Page 76 of Only the Devil
I lower the slice of white bread onto the bacon and tomato, and rest my hand in my lap, waiting for Brie to check her order, but also processing what she’s saying.
“This isn’t the company I want to work for long term. That’s what you’re saying? Jake talked to you?”
He acted supportive of me last night, but then he called in reinforcements.
“No,” she says, “I’ve simply had training in this area. And experience.”
She scratches her nose with the tip of her nail, the touch so light it’s as if she’s being careful not to disturb the makeup on her porcelain complexion.
“No judgment,” she says, the words tweaking something inside me.
She’s not judging me. No, I’m judging myself, and that’s worse.
“One thing I’ve learned,” she peels the wrapper on her sandwich, finally, revealing a collard green wrapped concoction, “is that a shell company Sterling Financial has contributed to is pushing crypto-friendly legislation.”
“That’s expected.” Every company pushes legislation that benefits their industry.
“It is. It also confirms he’s in a league of …” She drops her sentence, focusing instead on her wrap.
“It’s not like he’s the devil. Or they’re devils,” I say, but even as the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m defending someone who I suspect has done horrible things. The contradiction sits like a lump in my stomach.
“Perhaps,” she says, studying my face. “But here’s something I’ve learned in this job—even the devil was once an angel.”
I think about Phillip’s generosity with bonuses, his genuine excitement about technology, the way he lights up talking about innovation…and his daughter. Then I think about the way he dropped Alvin Reed’s name and Jocelyn’s body being moved like a problem to solve rather than a person to mourn.
“I’m not sure Phillip Sterling was ever an angel.” But what about me? What am I becoming?
Outside, a delivery truck rumbles past, its engine vibrating through the café’s thin walls.
“That’s the thing about this work,” Brie says, her voice gentler now. “It makes you look too hard at everyone—including yourself. Oscar Wilde had it right. We are each our own devil.”
The quote hits differently when you’re sitting across from someone who knows what choices you’ve made. I set down my sandwich, appetite gone. “And we make this world our hell.”
Chapter 25
Daisy
Somewhere out there, a chorus of crickets chirps. It’s not a lot, but it’s more than I’d ever hear sitting in a courtyard in LA. Growing up, you might hear one or two—just enough to make you think that if you found and caught the thing, silence would settle in, broken only by distant engines, a siren, a horn, or the occasional shouting match.
But here on the urban outskirts, those crickets form a full-blown chorus—and that feels oddly out of place.
Yes, I’m technically in the suburbs, but I’m still surrounded by concrete and asphalt. Out here on the balcony at night, the occasional vehicle rumbles by. A handful of stars shine bright against the night sky. And yet, there’s a chorus.
The mating calls likely stem from the nearby greenway and the adjacent park. It’s not something I’ve thought about since moving into this temporary location. Of course, I have spent little time out here by myself.
The chorus of crickets outside my temporary balcony should be soothing, but tonight even their mating calls feel like mockery. Another week gone by, and I’m drowning in this heavy, sinking feeling—a funky life-sucks emotion that makes me crave a cigarette for the first time since college.
Since our dinner, Phillip Sterling has checked in daily. Asking about progress. Reading me. And I’ve been making progress. It’s coming together. He’s pleased.
But in terms of an investigation? In terms of discovering anything new, anything we didn’t already know—nothing.
My phone screen lights up. I toe the phone, which is lying on the ground, turning it so I can read the name.
Mom.
With a heavy sigh, I lean forward and pick up the phone.
“Hey, Mom.”
