Chapter 39

Logically, I know how I got from my office to my bed—Grant carried me home. The actual memory of it all slips through my fingers like water in poorly cupped hands. I have vague glimpses of me sobbing against his chest, of me begging to go back, of me going catatonic trying to process it all. Nothing concrete, though.

It might as well have happened in another life. To another person.

Except, it wasn’t something done to me. It was something I did to another person.

There was no reason for me to go back into work. We were given the time off; no one was expecting me to work. I was only fueled by my own ridiculous notion of self-worth. I couldn’t conceptualize how I could be of any value without work, so I broke the rules. I snuck in.

I didn’t take a second to think about the spiraling out impact my actions might have on others.

Even if the building hadn’t collapsed, what if people had gotten in when it started being fumigated?

No, I was only thinking about the cheap adrenaline spike I’d get when Dominic would give me a half-nod of approval when he saw I’d gotten ahead on my work. Not that it would have changed how he thought of me at all.

The truth is: I got a woman killed for absolutely nothing at all.

That thought unleashes a new bout of crying. Grant doesn’t say anything. He just holds me against him, safe in his arms, while I work through the terror that comes from taking a hard look in the mirror.

* * *

Hours later, I wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache, and two strong arms still around my middle.

“Hey,” Grant says gently.

I know I must look terrible. I can feel my eyes puffed together from crying and my hair must be a knotted mess. Grant just looks at me with nothing but relief and love in his eyes.

Even though I’m basically a murderer.

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop it.”

I scowl at him. A reflex from being told what to do by a peer that I should probably learn to control.

“I’m thinking that I killed a girl.”

“No, you didn’t.”

I shake my head. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know the story. Oh god, when I tell him, he’s probably going to think I’m a monster and want nothing to do with me. Can’t say I blame him.

“You don’t understand—”

Grant shifts me so that I’m on my side looking at him. His expression is nothing but kindness and patience. I should probably take a second to appreciate it since I’ll never see it again.

“You snuck into work and left the door to the building unlocked,” he finishes for me. “You’ve been talking about it for the last little bit.”

He says it like it was a casual mistake and not like the murder it practically was.

“She died so many times.”

My own death was terrifying. The pain. The fear. The panic. All those feelings are so intense that they were almost enough to kill me. I put that girl (god, I don’t even know her name) through that again and again.

“We’ll save her tomorrow and every day after,” Grant promises.

It’s just not enough.

The guilt stains my soul.

Although not mine alone.

I might have been the faulty human link in the plan, but the girl’s death is a part of a much bigger picture.

Someone in the position to push the buttons that needed to be pushed decided on a plan that could have gotten people killed. Sure, they went through the motions of making that improbable. Improbable. Not impossible.

It’s just like all those corporations that I go after who think they aren’t to blame for oil spills and radioactive contamination. They weren’t the ones driving the boat that crashed after all. It’s not their fault.

All the while neglecting the fact that they made the chemicals, they produced a need, they chose to cut costs at the expense of safety measures, and they pushed their workers to the point of exhaustion where mistakes were bound to happen.

Yes, I’m to blame.

No, the blame does not stop with me.

There are people who share equally in her deaths and I’m not about to let them hide behind their corporations or their jobs.

Or unknown business plans.

“Do you think Dominic knew about what would happen to the building?” I ask Grant.

“I honestly have no idea.”

“Because he had to have known. The fumigation stuff came up so quickly and he handled it all on his own. I offered to help, but he wouldn’t let me.” God, I should have known something was up when he didn’t pawn the work off on me.

“But why would he help blow up his own building?” Grant asks.

“But why would he help blow up his own building?” I ponder.

“I’m not really a part of this conversation anymore, am I?”

He’s not.

My mind is racing through every interaction that I’ve had recently with Dominic, every weird thing that’s happened in the office.

He must have been involved. The whole plan can’t get off the ground without an inside man. Without someone on the inside, there’s no one to insist on fumigating the building when there haven’t been any pest complaints. Without someone on the inside, it never could have happened so quickly.

Still, I have to take a moment to pause and look for proof. I need to remember that my reckless behaviour affects others around me. Lives are impacted.

Lives hang in the balance.

“His office,” I breathe. I stare at Grant. Clearly, he should know that he’s a part of the conversation again. “What did you notice about his office?”

Grant runs his hand through his hair. “Nothing much. I was kind of focusing on how hot you are when you’re angry.”

Well, that’s neither here nor there, but much appreciated, nonetheless.

“And how much time did I spend trashing his office?” I ask.

“Not long enough.” He throws me a saucy look.

“Exactly.”

I wait for Grant to get it. This is the big triumphant moment. This is the proof that I need to go after Dominic and everyone else with all the gusto I want.

“Because you’re so strong?”

Wrong, but also appreciated, nonetheless.

“Because he’d already brought a lot of his office stuff home.”

That bastard knew what was going to happen because he was in on it. For reasons that I vow to uncover, he was in on the plan to destroy the building that housed our office. He agreed to let all the work towards prosecuting environmental polluters that was held in our office get destroyed. Years of work down the drain. Years of future pollution up for grabs.

I pop out of bed with renewed vigour.

“Come on, Grant. I need to go get fired again.”