She entered Brenner's office. His desk was piled with neat, spiral-bound research reports. She flipped one open. It had to do with a new product for "sexual response enhancement in females." Tested on 406 women aged twenty-two to sixty, median age forty-one, the results showed that "71 percent of the respondents had enjoyed an increased-" This isn't what I'm looking for, thought Jin Li, keep moving. She studied the papers piled on the man's windowsill. Apparently he was a pack rat of sorts. The reports were organized by clinical trial date and research product. I could spend a year reading in here, she realized. She retreated out of the office, looked at her watch. Four minutes.
Next came Reilly's corner office, a large room with a conference table to one side and matched set of sofa and chairs at the other. Four windows. Private washroom. Framed photos and articles on the wall. From the earlier papers she'd seen, it seemed clear that he was the public face of the company, did a lot of deal making and communication with investors. Was quoted in the newspapers. She examined the picture on his desk. A smiling, attractive woman looked back. Probably was a high school cheerleader or something, Jin Li thought dismissively. She pulled open his desk drawers. Nothing of interest. As with the other offices, a computer hummed to one side of the desk. She assumed that all the computers were shut down automatically, but to test this notion, she pushed a key with her knuckle. The computer beeped and a prompt for a username and password appeared. Forget that, she thought.
Not much on the desk. Printouts of sales figures broken down by region, research summaries, a copy of a legal settlement for a liability suit for one of the company's projects, a slim folder containing all the stories that mentioned the company in the major print media that day, and so on. And a call list on Good Pharma stationery, no doubt generated by his assistant. Next to each name and time of call received were several lines for him to record the essence of the conversation. She skimmed the names.
Recognized one. James Tonelli. The building operations man who had hired CorpServe in the first place. Next to his name, the message: Knows you wanted to speak to him urgently. Reilly trying to reach Tonelli-why? The list had other interesting names. One of the messages said, We have received an inquiry from the NYPD regarding the death of the two Mexican workers in our CorpServe cleaning service.
She folded the list into a small square, unzipped the coveralls, and slipped it into her pocket.
The CorpServe worker was probably back at the kitchen with the roller bin filled with bags now, wondering where Jin Li was.
I haven't found anything good, she told herself. She stole into the private bathroom. Flicked on the light. Tiled shower. Toilet. A small closet with an extra suit, several pairs of shoes, and a selection of pressed shirts and ties. Pretty nice life, she thought. She opened the medicine cabinet. One bottle of pills. Beta-inhibitors. Used to remove anxiety in public situations. Half the executives in New York probably took them.
She heard a noise and turned off the office light. Poked her head out the hallway. The security guard was walking away from her. The floor's layout had the lobby and elevator banks in the center, with rings of inner and outer offices circling it. The kitchen was at the other end of the floor, in the direction the guard was walking. But he was checking offices here and there, and Jin Li knew her way around. She ran as fast as she could down the hall in the opposite direction, turned left, ran that hall, and turned left again, working her way around the other side of the building to get to the kitchen before the security guard did. She turned left for the last time and saw the CorpServe worker standing there looking worried.
"Quick!" ordered Jin Li.
She lifted out five big bags of paper, then jumped into the bin.
"Put them on me, quick!"
"Jes."
The worker did as asked.
"Roll it to the service elevator."
Which she did. Jin Li heard her punch the call button.
"Hello," said the worker to someone.
"Evening," came a male voice, relaxed but firm. "Headed down?"
"Jes."
"We got transition procedures coming," the security guard's voice said. "Tomorrow we will be explaining them to y'all."
"Hokay."
The service elevator doors opened.
"Night now."
The doors closed. Jin Li waited. When the elevator reached street level, the worker pushed the roller to the mobile shredder. Jin Li wriggled up through the bags and hopped out. Had this been caught on tape? Probably. The roar of the shredder made it hard to think.
"He said there are new procedures coming?" she asked the woman.
"Jes."
The Mexican woman barely made eye contact. I scare her, realized Jin Li. She knows about the two dead girls.
"Did you hear about them already?"
"Jes. Yesterday they tell us."
"What did they say?"
"They say we no more do this building. They no want us anymore. So we go to other job. Something like that, I think."
Jin Li studied the woman. She had no idea what she was saying. She simply did what she was told and did not question why Good Pharma was getting rid of CorpServe. But Jin Li understood why. And now she needed to tell Chen to be careful, assuming the company did not know about him already, or even that he was in New York. If they know he is here, she thought, they will do something to him.
22
She'd been enormously patient. She'd waited a few days before talking with Tom about what had happened at Martz's party, not that she hadn't kept going over the interaction, trying to understand what it meant for Tom. As soon as the old man had shaken her shitty fingers in front of Ann's face, she had gone cold inside-cold toward Tom, certainly cold toward Martz, whom she did not consider as a patient or worthy of her medical opinion. In fact, no medical opinion had been rendered directly to him. He had simply let go of her hand and then hoisted up his pants.
"I know I got a fucking prostate problem," he'd grumbled.
She'd pulled off her gloves inside out and thrown them in the trash.
"Come on," she snapped at him. "Turn around, face me. I dare you to look me in the face!"
But he had, and wheeled to confront Ann. "Your husband is in a lot of trouble, lady. Focus your attention on him." He cleared his throat. "So, by the way, what's your medical opinion?"
What an asshole, she thought. And I just put my fingers inside it. "My opinion is that you should fear chaos-in all its forms-cellular, psychological, interpersonal, and existential."
Martz, an old warrior, smiled thinly in disgust. "That's it?"
"That's all I'm saying to you."
He grunted, seemingly irritated with himself as much as with her, then left the room, leaving the door ajar. She heard the tinkle of silver ware and the murmur of party talk. She sat to collect herself, looked out the corner window. A beautiful view, the lights of Manhattan to the south and Jersey to the west. So high up she could see all the bridges and the Statue of Liberty. Money bought you a lot of sky.
Connie Martz hurried in. "He said you didn't tell him anything?"
Ann looked at Connie. How much did this woman know about her husband? How much did any woman know? And how much do I know about Tom? she thought.
"He seemed eager to get back to the party," she said diplomatically, her anger receding as she saw Connie's anxiety. "I'm supposed to tell him directly but I'm going to tell you."