Even the Obsessed Fear Death

Chapter 4: A Table Between Us

Noah asked me to meet him three weeks later.

His email came through the outside counsel's assistant, not through a private address or a friend. He requested an hour at a public café near the courthouse and said he wanted to ask about my statement. I replied that I would meet him if counsel knew about it. The assistant confirmed they did.

I arrived ten minutes early and took a seat near the front window. I ordered tea, then left it untouched.

Noah came in wearing a dark coat and carrying no briefcase. He looked thinner than he had on the roof. The stubble along his jaw made his face seem less polished, but his eyes were steady. He asked before sitting across from me.

"Thanks for coming," he said.

"I agreed to talk about the report. That's all."

"I know."

I had rehearsed not to fill silence. The practice failed when he looked at my hands.

"You gave the bank the dates," he said.

"I described what I saw."

"Did you tell them Tessa was responsible?"

"No. I told them what I knew and what I didn't know."

He nodded once. "I would've done the same."

I remembered the rooftop and could not tell whether he believed that.

He glanced at the tea. "You always ordered peppermint."

I stiffened. "I did?"

"Back when you worked at Vale House. You kept a box in the kitchenette."

I had no reply ready for the fact that he remembered something about me. My mind tried to turn it into evidence of a secret bond. I stopped it.

"Those boxes were in the shared cabinet," I said.

His mouth twitched, but he didn't smile. "Fair."

I lowered my eyes to my cup. "What did you need to ask?"

"Whether the invoice number was wrong in your notes."

"I copied it from memory. It could be wrong."

"Did you see the invoice itself?"

"I saw the weekly report with the number listed. I didn't review the vendor file."

"Did the report show the same amount both times?"

"Yes. I remember because it was a clean number. Forty-eight thousand."

"That's useful."

"I can't say it was fraud."

"I understand."

He rubbed one thumb along the edge of his paper napkin. I noticed the gesture and hated how easily my attention collected details.

"The bank thinks the project may be worth something if the records are clean," he said. "The board thinks I approved the reporting. I did approve the reports."

"You were signing what your team prepared."

"That doesn't erase my responsibility."

"No," I said. "It doesn't."

His eyes lifted to mine. "You're not here to reassure me."

"No."

For several seconds, neither of us spoke. Around us, people ordered lunch and laughed over coffee. A child in a yellow raincoat pressed both palms against the window.

"I was angry when I heard you went to the bank," Noah said. "Then I realized I had no right to be."

"I didn't do it to hurt you."

"I know. I'm sorry I told you to leave me alone like it was your fault I was in trouble."

"I didn't think it was my fault."

"But you thought it was your job to fix it."

I held the cup in both hands. "I'm working on that."

He looked as if he might say more, then chose not to. I respected the choice.

"Are you still working at the accounting firm?" he asked.

"I'm on leave."

"Because of me?"

"Because Vale House was their client. They need to make sure there isn't a conflict."

"Will you lose your job?"

"Maybe."

"I can pay you for your time."

"No."

"I'm not trying to buy—"

"I know. But I won't take money from you."

He withdrew his offer without argument. "Okay."

I stood when my phone vibrated. It was a message from my supervisor asking me to call. I put the phone away.

"I have to go."

"Thank you for meeting me."

"Please keep any questions about the records with the bank or counsel."

"I will."

I stepped out into the wet afternoon. Noah remained at the table. I didn't look back through the glass.

On the ride home, I returned Jon's call. The firm had decided to end my contract rather than wait for the review to conclude. They would pay out my remaining leave, but they could not keep me on staff while the matter was unresolved.

The call lasted six minutes.

I sat on my apartment steps afterward with the phone in my lap. My career had not ended, but a clean reference had become less certain. I had chosen to give the bank a truthful account, and that choice had cost me the job I'd expected to keep.

At 6:00, a new message arrived from a number I recognized. Noah had sent one line.

I won't ask you to fix this.

I read it, then set the phone down.

A reply would have been easy. It would have opened a door I had spent weeks trying not to push through.

I went inside instead.