Chapter 36: Chapter Thirty-Six

RAE

My can of hard cider clinks against Zoe’s wine glass and Steven’s beer bottle. “Cheers to two days left!” Zoe sings.

She means two days left at Quincy Ventures. Two o’clock on Friday afternoon can’t come soon enough. After then, I’m free. I never have to enter that building again.

Taylor’s daily rude remarks will be nothing but a less-than-fond memory. I won’t need to keep my head down to avoid Logan’s sad, tight-lipped smiles or Michael’s huge, predatory grins.

“Shawn can’t wait for Taylor to stop hitting on him,” I mutter.

“She sounds like a piece of work,” chuckles Steven.

“Understatement of the year,” I inform him.

I peer at Zoe, who’s picking at the label on Steven’s beer, accumulating a small pile of shredded paper on the counter. Strange. Staring at beverages and picking at their labels is something I do, not Zoe.

She’s always in the middle of the conversation, but right now, she’s allowing Steven and me to carry on like she’s not even here.

Something’s up.

“How was w—” I start to ask.

“Steven has something he wanted to tell you,” she says quickly.

Steven snatches his beer from her hands. After a massive gulp, he sighs and clears his throat.

“So, Colton is doing a lot of research into brain cancer treatment, and, uh, I was in a meeting yesterday, and this company called CX Health came up. Not sure if you’ve heard of it?”

I shake my head. I’m still mooching off my parents’ insurance. I couldn’t name a single healthcare company if my life depended on it.

“Someone mentioned that CX Health has some research projects going on.

“No one has been able to verify it, but there’s a rumor out there that they might be doing human trials on a new drug, but the thing is, a virtually identical medication failed in Colton’s initial experiments.

“It never reached clinical trials or even anything past lab mice. CX is probably making modifications, but—”

“Logan’s company is financing it,” Zoe interrupts, folding her arms.

“That’s what Michael’s holding over his head, Rae. Sketchy investments. He’s paying for people to be test subjects on cancer treatments that killed mice. I know he’s doing it for his dad, but it’s beyond fucked up.”

My stomach freezes into a block of ice. I rest my cider on the counter. I need something stronger. Moonshine, maybe.

“Well, technically Quincy Ventures invested in a couple of CX’s subsidiaries, not directly CX itself,” Steven says. “I don’t… Rae, are you alright?”

The world closes in on me. I see Zoe’s lips moving and Steven diving behind me before a swarm of black dots dance before my eyes, obscuring my vision. My windpipe closes as my heart pounds erratically.

I gasp for air. I’m a fish out of water. I’m drowning on land. Someone hoists me into a sitting position. I’m on the rug, my back against the wall. When did I leave my chair? It doesn’t matter.

The conversation I overheard yesterday plays in my head. I finished photographing a meeting, and as the attendees piled out, I remained in the room, pretending to flip through photos.

In reality, I just didn’t want to walk back to my desk with anyone. Spending five hours a day at Quincy Ventures is stressful enough without having to make small talk on top of it.

I was about to leave, figuring that the coast was clear, when I heard voices. Voices that definitely believed they were alone in the secluded part of the floor, now that the meeting was over.

The voices belonged to Taylor and Michael, and they were talking about CX Health.

Taylor asked Michael how Eric was doing. Michael said that no news is good news, especially when it comes to CX. Taylor asked how many days it had been since the beginning of the trial.

Three. Michael said it’s been three days.

Realization knocks the wind out of me.

Logan’s not financing the study to learn more about a promising new medicine. He’s investing in the company so his dad can receive treatment. He’s grasping at straws because his father is dying.

~Does he know~? I wonder. ~Did he willingly sign up for a study, or did Michael and Taylor trick him into thinking the drug was already proven to work~?

No, Logan’s smart. He wouldn’t arrange for his father to receive treatment that hasn’t been proven effective. Michael and Taylor lied. I’m certain of it.

“Logan,” I rasp.

“Rae.” Zoe’s voice is disapproving.

“He doesn’t know,” I croak.

“You think he just happened to invest in sketchy companies owned by—”

I wrench myself from the panic-induced darkness. “He thinks—” I inhale sharply “—that the drug already works. I need… I need to call him.”

“That still doesn’t excuse putting money into a company that—”

“His dad is there,” I shriek.

“I doubt that.”

“He is, Zoe. My phone.” I run my fingers around my pockets. Nothing. Not on the counter, either. “I need my—”

“I’m not giving you your phone if you’re going to talk to him.”

Anger mixes with anxiety, creating a timebomb inside of me. “Zoe, give me my fucking phone,” I snap.

My best friend glares at me. “Fine. One second.”

When she returns it, Logan’s number is gone, along with our chat history. Courtney and Layla are no longer in my messages or contacts list either. Zoe deleted every possible method of contacting Logan.

Except the (sort of) old-fashioned way.

I check the time. Nine o’clock. Logan’s probably home by now. If not, he will be soon.

Well, I really fucking hope so. I can’t show up at Quincy Ventures to spill this news, not if there’s any chance Taylor or Michael could be at the office.

I ignore Zoe’s shouts when I close the door behind me. I sit in silence while the Uber brings me to Logan’s fancy apartment. Then, I sit again, this time on a granite bench outside the front door.

This time, I’m plotting.

I’ve never seen either of the two doormen working tonight, and something tells me this isn’t the type of place I can just rush into once a resident opens the door.

A red Mercedes catches my eye, and an absolutely, positively bonkers idea pops into my head.

~Here goes nothing~.

I find a less-than-cozy spot behind the hedge closest to the parking garage door, and I wait. I wait five minutes, then ten. Then, a Range Rover rolls up. The driver scans her keycard, and the door opens.

That’s when I break the law, diving beneath the door and skidding to a stop behind the fancy SUV. My cardigan rips, and my elbows are bloody and bruised, but I don’t care. I’m in.

Range Rover Lady spots me. With hawklike eyes, she watches me stumble to my feet. “Do you live here?” she demands.

“Uh, yeah. I lost my key.”

She scoffs, but not in the cute way Logan does. “I’m calling security.”

I book it into the elevator bay while she’s describing my appearance to the person on the phone.

Panting and reevaluating my choice to never exercise, I press the “20” button and repeatedly jab my finger into the one that closes the doors.

I’m about to yank them shut with my bare (weak) hands when they finally close, dragging inch by inch.

~Damn~. For a rich person apartment complex, this place has really slow elevators. It crawls to the first stop.

The doors spring open, revealing the lobby and a pair of uniformed security guards, batons on their hips, mere yards away. My heart skips a beat as they approach the elevator and…wait for it to close.

Okay. They’re going to the garage. That buys me some time.

After a stop on the eleventh floor, I’m alone. I lean against the wall and try the deep breathing techniques my therapist taught me in high school.

They’re pretty effective with public speaking and other situations that make me panic. Breaking and entering, however, is a new level. The best inhales and exhales in the world can’t settle my anxiety when I’m committing a felony.

~Is this a felony? It sure feels like one~.

I don’t hesitate before I pound on Logan’s door.

There’s no answer.

I press my ear against the frame. Nothing. Silence. Could he be at the office? He’s usually home by nine, but if he’s got sketchy investment stuff going on…

I knock again. Still no answer. My eyes prickle with tears that threaten to overflow. I bang on the door one last time, and finally, someone answers, but the voice isn’t coming from inside the apartment.

It isn’t coming from Logan Quincy, either.