Page 38 of Old Money
I’m fairly confident these notices don’t typically list the specific records in a citizen’s request. Then again, I imagine, they usually don’t mail them to the citizen’s boss.
The letter has my name on it, but the envelope—sitting open beside it on the desk—is addressed to Jamie directly: “Jamie Burger, c/o The Horseman Club.”
“Why would you bring it up?” Jamie guffaws. “Alice, I’m not a dumbass.”
“Jamie,” I hush him with a hand to my lips, nodding toward the lobby. “They’re still here.”
He shuts his eyes and sucks in a sharp breath.
“I never planned to involve you,” I murmur, a hint of Liv Yatesian coolness in my voice. “I have no idea why this letter came to you, but I certainly didn’t use the club address on my paperwork, let alone your name. It’s a personal—”
“I knew it was something like this,” he hisses, jabbing a hand at the letter. “What is it, a new investigation? Are you trying to get him charged?”
“Whoa, Jamie, you’re making some very big assumptions.”
“Yeah,” he spits. “Because you’re not telling me shit.”
I startle back into myself, any pretense of cool professionalism gone. For a moment, we just glare.
“This is really inappropriate,” I say, unblinking.
“Goddamn right it is.”
Jamie throws up his hands and turns away, muttering to the wall.
“I knew you were full of it the day you came. All that bullshit about closure. Day One, I knew.”
And yet, I think.You gave me the job anyway.
Silence stretches out between us, until a tinkle of laughter floats in from the lobby. Mr. Brody will be escorting Susannah and the Yateses out. I imagine him calling Susannah “Ms. Joyce” and bending his head in a polite bow.
“You should go home,” Jamie says.
“What? Are youfiringme?”
Jamie doesn’t answer. He shoves the letter across the desk to me.
“You have no legal recourse, Jamie,” I say, pulling Theo tricks out of my hat. “You know you were never meant to see this letter, and if you terminate me over—”
“Jesus, Alice.” Jamie recoils. “Just go home, take a day off, whatever.”
He drops into his chair, done. I pick up the letter and tuck it into my bag, leaving, but taking my time about it.
***
I cross the staff parking lot, my body loose and rattling with adrenaline. As I unlock the car, someone calls my name and I jump.
“Do you have a second?”
It’s Susannah.
“Sorry,” she adds.
I look down and force a few deep breaths. I should tell her no—no, we’re not going to have our first conversation in four years right this second. I want to be ready for that conversation, and right now, I’m the opposite of ready.
I clutch my key in my fist and walk over to her.
“I just wanted to—” she begins, halting when she sees my face. “Is everything okay?”
