The Nice Young Partner

She killed the workstation screen and stood in the dark for a full minute, drive clenched in her fist, listening. Footsteps, once, somewhere down the hall, then nothing. No knock. No badge swipe on this door. Whatever Halloway was doing tonight, it was not hunting for her specifically, not yet. She let herself out through the stairwell instead of the elevator and did not breathe right until she was two blocks from the building.

She called Arthur the next morning, telling herself it was just to hear his voice, not to fish for anything. He picked up on the second ring, the way he always did, delighted and unhurried.

Josie! To what do I owe it?

She let him talk about the garden, about his knees, about the grandkids, before she found a careful way in. How's everything with the pension, Arthur? With the Kestrel sale and all?

Oh, we're in good hands, he said, easy as anything. Had a whole meeting about it last month. Nice young partner came down from your firm, actually, sat with the retirement board for two hours, walked us through the whole rollover. Made us feel real good about it.

Her stomach turned to ice. Do you remember his name?

Sokolov, I think. Raymond. Sharp fella. Told us Kestrel had never been stronger, financially. Said our money'd be safer in the new company than it's been in years.

Raymond had not just buried a warning from a junior associate. He had personally driven out and looked six hundred retirees in the eye and told them a lie he already knew was not true.

Arthur, she said carefully, did the board already sign off? On rolling everyone's balance in?

Sure did. Deadline to opt out was yesterday, actually, I remember because it was my grandson's birthday. Whole board voted yes. Every one of us is in now, Josie. All the way in.