Chapter 78

The clock was moving more slowly than usual. The minutes seemed to drag on. Normally a place of comfort, my office felt oppressive today. The weight on my chest and the phone vibrating on my desk for the fourth time in twenty minutes were too much for the slight hum of the air conditioner to ignore.

He was the one. Again.

Richards' name appeared on the screen. I scratched my temples and leaned back in my chair after swiping it away. Normally soothing, the subtle scent of leather and cedarwood was suddenly oppressive. Every unanswered phone call and whispered allegation that I was afraid Richards may find was racing through my head.

"How did things get so bad?" I whispered to myself.

I attempted to explain it. Lately, Ethan had been aloof, preoccupied with whatever storm he was fighting. I couldn't bring Sophie into this mess, even if she knew something was wrong. Richards, too? I had already allowed Richards to get too near, and he was chewing at my heels like a wolf.

This time, the phone buzzed with a text message:

"Meet me tonight. You're out of time."

My stomach turned over. The remarks had the same weight as a loaded rifle pressed against my back, even though they weren't explicitly threatening.

Still, I came. How could I not?

Peeling paint on the walls, neon signs that flickered and produced harsh shadows on the cracked ground, and a slight grease odor that stuck on your clothes long after you left made the diner unappealing. Because of its obscurity-a place no one would think to look for someone like me-I had chosen it as our meeting place months prior.

Richards was already seated with his back to the wall in the farthest booth. Well done, I thought. He was excessively cautious all the time. As soon as I entered, the man's piercing blue eyes met mine, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. From his immaculate suit to the attitude of power he bore like a badge, he looked every bit the cunning predator he was.

The faux leather stuck to my palms as I slid into the booth across from him. The waitress, a weary-looking woman with a disheveled hairstyle, made no attempt to engage us. Whatever was about to happen, she knew better than to interfere.

Richards leaned back, as like he owned the area, and remarked, "Took you long enough." His tone was low and deliberate, with each syllable arranged like chessboard pieces.

I shot back, attempting to hide the trembling in my voice, "You don't get to dictate my schedule."

His laugh was dry and humorless. Perhaps not. However, aren't you present?

He always seemed to know just how far he could push before I snapped, and I detested his arrogance. The fact that he was generally correct made me detest it even more.

"This time, what do you want?" I asked in an impartial tone.

With his elbows resting on the sticky tabletop, Richards leaned forward. Information, Fisher. The type I can only get from you.

I shook my head and scoffed. "I'm not giving you anything that will get Ethan into trouble, as I already told you."

"And yet, here we are," he retorted with ease. "Let's not act as though you're doing this out of empathy. You have your own skin to protect, as we both know.

It was made worse by the fact that he was correct. He only needed my silence as confirmation.

He went on, his voice fading to a near whisper, "Here's the deal." "I'll keep your identity out of the probe if you provide me something tangible and helpful. I'll start looking into your connection to Monroe Enterprises if you continue to act evasively. Both of us are aware it won't work out well for you.

Suddenly, it felt as though the temperature had plummeted by ten degrees. With my throat as parched as sandpaper, I took a deep drink.

I responded, scarcely raising my voice above a whisper, "You're asking me to betray my best friend."

Richards squinted his eyes. "I'm requesting that you live. Would Ethan go down for you, in your opinion? Do you believe he would put everything on the line for you? Because it appears that he is already ignoring you from where I am seated.

I wasn't prepared for how hard the words hit. Yes, Ethan had been aloof, but that didn't mean he had given up on me. Did it?

I forced myself to concentrate and let out a sharp exhale. "I'm not able to give you much," I finally said. "But to keep you off my back, I'll give you something."

Richards leaned back in his chair and grinned once again. "Wise decision. Let's listen to it."

I informed him about a little shipment that would afford me time without endangering Ethan. I hoped the measured risk would satisfy Richards for the time being.

As I said, he nodded, his face unreadable. He straightened his jacket and got up suddenly when I was done. "As always, Fisher, pleasure."

I watched him leave the diner and vanish into the night without answering. I sat there with a knot in my stomach, wondering how long I could continue this delicate balancing act until it all fell apart.

Later that night, when I entered Sophie's apartment, she immediately sensed something was wrong. Emily wasn't there.

With a light tone and worried eyes, she remarked, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

I shrugged off my jacket and attempted a smile. I tried to sound informal as I said, "Just a long day."

She didn't believe it. "Come on, Ben. Speak to me. What is happening?

I desired to. God, I wanted to break the news to her. However, how could I? I could not keep my own head above water, so how could I bring her into this mess?

I brushed past her to get a drink from the kitchen and said, "It's nothing."

Her footsteps were quiet but relentless as she followed me. It's not insignificant. You've spent weeks being preoccupied. You hardly ever communicate with me anymore, and when you do, it seems like you're in a whole different place.

I could feel the anger rising, the fear and shame turning into something more repulsive. "Sophie, it's nothing," I said. Drop it."

Her face flashed with pain as her eyes expanded. "Avoid doing that. Don't ignore me in this manner.

I squeezed the bridge of my nose and sighed. "I'm not excluding you. Just give me some space, please."

"Space?" she asked again, her voice a little shaky. "Ben, what are you so terrified of? Why won't you just be honest with me?"

I reasoned that everything may be destroyed by the truth. However, I was unable to express that. Rather, I yelled. "Sophie, just leave it alone! For once, can you do that?"

The ensuing hush was deafening. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears as she gazed at me and then turned away. "All right," she said softly. "If you desire that."

I stood there, the drink in my hand suddenly feeling like lead, as she left the room. The anxiety was worse than the oppressive shame. How much longer could I go like this before everything fell apart?

After she went to bed, I sat in the dark for hours on end, feeling as though the room's shadows were drawing closer. Richards, Ethan, and Sophie were on my mind. About the lies I had already told and the ones I would have to continue.

The siren's cries pierced the night's silence from somewhere in the distant. It served as a reminder that time was running out and that the walls were closing in more quickly than I could keep up with.

My fingertips were chilled by the moisture as I held the glass in my hand. The only sound in the room now was the refrigerator's quiet hum, a low drone that somehow made my mental turmoil worse.

Ethan was unaware. Sophie was unaware. How long could I keep them in the dark, though?

After grabbing my jacket, I crept out of Sophie's house.