Page 71 of The Picasso Heist

THE FEELING IS fleeting.

The joy of saying “I quit” to Smarmy disappears almost as fast as I storm out of his office.

It’s strange. I needed a way to extract myself from Echelon after being promoted, and it all but fell into my lap. Problem solved. Smarmy going through my file was a gift. The moment he invoked my family and made it personal, my revised exit strategy was born. I should be happy.

Instead, I’m too busy being angry.

At Smarmy? Hell no. He’s not worth it.

The elevator opens on the HR floor, and I make a beeline for Jacinda’s office, blowing right by her assistant, Amanda, who doesn’t even finish saying “You can’t go in there” before I barge through Jacinda’s door.

She’s at her desk on the phone. “What the hell—”

“Hang up,” I say.

“What?”

“Hang up!”

Jacinda freezes for a moment before whispering into her phone, “I’ll have to call you back.”

Amanda’s in the doorway behind me, scared for her job. “I’m sorry, I tried to stop her,” she says.

“It’s okay,” Jacinda tells her. “You can close the door.”

“Are you sure?” asks Amanda.

“Yeah, she’s sure,” I say.

The door closes. I take a seat in front of Jacinda’s desk. She eyes me as if I’ve just pulled the pin on a grenade.

“What are you doing?” she asks. “What is this?”

“It’s my exit interview,” I say. “Except I get to ask the first question: Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you put it all in my file?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” says Jacinda.

“Your boss does. Waxman knows all about my past, who my father is—you put it in my file, and he read it,” I say.

“Are you serious?”

“Do I look like I’m not serious?”

“Let me rephrase that,” she says. “Are you crazy? Why would I ever put that in writing?”

“You tell me.”

“For one thing, I’d get fired.” She blinks. “Wait, did he just fire you?”

“He was about to. I quit before he could.”

Jacinda’s waving her hands, confused. “Hold on, time-out. Waxman told you that he read your file and that I had notes in it about who your father is?”

“He was calling me Halston Greer,” I say.

“That’s impossible.”

“So now I’m crazy and hearing things?”

Jacinda stands and walks to her file cabinet. She yanks it open, takes something out, and slams it shut even harder. Plop goes the file in my lap. The tab reads GRAHAM, HALSTON.

“Have at it,” she says.

I don’t bother opening the file. She’s trying to prove there’s nothing in there about my past other than my résumé.

“You knew we’d be having this conversation,” I say.

“Sure, yeah, that’s what happened. I took all the incriminating evidence out of the file ahead of time. I’m a genius.”

“It wouldn’t take a genius.”

“Halston, think about it. If I put that stuff in your file without telling Waxman about it, I’m the one who gets fired,” she says.

“You know how he is, so protective of the Echelon image, demanding loyalty? He insists on knowing everything about everyone here, especially if it could affect things negatively.”

“So you never mentioned anything to him? You never discussed it?”

“I told you it would stay between us. I gave you my word.”

Short of hooking Jacinda up to a polygraph, I can’t know for sure if she’s telling the truth, but I believe her. “So if you didn’t tell him and it wasn’t in my file, how did he know?”

“I don’t know, but no secret is safe around here with him,” she says. She mumbles something else.

“What was that?” I ask.

“I said that no secret is—”

“No, after that. You said something under your breath.”

“Just that it’s uncanny.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” she asks.

It’s bizarre how the human brain works sometimes, how it can latch onto a part of a word and convert it into something else entirely in an instant.

The can.

“Do you remember where we were when we were first arguing about this? You came down to the valuations department and got me from Pierre’s office,” I say. “We were heading back to your office, right?”

“Yeah, but we never made it.”

“Exactly. And where did we end up?”

It’s dawning on Jacinda. The possibility. The very sick, creepy, and perverse possibility. “Wait, do you really think…” she asks.

“You said it yourself. It’s uncanny.”