Now he had to trust that she wouldn't pull it in a direction that unraveled him. He was still sitting there when his phone rang, not Amelia's number. He didn't recognize it at all. A 312 area code Chicago which meant nothing to him which meant he almost didn't answer. He answered Mr.
Carter a woman's voice professional but not cold. My name is Priya Anand. I'm Miss Whitmore's executive assistant. She asked me to reach out to schedule a call for this afternoon if you're available. She said you'd understand the context.
Marcus was quiet for exactly 2 seconds. What time? He said 3:00. If that works, she'll call you directly from a personal line. That works.
Thank you, Mr. Carter. The line went dead. He looked at the phone in his hand. Priya Anand.
He'd seen her name on forwarded meeting notices. She was known in the office as the person who filtered everything that got within 10 ft of Amelia Whitmore's calendar. The fact that Amelia had used her rather than reaching out herself was not an accident. It was a buffer. It was the beginning of a protocol.
Amelia was already moving. Marcus stood up, washed his coffee cup, went to get his daughter. Lily Renee Carter was 7 years old, 4'2 in tall, and had been conducting a monthsl long campaign to be allowed to get a hamster that she prosecuted with the focused determination of a very small attorney. She launched into it approximately 19 seconds after Marcus walked through Mrs. Okonquo's door, arms around his waist, face pressed against his stomach, already talking.
Daddy, Mrs. Okonquo has a picture of a hamster in a magazine and it's orange and I've been thinking about it and I already have a name which is Biscuit. Good morning to you, too, baby. Good morning. Can I have a hamster?
No. But Biscuit, still no. She pulled back and looked up at him with his own eyes in her face, dark brown, direct, not easily redirected. And he looked back at her and felt the specific kind of exhausted love that he suspected was the defining experience of every good parent who'd ever lived. "We'll talk about it," he said, which both of them knew meant, "I'm not saying yes, but I don't have the energy to fully say no right now." She accepted this tactical retreat with dignity.
Mrs. Okono, 73 and sharp as attack, handed Marcus a container of Jolof rice and looked at him with the particular expression she used when she was deciding whether to ask a question out loud. You look like you've been thinking too hard, she said. I'm okay, Mrs. O.