Page 18 of The Orc of Wall Street

I realize that the walking stack of folders with the disembodied voice is Sloane.

I chuckle. “Geez, looks like Angel’s putting you to work,” I say. I can’t help but laugh internally at the irony of a thief, bowing the knee to grunt work.

“She claims I’m slacking off, but I’m not,” Sloane says, a note of tired desperation present in her tone. “She just keeps giving me more work.”

I follow Sloane, who nearly drops the immense stack of folders as she kicks open Angel’s door, then sets the stack on the hotel room table.

“There you go, Angel,” Sloane says. “There’s that part of the archives, all alphabetized.”

Angel eyes Sloane skeptically.

“Everything’s alphabetized? Seems a bit soon.”

Sloane beams brightly. “I’m a fast worker,” Sloane says. “I don’t ever –”

I stand watching just outside the room, my arms folded.

“So you alphabetized the folders and the contents of the folders?” Angel asks.

I can see a moment of realization take hold as Sloane’s breath is knocked from her lungs.

“Well, no,” Sloane says. “How would I even alphabetize the contents?”

“By category and by subject, like I told you. Geez, do you ever pay attention?”

Watching from a distance, I can’t help but take pity. As much as I enjoy watching her suffer, there’s something unsettling about watching something so pathetic unfold.

“It’s well after work hours, isn’t it, Angel?” I ask, stepping inside Angel’s hotel room slash office.

She pauses, suddenly realizing she’s no longer the most authoritative voice in the room.

“I didn’t see you there, Tarek,” she says.

“This seems like a frivolous use of unpaid time. Why don’t you let Sloane off for the evening?”

Angel looks as though she greatly wants to oppose but finds herself stammering out non-starters.

“Very well,” she says finally. “Have a good evening, Sloane.”

Stepping out in the hallway behind me, Sloane waits for the door to firmly shut behind her.

“Dear God, thank you,” Sloane says. “I didn’t think she was ever going to let me leave.”

I chuckle in response.

“Oh! I needed to talk to you, actually,” she interjects before I can speak. “I overheard Craig talking, and he’s meeting up with somebody in town tonight. Some fancy restaurant downtown.”

I eye her suspiciously. “You ‘overheard?’” I ask. “How’d you manage that?”

She looks like she’s fruitlessly attempting to rub something out of her hair. “It’s not important. I just figured you might want to know.”

With that, she attempts to slip away from me, but I grip her by the arm.

“Well then,” I tell her. “Clear your schedule. It sounds like we have a date.”

CHAPTER 9

Sloane

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