were locked. I buttoned the front of my suit, greeted the girls behind the counter, and then took the elevator to my office.
The doors opened, and I walked to my office tucked in the corner. My assistant handed over my itinerary along with my messages before she handed me my morning coffee—black and bitter.
Once I was in my leather chair with my black laptop in front of me, I searched through the messages, hoping to see something from someone in particular—but there wasn’t. I opened my computer and worked through the countless emails that required my attention. Sometimes, I wondered if I was the director of Humanitarians United or if I was just a puppet moving through paperwork.
An hour later, Shaylen beeped into my office through the intercom. “Charles is here to see you, sir.”
About fucking time. “Please send him in, Shaylen.” I shut my laptop and watched the doors open as Charles walked inside. He wore the same brown leather jacket I saw him wear every single day. It was thick and old, holes and stains marked all over the place. He wore dark jeans and heavy boots to fight off the New York chill. “Nice to see you, Charles. Do you have something for me?”
He tossed the folder on the table, his bushy eyebrows giving him an appearance of constant annoyance.
I opened the folder and realized it was empty. I quickly shut it then held it up. “It’s obvious you did this on purpose. But it’s not obvious why.” I tossed it in the recycling bin beside my desk.
“I couldn’t get much on your girl.” He loomed over the front of my desk, never taking a seat even when I offered him one. At Ruin, he did a lot of digging into people to make sure they were trustworthy. Not just anyone could enter Ruin and be one of us.
“What little were you able to dig up?”
“She went to Harvard for her bachelor’s in social work before she got her master’s in sociology. She has a small apartment on the west side, and she runs a small nonprofit called For All.”
I recognized that organization. They’d done a lot of work around New York for the homeless and juvenile runaways. They were small but very respectable. “What else?”
“That’s it.”
“Does she have a boyfriend?” More than anything else, that was the answer I needed. If she was taken, I would be respectful and back off. Nothing irritated me more than when someone chased a person who was unavailable. But even if she was seeing someone, my obsession would still linger—unfortunately.
“I don’t know.”
I raised an eyebrow. “How do you not know? What am I paying you for?”
“This woman covers her tracks. Other than her credentials, that was all I could find about her past. I don’t have a clue where she was born, when she was born, and who her relatives are. Her record is wiped clean. This woman literally has no digital footprint.”
Now I was even more intrigued. “How is that possible?”
“She must have changed her name.”
She was married? “People get married all the time, but their past isn’t erased.”
“No, that’s not what I mean. She must have acquired a new identity.”
I’d seen a lot in my lifetime, but I’d never heard of that.
“She has secrets—secrets she’s trying to hide.”
What a coincidence—I have secrets too. “Anything else?”
“She’s in serious debt. About three hundred grand deep.”
“How?”
“Student loans and the nonprofit she owns. She must dump a lot of her own money into it.”
Just on paper, this woman fascinated me. Judging by her natural strength as she walked across a room, I would assume she wasn’t afraid of anything—that she didn’t have skeletons in her closet. The fact that she had a double life, a whole other existence, made me wonder what she was hiding from.
“She’s attending the Governor’s Charity Ball this Saturday.”
That party was such a bore, but I had to attend because I was usually given the Philanthropist Award—but they really should give someone else the spotlight. My company did a lot of amazing things, but it wasn’t the only one. It was a great opportunity to get donations from other affluent people in the city. Free advertising. “She is?”
“Yep. And you aren’t the recipient of the Philanthropist Award this year.”