Chapter Five

Five

I arrived at Gonzo's corporate headquarters at one-thirty p.m. They were located on one of the top floors of the Winthrop Center—a futuristic mirrored skyscraper in the Financial District that also happened to be the fourth tallest building in Boston. Riding the elevator, my ears clicked. I was a little lightheaded as I entered the offices—a feeling that was only heightened by the atmosphere. The waiting area was all white leather and chrome, decorated for the season with a white artificial Christmas tree bedecked in shiny red-and-white Gonzo cans. A giant projection screen took up an entire wall, showing continuous footage of old black-and-white monster movies— Godzilla , King Kong , The Wolfman— all with colorized cans of Gonzo edited in. The design scheme here seemed to be "unpleasant hallucination."

I'd been able to do only the tiniest bit of research on Gonzo's COO, Sky Farley, whom Lydia had described in the "relation" field as Dylan's "longtime chum—WONDERFUL." Sky didn't seem to be on social media—not even LinkedIn. A real hindrance when you're trying to learn about someone.

He did look good on paper—what little paper there was. According to the bio I found on the DylWel website, Sky had graduated from Harvard the same year as Dylan, dual-majoring in biotechnology and data science But instead of doing what Dylan did following graduation—which was basically nothing, other than piling up mountains of debt—Sky had gone straight to NYU's Stern School of Business, where he'd gotten his MBA and worked on Wall Street for a couple years. Online at least, Sky seemed like the ultimate silent partner. The bio wasn't even accompanied by a picture (I couldn't find pictures of him on Harvard's website, either), and if he ever went to ribbon cuttings or press events, he wasn't photographed at them.

Here he was, second-in-command at a high-profile company. The one who did all the work, according to Lydia—but otherwise, an invisible man. For all I knew at this point, Sky Farley could have been as serious and brilliant as his bio implied. Or he could have been the one to have chosen this décor.

I moved toward the reception desk, which was very long and white and had padded leather and chrome detailing at the front to match the furniture in the waiting area. It reminded me of a spaceship's console from some cheesy old TV show, save for the neon Gonzo logo flashing obnoxiously from the wall behind it.

Actually, it just said Gon . The sign was broken—the Z and the O missing in action. Strange, I thought. Everything else in this hellhole seemed immaculate.

The receptionist was gazing down at her desk as I approached. I assumed it was an effort to avoid the flashing red letters, which reflected off all the chrome in a way that was, at the very least, distracting.

"Not a great place to work if you're prone to seizures," I said to her.

She was dressed in all white with silver jewelry, presumably to match the furniture. It made me worried about her dry-cleaning bills. She looked up, confusion all over her face.

"The sign," I said, pointing to it.

She winced. "Oh. Yes."

I noticed a few glass shards on the floor. "Did it just break?"

The receptionist blinked at me. She was young and birdlike and looked very nervous. I decided she wasn't one for small talk.

"I'd like to speak with Sky Farley, please," I said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Not really."

One of her eyelids started to twitch.

I felt like she was on the verge of calling security, so I spoke quickly. "I'm working for Lydia Welch."

She let out a long sigh. Her shoulders relaxed. "Dylan's mom."

"Yes," I said. I opened my purse and took out my PI license. She glanced at it.

"You're the private investigator," she said. "Mrs. Welch called and said you might be coming by."

"Oh, good. I hate having to explain things."

She stole another look at my license. "I hope everything works out, Ms. Randall," she said. "My name is Elspeth, by the way."

She stuck out a delicate hand. I shook it gently. "I'll do my best to find him, Elspeth," I said.

"Find who?"

"Um…Dylan?"

"Of course." Elspeth visibly cringed. "Sorry. Crazy day. I'll see if Sky is available." She slipped a Bluetooth into her ear and angled herself away from me, speaking in a tone so low I could barely hear her.

Then she turned around and stood up. "She'll speak to you," she said.

"Wait," I said. "Sky Farley is a she?" I was genuinely shocked—not because I was sexist, of course. It was because I couldn't imagine Dylan Welch successfully working with a woman in any type of capacity—let alone viewing her as a "longtime chum."

I nearly explained that to Elspeth, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. "Sky likes everybody," she said.

She stood up and led me to a long hallway. We walked until we reached a metal detector. It was manned by a hulking security guard who asked me to empty the contents of my purse and place them in a plastic tray. I was surprised by the whole setup, but I did as I was told. When I got around to removing my .38, the guard's eyebrows lifted.

"She's a private investigator," Elspeth told him. "Mrs. Welch hired her to find Dylan."

"Oh." If this guy had any opinion of me or of Lydia or Dylan Welch, it didn't show on his face.

Once we'd made it through the gauntlet and I was zipping up my purse, I turned to Elspeth. "I'm all for office safety," I said. "But if you don't mind my saying, this seems like a lot ."

"I know," she said. "It's new. We're all getting used to it."