Chapter 8: The Longest Forty-Eight Hours
I went to work that night.
I know how that sounds.
But staying home meant sitting with my own thoughts, and my thoughts were not good company.
The restaurant was loud and bright and full of people who needed things from me, which was, strangely, exactly what I needed.
Jett watched me from across the floor for most of the shift.
He didn't ask questions.
He just made sure my section wasn't overloaded and left a cup of coffee on the server station without saying anything about it.
Around nine, during a lull, he came over.
"Anything I should know?"
"We have a plan," I said.
"It's in motion."
"Good plan or desperate plan?"
"Somewhere in between."
He nodded.
"Those are usually the ones that work."
I sent Voss a text at midnight, from Marcus's phone, using the script Diane had suggested: *Drive is corrupted.
Working on recovery.
Need more time.* Short.
Frustrated-sounding.
Believable.
The response came back in four minutes: *You have 72 more hours.
After that I stop being patient.*
I forwarded the exchange to Diane.
She replied: *Good.
Keep going.*
The next day was harder.
Marcus stayed close to home.
I went to class in the morning and spent the afternoon at the library, studying for an exam I couldn't fully concentrate on.
Every time my phone lit up, my stomach clenched.
At three in the afternoon, Diane called.
"The material has been reviewed by two contacts I trust.
They're moving forward." Her voice was the same even tone as always.
"I need you to know that this is now out of your hands in the best possible way.
You don't need to do anything else.
Just stay quiet and stay safe."
"How long until something happens?"
"I can't give you a timeline.
But they're not going to sit on this."
"Voss is going to figure out something is wrong before his deadline."
"Possibly.
But by then, the people he'd normally call for help are going to have their own problems." A pause.
"You did the right thing."
I hung up and sat in the library for a while, not reading anything.
That evening, Marcus came and found me in the kitchen.
Mom was in the other room watching television.
He sat down across from me and kept his voice low.
"Do you think it's actually going to work?"
"I think we did everything we could do."
"That's not the same as yes."
"No," I said.
"It's not."
He was quiet for a moment.
"If it doesn't — if he comes back — "
"Then we deal with it.
Together." I looked at him.
"But Marcus, listen to me.
Whatever happens with Voss, you need to be done with that world.
Not because I'm telling you to.
Because you already know what it costs."
He looked at the table.
"I know."
"You're smart.
You saw something wrong and you had the instinct to document it.
That's not nothing.
But you can't keep using that instinct to survive inside a bad situation.
You have to use it to get out of one."
He didn't answer right away.
Then: "You sound like you've been practicing that."
"I've been thinking it for four months."
He almost smiled.
It was the closest thing to normal we'd had in days.
My phone lit up.
Jett.
*Heads up.
Woman came into the restaurant tonight asking about you.
Blond.
Silver ring.
I told her you hadn't been in.
She left.*
I read it twice.
May you like
Carla Stenn had come to my workplace.
The clock had just moved faster.
