Chapter 23: Three Hundred

Nolan's arm went still around me.

"I'll tell security to walk him out," he said.

"No."

He looked down at me.

"Let him come up," I told the director. "Please."

"Are you sure?"

"He's driven eleven hours. He's going to say it somewhere."

"I'd rather he said it here."

The director set down her cake and made the call.

Nolan didn't let go of me.

Four minutes later, the elevator dinged at the end of the hall.

A security guard walked Ryan to the door of the lab and stopped there with him.

The party didn't go quiet all at once.

It went quiet in rings, starting at the door, as people turned and saw him.

He was thinner.

His dirty blond hair was cut short.

He was wearing the gym's old staff jacket, with the logo peeling off the chest.

No gold chain.

His sneakers were a pair of Jordans I'd paid for, gone gray at the toes.

He looked around the room at the lanterns and the champagne and the whiteboard full of numbers.

His eyes stopped on my line.

"Fourteen million," he said.

His voice cracked on it.

"Hi, Ryan."

"Linds."

He took a step inside, and the guard let him.

"I saw it on the news this afternoon," he said. "In the break room. They had your picture up."

"The guys at work thought I was lying when I said I knew you."

"Where's work?" I asked.

"Nowhere now." He laughed, a thin sound. "Warehouse. I missed some shifts for my probation meetings. They let me go Friday."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?"

"No," I said. "But I'm polite."

A few people near the cake laughed nervously.

Ryan didn't.

"I'm not here to fight," he said. "I swear. I'm not filming anything."

He held up his empty hands to show the room.

"I just need help. Just this once. I'm behind on everything."

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