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P.P.P.S. The clue for documentation:

Be not just the same,

Learn the names of your feelings,

Share life’s meaning.

Since you figured it out, that was my gift to you. As Lois Lowry depicted in her story, the world would be a dreary place without emotions, ambition, or ups and downs. You may be lost now, but when you’ve found what you’re looking for, satisfaction will taste much sweeter.

P.P.P.P.S. Now that I’m working full time, I can’t swing by as often. I want to propose a solution. We can journal once a week, but if you want to chat, we can use Anonytext? My roommate is a tech guru, and he recommends this service for anonymous texts. The service routes messages through a third party number. Here’s a QR code. I already set up my account, so if you want to do it, you just need to scan it, set up your account, and we’ll be linked.

I close my eyes as I finish his entry. The barbed wire cinching my lungs loosens and the earlier negativity from my conversation with Liam fades. Keeper’s words—the way he sees me even though we’ve never and will never meet—they’re comforting.

Somewhere out there, someone believes in me.

I think about the past me, standing on stage watching other parents take pictures with their daughters in their leotards after a successful showcase. How my chest deflated and became numb when I realized they weren’t coming. They’d forgotten me.

But to him, my keeper, I’m unforgettable.

Smiling, I close the journal.

A slip of paper falls out from the next page—the QR code.

My hand trembles as I pick it up. It feels momentous. I’m at another fork in the road, and this time there are only two options.

I don’t even need an eight ball to make my choice.

Biting my lip, I take my phone out and scan the code.

Chapter 7

“Three hundred grand?” Irepeat the words—a devastating blow to my ego.

Trey Spencer rubs his temples, his blond hair a victim of his frustration. He looks years older than his early thirties. “It was an honest mistake. That model had flaws in it and I should’ve caught it. I reviewed your work.”

Acid sloshes in my gut. This is a gut punch.

The last three weeks of my undercover mission at Fleur have gone well.

While I’ve fetched too many caramel macchiatos and Cobb salads to count, my performance evaluations have been glowing. I was put on more complicated tasks—the last being an investment analysis of our current holdings and how to reallocate our portfolio. My coworkers gave me the nickname Deliminator—a nerdy pun on the words denominator and eliminator—because of the shrewdness of my calculations.

It’s good to be trusted. The future where Ethan Anderson, the CFO of the largest entertainment and hospitality company in the world, and someone known for his brilliance and precision, seems possible.

But now, because of a mistake I made in the new forecasting model I introduced last week—a model I was so sure of, I even told Dreamer an early promotion is in the bag—I just cost Dad and the budget more than a quarter million. It barely registers in our net worth, but it’s the fact I got too confident. Hubris I didn’t earn.

Trey must have read my thoughts because he adds, “Look, Delaney, yes, you fucked up. But stuff like this happens. You’re early in your career and sharp. Your recommendations were on point. This is a setback, so learn from it and don’t let it get to you.”

“Fuck. I should’ve been more careful. Will this impact you?”

A shadow clouds his eyes. He’s probably wondering how much shit he’s in and whether it’ll go up the ladder and make its way to Maxwell, who’s the Chief Operating Officer or as we like to call him, CEO in training, or my dad, the CEO.

I need to come clean—it’s my shit, and Trey shouldn’t take the fall for it.

“You let me worry about it. I share the responsibility of the error.”

“Look, I can talk to Mr. Anders—”

“No.” Trey forces out a smile. “I like you, kid. I’ve been here for seven years and have earned enough mileage to cash some out. You just arrived. Don’t let this be a CLM.”