Chapter 9: Whose Loss

Justine was sitting on a bench in the Tornquist lobby, beside the glass model of the city.

She had a cardboard box on her knees.

I almost walked past her.

The guard at the desk caught my eye and shrugged, which meant she had been there since the doors opened.

"They fired me at eight," Justine said.

She did not stand up.

The box held a plant, a mug and a framed photo of the two of us at a lake.

"Four million dollars," she said. "The investors want it back. Nigel told them the Chicago pilot was mine, and the paperwork has my name on it."

"What Chicago pilot?"

"There wasn't one. He told me there was."

"And?"

"He said he'd handle the investors. I only had to sign where he put the flags."

"You signed."

"He was your best friend, Nate. I thought that had to mean something."

She wiped her eyes with the back of her wrist.

"He stepped back as head of product this morning. He says it's to give the board space. He flew to Chicago an hour ago."

"Of course he did."

"I don't have anyone else to ask. I came here because you're the only person who knows what the plans were supposed to do."

"I'm not helping you keep the company."

"I'm not asking about the company."

I waited.

"I want to know if I'm crazy," she said. "I found something in his phone, the night before the pitch."

Her voice dropped.

"He has a wife."

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