Page 51 of Grift

Patrick

Bridget smiles at me from across my desk. She’s chatting nonstop about her latest ballet show and I feel like a shit for not listening.

But my mind’s not on my sister today. Just as there’s a break in the conversation, Callan’s broad shoulders throw a shadow across my desk as he moves into the doorway.

“Patrick, got a second?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, only adding, “Hello, Bridget” as an afterthought. He’s muscled into my office, already claiming the free leather chair by the conference table. I’m not in the mood for a Callan strategy session today.

I ignore him, a fact that leaves him shifting with annoyance. “Birdie, are you still friends with that hacker girl?”

She gives me a big smile. “Lila? Oh yeah, she’s over at MIT finishing up her master’s now.”

Callan’s whole body goes stiff. “Lila? As in Lila Cordera?”

Lila is the daughter of Carlina Cordera, the woman who was both a housekeeper and nanny to us. She helped our mother keep it together when the wine and mood stabilizers made taking care of seven kids too difficult. Her only daughter Lila was a few years older than Bridget, and had a wild temperament, but they’d become friends, staying in touch even after her mother stopped working for us and moved out west. Lila had always been good with computers and I remember my sister talking about her cybersecurity career.

“I need to talk to her,” I say tersely. “Can you put us in touch?”

Bridget’s already texting, when Callan cuts in. “If this is about what I think it is, absolutely not.”

When I don’t answer, he doubles down in a way that’s out of character for my calm, collected brother. “We’re not bringing family business to that woman. We have perfectly competent IT security companies on the payroll.”

The way he says “that woman” with such emphasis. Interesting.

An address flashes on my phone. A group text with Bridget and Lila. “Come on over” says Lila. I stand.

“I don’t need competent, Callan. I need fucking brilliant. And I need someone I can trust,” I reach for my coat.

“I’m coming with you,” he sounds strained.

“Thanks, Bridget. I really appreciate your help,” I say, leaving with Callan too close behind. She didn’t even bother to ask why I needed it – not because I think she’s totally blind to what happens in the family. No, she’s smarter than people give her credit for, but she knows when not to get involved.

An underappreciated survival skill in the Carney household, if you ask me. One I wish Callan would cue into at the moment.

It’s a tense drive to Cambridge, when I maneuver my Range Rover into a spot that’s technically cut out for a Prius. “You’re going to get a ticket.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I don’t know why he’s here, why he’s talking shit about this woman Lila, or why he’s acting like he’s about to tip over a cliff into some deep, dark precipice. He’s stared hard out the window sulking the whole way here. Silence isn’t abnormal for Callan. Preoccupation is.

“This is a bad idea,” he says finally, reluctantly. “The less we have to do with that woman and her family, the better.”

That woman? Her mother had been like a second mother to me growing up. While I can’t say we’d been very close, she was the person I’d gone to when I was hungry or upset or needed anything. Every association I have with both Carlina and Lila is positive. There’s not a single bad memory I can think of.

But now as I think about it, she’d left rather quickly. But I’d been at a weird age, caught up in sports and my life outside the house. Anything to do with my family was something I’d wanted to avoid at that age. My eyes focus on the hard lines of Callan’s face, the tight frown, the worry lines around his eyes.

“Tell me.”

“Carlita Cordera didn’t leave her job under good conditions, Patrick,” Callan says. “And a couple of years ago, I had a bit of a run-in with Lila about that.”

“What do you mean, didn’t leave under good conditions? I thought she resigned to move out West. Did she get fired?” But even as I ask a sinking feeling hits me.

Even now, when I really think about it, I remember the looks my father used to give Mrs. Cordera. The way she’d seemed afraid of him. My stomach sinks, turning sour at the thought that I’m hoping is wrong, even though I know it’s not.

I’d never noticed, but now? With what I’d seen from Jessica’s situation, it is becoming all too clear.

“It’s complicated,” he hedges.

Anger rises in my chest. All I can think of is Jessica, and the whole fucking reason I’m here today. “Is it, Callan? Come on, man. Don’t fucking lie for him.”

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