The Corner Office
Before the Ink Dries

Moved Up

She did not tell Arthur why she had really called. She told Priya everything, in the stairwell where the cameras did not reach, and watched her friend's face go through disbelief, then fear, then something steadier.

If you take this to the SEC, Priya said, and it doesn't stick, they'll bury you. NDA, quiet resignation, maybe a bar complaint if Raymond wants to be vicious about it. If it does stick, you're the associate who blew up a three-hundred-million-dollar deal for the firm's biggest client. There is no version of this where you keep your job.

There's a version where retirees get their pensions robbed by Friday and I said nothing.

I know, Priya said. I'm not telling you not to. I'm telling you to be smart about how.

They spent the evening making copies of copies, Priya walking her through how to get something to a reporter without it tracing straight back, until Jo's eyes burned and it was time to go home and pretend, for a few hours, to sleep.

In the morning her badge did not work.

She stood at the turnstile at 8:40, swiping twice, three times, the little light blinking red, red, red, while a security guard she vaguely recognized came over apologetically.

System's got you flagged for a security review, Ms. Marchetti. IT's gonna need to sort it out. Sorry, came down from a partner this morning.

Which partner?

He checked his clipboard. Sokolov.

Her phone buzzed before she could answer. A firm-wide calendar update, sent at 8:02 a.m.

CLOSING: KESTREL / VANTAGE, MOVED UP. Signing now scheduled tomorrow, 9:00 a.m., not Friday.

They were not just watching her. They were racing the clock she had started.

Continue the story Part 8: The Drive →