Focus.
I think this is important. Because … even when I saw the symbol there, on that Upper East Side entryway table, right before Alex made urgent, desperate love to me on the sunroom floor—fuck, I miss him so much and it’s only been a week—but even then, it was familiar.
So, where did I see it the first time?
My Subway Nemesis is talking with someone he recognized a few minutes ago. They’re having a slightly awkward, self-preening conversation about his current line of work. I’ve been halfway listening, halfway reading a historical romance novel (to avoid thinking about the tragedy of my own romantic state), but the more they talk the louder they get, and I eventually give up on the French Revolution.
“I miss the rush,” says my Subway Nemesis. “The excitement of the floor.”
“You mean the terror,” says the other. “But I get it. Trading’s so addictive, sometimes it feels illegal.”
I roll my eyes. Okay, Jordan Belfort.
“What do you do now?” the trader asks.
“Financial consulting,” says my Subway Nemesis, and I roll my eyes again.
“What sort of consulting?” the trader asks.
“We work with clients looking to break into new markets.”
I look at his computer bag.
I look at my Subway Nemesis.
I look back at his computer bag.
And then, I remember.
That symbol was on the Strauss website.
In a perfectly Elle Woods moment, a lightbulb glows bright in my mind, and I gasp out loud, causing both men to glance down where I’m sitting. My hands clutch my book as the train hauls to a stop, and shakily, I rise to standing.
“That’s the Strauss logo, right? Is Strauss one of your clients?” I ask. “A client you’re trying to help break into a new market?”
Subway Nemesis glares at me. He looks down at his bag, then back up. “It’s not against our company policy to accept gifts worth less than fifty dollars. And stop eavesdropping, you teenaged SEC narc.”
“That’s not what I … I’m not going to report your gift to the … Whatever.”
I walk out the doors. Up the stairs.
My brain is swimming.
That’s the Strauss logo, and it was in Robert Harrison’s house, and Strauss is employing a consulting firm to help it break into new markets, and oh my God oh my God oh my God.
The tall windows of FiDi refract sunlight all around me, but it does nothing to stave off the sharp cold. Pink salt crunches beneath my boots as I start to walk, chewing on my lip while my mind rolls over the puzzle pieces that are suddenly fitting together. In a daze, I’m in the building, then the elevator. Then Tracy Garcia’s office. Gloves still on. Brain still swimming.
Tracy is standing behind her desk in a dusty-blue long-sleeve dress. When she sees me, she smiles. And when she really sees me—focused eyes, racing mind, here without an appointment or an offer of explanation—her smile slips into a smirk. “Yes?”
My voice comes out soft but confident. “You said Strauss Holdings’ offer was high. Higher than Little Cooper is worth.”
She doesn’t miss a beat. “I did. And they went even higher last week. They probably thought we’d have accepted by now and upped their offer to speed things along.”
I start pacing. “What if Strauss knew our growth strategy for Bite the Hand? What if they factored it into their offer? Strauss is mostly a print magazine company, but I think it’s wanting to … break into a new market.”
“How would they know about Bite the Hand’s growth plan?” Tracy asks. Taunts. “That whole project is privileged information.”
“Someone told them.”
“Who?” If leading the witness was a thing in the finance world, she’d be doing it.
My laugh comes out slightly deranged. “This is why you asked me to get information from Alex. This is why you told me, a lowly analyst, about the acquisition. Why you pretended to let the Strauss name slip from your mouth in front of me when it was probably no accident at all.”
Tracy shrugs. “Calculated risks.”
“You suspected it was Robert who leaked information to Strauss. It was never about being in the weeds of our numbers to spot a solution. It was about being with Alex to spot a clue.”
“So you spotted a clue, then?” she asks.
“Tracy!”
She sighs and sits down, and gestures for me to do the same. Hollowly, I thunk down in the chair across from her. “The day you and Alex filmed with Saanvi outside of our building? I was there, across the street, coming back from a meeting nearby. I saw you two together, the way you looked at each other, and…” She winces. “I used you. Just like you used him.”
She phrased it like that precisely so I wouldn’t have room to get angry.
“What exactly do you suspect Robert Harrison of?” I whisper.
She gives me a flat look. “I suspect him of preferring to see LC torn apart than in the hands of his college enemy. I suspect him of cutting a deal with Strauss—maybe a seat on their board in exchange for proof that LC is a good investment. Something like Bite the Hand, for example. I suspect him of violating his noncompete and breaking confidentiality. And I suspect that’s just the tip of the iceberg.”
I scoff. “That all?”
“Casey,” she says. “What. Do. You. Know?”
I shake my head, ignoring the question. “You were hoping I’d come to you like this one day. I was your Hail Mary. All those bread crumbs you left me—”
“Casey,” Tracy says again, growing impatient. “I’m not going to apologize for doing every last thing I can to save this company. I don’t think you would, either, in my shoes. Now, tell me what you know. You’re here for a reason, and it isn’t because you read my diary.”
All of a sudden, I’m blinking back tears. “The Strauss logo was in Robert’s house,” I whisper.
“And?” Tracy probes.
And Alex gave the entire launch plan to his father on a silver platter.
I bite my lip. “That’s all I know.”
She narrows her eyes. “You’re lying. You’re very easy to read.”
“That’s all I’m saying,” I amend. “That’s all you’re getting.”
Tracy rubs her forehead. “If Alex is involved, you should tell me. What’s happening to Little Cooper is manipulative and wrong—”
“Alex knows nothing about this,” I spit. “If anyone’s doing the manipulating here, it’s you and Robert Harrison.”
She looks at me for a long moment and sighs, defeated. “Well. I guess I had a hand in why you’re protecting that kid. I pushed you toward him myself. But all you gave me today is a rumor.” She opens her laptop, signaling the end of our chat. “To stop this acquisition, I’m going to need proof.”
* * *
“This,” Alex says, low and careful. “Is ridiculous. Ridiculous, Casey.”
“Robert said the words ‘Don’t be so sure about that,’” I argue. “When you called him an early retiree. I was there that day. I heard it.”
Alex exhales a hollow laugh, throwing up his hands. “You think when he said that, he was giving me some vague, familial clue he’s planning a hostile corporate takeover—”
“Not a takeover—”