Chapter 31 The Blues
“We suspect it’s that journalist, Christine What’s-her-name,” Alistair said as he drove along the busy downtown street. “Byron managed to get her fired by threatening to sue the newspaper for libel. After your article came out, public opinion turned against Christine, so the newspaper probably considered her more of a liability. We’re pretty sure this latest scam is her handiwork.”
“Dammit, I told him not to get her fired,” Emily said.
Traffic was stalled, and she waited impatiently in the back seat of the limo. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer, knowing that Byron was in a state of despair.
“It’ll be faster if I walk,” she said, jumping out while the limo was stopped at a light, “Thanks, Alistair.”
She strode quickly to the familiar highrise and took the elevator all the way to the penthouse, fidgeting restlessly all the way.
“I said I don’t want to look at the numbers!” Byron shouted as she came in.
He sat on the couch with his back to her, and he must have assumed it was his assistant returning to bug him.
Emily stood at the entrance, trying to collect herself. Byron’s coffee table was laden with papers, on top of which sat a bottle of whisky and a half-empty glass.
“So, we didn’t go to work today,” she said briskly as she entered, “and we’re drunk.”
Byron barely looked at her, and Rupert, who seemed intent on staying by his side in his time of need, only lifted his head slightly then readjusted it to rest on Byron’s lap. The giant dog took up the whole couch, so Emily stood across from it, trying to leverage her higher position into some semblance of authority.
“I’m not really drunk,” Byron said, still not meeting her eye, “It’s more for sipping.”
The shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his face didn’t make him look any less attractive, but it did make Emily regret waiting so long to see him. He was wearing nothing but a silky black robe, something he usually put on first thing in the morning before getting dressed for work. He must have been in this depressed state all day, if not longer.
“I guess this explains your earlier text message...” she sighed.
“I would have sent exactly the same text if I was sober,” he stated.
“Why didn’t you go to work?” Emily asked.
“What’s the point of going to work?”
“You sound like my teenage student,” Emily said, throwing up her hands.
She grabbed a glass and poured herself some whisky from his bottle.
“What’s going on with the company?” she asked.
“Someone hacked into our website,” Byron said, staring straight ahead with a gaze that spoke of hopelessness, “Thousands of people lost money when they were sold fake shares of Tempicum, my flagship company.”
“And Christine had something to do with it?”
Byron’s hand clenched into a fist. His other hand held tightly to the glass of whisky as he took a swig.
“We can’t be sure,” he said, “my computer experts are on it, and they’ve traced it to a local server, so it’s very likely her.”
“I told you not to fire her,” Emily said, feeling like a stern teacher dealing with a student again, “Maybe next time you’ll listen to me.”
“There might not be a next time,” he said grimly.
“Things can’t be that bad,” Emily argued, “I’m sure the company will survive this.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said.
“Fine.”
Emily settled down in an arm chair. She checked some messages on her phone and texted her brother to say she might be a while.
“What are you doing?” Byron asked after a few minutes had passed.
“I’m hanging out with you,” she said, “You seem like you’re sad and lonely and you need a friend.”
This made the corner of his mouth flick upwards for a split second, but then his eyebrows painfully contracted. “I don’t need a friend. Can’t you see I’m in no mood to hang out?”
His eyes followed her suspiciously as she went into his home office and grabbed some paper and a clipboard.
“It doesn’t matter,” Emily said, “I’m going to be here for you, like you were there for me when I had the problem with Josh.”
Byron sighed and took another swig of his whisky.
