“Ha!” Agent Pillsbury resumes her commenting. “Not if I can help it.”
“See you all tomorrow night.” West looks at Josh, motions with a piece of paper. “Josh, can I see you over here a moment?”
“See ya later, Pam,” Josh whispers. “I hope we have a lot of press coverage lined up for—”
“Just sign it,” she says. She leaves.
Sign what? he thinks.
The crowd makes its way out of the room. Josh hears the sound of the wall opening.
Jamal lingers behind. “Should I—”
“We’re good, thanks, Jamal,” West says, flaps his hand for him to leave. “Please make sure the door is closed.”
Jamal ushers the final two people out the door, then closes the Reagan door.
Silence falls on the room. A hum grows louder in Josh’s ears.
“That wasn’t us,” West holds up his phone.
“You’re still spying on me? Getting my texts forwarded to your phone?” Josh walks toward him.
“Look, I had to make sure you weren’t trying to screw with me.”
“But Shawn Connelly? Why bug Shawn, Mr. West?”
“That wasn’t us, I swear.”
Josh looks down at the sheet of paper West has in his hands. “What are you holding?”
“I have an NDA I’d like you to sign. It’s pretty standard, but if you’re going to be my right hand, I need all of you.”
“So you wanna make extra sure I’m not trying to screw you? You’re a piece of work.”
“It’s not like that. Everyone has to sign these.”
“I’ll hand this over to my lawyer. Shawn Connelly. You may be familiar with him.”
“Nope,” Pillsbury says. “Stop it. Just sign it.”
“If you must,” West says. “But honestly, I wanna move past this trust issue. My bad; won’t happen again.”
“Remember he needs you.” Agent Pillsbury tries to calm him down. “He still thinks he’s in control. All this will mean nothing very soon.”
Josh grabs the sheet of paper, uses his microphone pen to sign it. The sound of the writing is amplified on the metal table.
“Help me, help me! I’m writing, I’m writing!” Agent Pillsbury speaks like a wicked witch.
Josh looks at the pen, imagines her inside it. He calms down, even bites his lip to keep from laughing.
“Thank you, Josh.” West flicks his head toward the camera. “There’s someone I’d like for you to meet.”
Josh notices they are right in front of it. “The camera? Let me guess. The board.”
“Not exactly. Guys, I’d like you to meet Josh Harrison, in person.”
“Nice to meet you.” Josh smiles, waves. He feels stupid. “Who am I speaking to?”
“You’ll meet them soon. They wanted to see you, get a feel for you first.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“It’s all good. They are coming to the event. I’ll need a pass for them too. I’ve already talked to Jamal.”
“May I get them a hotel room, a suite perhaps? The hotel is opening tomorrow. We can arrange for the Presidential.”
“Already taken care of. There is one thing I need your help with, though. They’re arriving tomorrow afternoon by private jet at Teterboro Airport. If you could have Talent meet them, that would be great. I can email you the details.”
“I’ll take care of it personally.” Josh turns to the camera. “Looking forward to meeting you.”
The camera’s light goes dim.
“You sure you can meet them?” West asks. “It’s cutting it close to grand-opening kickoff time.”
“Teterboro is close, right?”
“Twenty, twenty-five-minute drive.”
“This is important, yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll be there.” Josh begins to stack some plastic cups, pouring the leftover wine into each successive cup as he goes. “Let me help you clean up.”
“Stop. What’s-his-face will get it tomorrow.”
“Reed?” Josh tosses the cups in the trashcan. “Have you started calling him Kimbo yet?”
“Please.” West walks to the door, opens it, turns off the lights. “Kimbo was one of a kind. If you hear from him, please let me know. I know you were quite fond of each other.”
“I will.” Josh follows him, then motions to the Washington door across the hall. “Hey, what’s in these other rooms? I’m digging the presidential theme down here.”
“Another time.”
“Don’t push too hard,” Agent Pillsbury says.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” Josh clip-clops up the stairs behind West, the sound bouncing off the cement walls.
“Unplug the login station, unplug the login station,” Pillsbury says.
“What’s strange?” West continues up the stairs in front of him.
Josh reaches down, unplugs the computer. He doesn’t miss a beat. “Kimbo. Just vanishing like that. He hasn’t contacted any of us.”
“Us?”
“Yes. He has friends outside of you and me, you know.” Josh steps into the hallway, uses his oval SSD to close the wall.
“Hey, can we talk just a second?” West’s face is solemn.
“Absolutely, sir. Anything wrong?”
“I know you don’t trust me.” West leans against the wall, the fake thermostat just above his shoulder. “I get it, I do, I feel the same way. Ever since Kimbo left, I haven’t trusted anyone. I need to know I can trust you.”
“What can I do? This thing goes both ways, you know.”
“I understand. We gotta just get through tomorrow night. Things will be better, I promise.”
“Sir, what’s happening tomorrow night?”
West’s face changes from reflectively somber to nervously inquisitive. “What do you mean?”
“Sir, I’m just asking so I can help you. I know who I’m in bed with, and yet I’m still here. You want trust, you need to show some.”
West sighs. He begins to pace up and down the hallway, starting a sentence, then stopping to reevaluate his thoughts. He rests on a narrative. “Years ago, I needed help, so I sold part of my company to have the capital to expand. The new investors wanted to help grow the organization; I said sure. They brought in some of their own people. They had an idea to form an organization within our company to help evaluate new acquisitions.”
“CAAD.”
“Yes. By working together, we did well. Some would say too well, but the investors were happy. They wanted more. Much more. They started using their people, who were now on my
