Page 71 of So I'll Know
Once I’m home, I take a hot shower, finally allowing myself to relax. I press my forehead against the cool tiles, my mind falling back into the blissful weekend I had with Jeremy. What I wouldn’t give to just relive it over and over again in an infinite loop.
I get out and dry off, then use an electric razor to trim my beard to barely-there stubble—it’s the closest I’m willing to get to clean shaven. Walking into my closet, I sift through the suits Ihardly ever wear. My dad gets me one for Christmas every year—has since I was eighteen. He always claimed that they would prepare me for when I inevitably joined him at Skynet. Seb used to joke about Dad’s delusions of grandeur because we both knew that we were going into business together. Back then, I never could have predicted that our father would eventually blackmail me into accepting a role with him that, looking back now, I never truly wanted.
I button my shirt and grab some silver cufflinks before shrugging on my suit jacket. I glance at the adjoining door to my pottery studio. My stepmother taught me everything, and I loved helping her craft bowls and vases and plates. It was just a hobby for her, but it became an escape for me. It’s the only thing that relaxes me when life becomes overwhelming.
I stare at myself in the mirror.
I rub my chin, frustrated that I shaved my beard so short. It’s not me. I like it longer now. I sigh, feeling itchy in my own skin. I’d blame it on my newfound feelings for Jeremy, but this restlessness started creeping into my soul way before I started questioning my sexuality. It started a couple of years ago when I realized how unhappy I was with the trajectory of my life and the role I play as everyone’s savior.
I leave my condo and call an Uber. Within minutes, I’m in some guy’s ridiculously clean Toyota Prius. We pull out into the street and take I-5 to I-90 East. Skynet Investment Group is actually based in Bellevue, across Lake Washington, which makes total sense considering it has a sterile, more formal feel than downtown Seattle.
I sit back and check my email, which I haven’t looked at since before Thanksgiving. It’s mostly stuff about the pub, but my heart races when I see one from John.
Good morning, Marcus,
I heard back from Courtney, my PI, and the new timeline is a go. Her team unearthed some tenuous connections to Ryan and several offshore banking accounts, which isn’t surprising. However, something unusual came up while they were digging: There’s some files on two board members who passed away under mysterious circumstances. It was a car wreck. A hit and run. No one ever found the person who did it. They were part of Skynet when it started, way before I joined. Their names are redacted, but her team is going to keep looking to see if we can find anything to connect Ryan to their deaths. If so, we’d be in the perfect position to get what we need from him. Could the original files be somewhere at Skynet headquarters? Might be worth sniffing around.
I’ll be in touch when I hear more.
Talk soon, John
Board members who died? I don’t remember my father ever mentioning anything like that, so it must’ve been before I was born or when I was very young. I know the board has had high turnover in the last twenty years. John himself was forced out after his affair with my stepmother came to light, though I suspect the situation was a little more complicated than hurt feelings over an extramarital affair.
We roll up to the loading zone, and I step out of the car and trek into the modern-looking high-rise, a heavy feeling settling in my chest. I feel like I’m walking into a glass-and-steel trap. I navigate through metal detectors and get a name badge from the front desk.
The building is so tall that it has four elevator banks to accommodate the volume of employees. I feel like people are staring as I wait awkwardly with a group of staffers. I suspect they recognize my last name emblazoned in red Sharpie on the visitor sticker on my breast pocket.
One of the elevator doors pings open, and I enter. I punch the button for the top floor, which makes sense since all supervillains do business on the top floor of their fancy glass buildings.
I’m the last person to exit. I nod at the receptionist as I pass, feeling like the collar of my suit is starting to strangle me. And don’t even get me started on the pit sweat already soaking through my shirt. Despite my upbringing and going to business school, I’ve always had crippling anxiety upon entering an uber-corporate setting. The disingenuous environment gives me the creeps.
I head to the large conference room, enter, and sit on one side of the table. I’m not waiting long before my father enters, looking a little more collected than he did earlier this morning.
He nods at me and takes a seat at my side. “Ryan and Regina will be in here shortly.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Regina? Bringing in someone named after a mean girl is a little on the nose, isn’t it?” My father gives me a confused look. “Never mind.”
My father looks genuinely sad for a moment. “I’m sorry we have to play this game, Marcus. Ryan may not realize it, but we need you here. We need someone we can trust.”
Someone we can trust. Young Marcus would have died to hear those words.
The door swings open, and Ryan and a woman, I assume Regina, enter. Ryan Michaels could be a replica of my father in his stature and dress, but he has tidy, sandy-blond hair, a neatly trimmed beard, and cold olive-green eyes. My dad has been friends with Ryan for most of his life. When I was a kid, I remember him coming to our house. He was a handsome, animated businessman who laughed a lot. But that faded over time, especially after his wife passed. I heard he had a son, younger than me, but I never got to meet the kid. His fatherdoesn’t seem to be grooming him for this fucking business, though, so he’s got to be better off than me, right?
The woman immediately strikes me as an odd choice. Unlike Ryan and my father, Regina smiles, putting me immediately at ease. Her long black hair is pulled into a high bun, and she’s wearing a fitted pantsuit that looks very expensive—which is probably why she’s here, despite her disarming demeanor. She has money.
“You must be Marcus,” Regina says with a wink. “I’ve heard a lot about you from your father.”
“I’m sure you have,” I mutter.
“Let’s get started,” Ryan interrupts, looking at his watch. “I have a meeting in an hour.”
My dad sighs. “Ryan, you need to let this go.”
Ryan’s sharp jaw visibly tightens, and he glances at me before returning his gaze to my dad. “It’s not up for discussion, Martin,” he snaps. “You deal with your kid, and I’ll deal with mine.”
My dad gives him a hard look but seems to drop the subject.
Ryan and Regina take their seats at each end of the table, and I tap my fingers on the shiny surface, mentally preparing for Ryan’s usual onslaught of questions. And he does not disappoint.
