memory.
After two rings, a groggy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, Sean. It’s Kevin.”
“Kevin Brooks ?”
“Yeah. Sorry to call so early.”
An exhausted-sounding grunt. And then: “No problem.”
“Sean, when was the last time we spoke?”
“Um.” Sean paused, presumably giving his brain a moment to kick into gear. Kevin wished the same trick would work on his own memory. “I don’t know,” Sean said at last. “Maybe six months ago.”
Kevin nodded. “Right, that’s what I thought. Okay, talk to you soon.”
“Wait. Kevin, what – ”
“I have to go, Sean. I’ll call you back.”
He hung up and tried another number. There weren’t too many old friends he kept in touch with, but surely he had called at least one of them during the last three months. They’d be able to tell him something. Where he’d been calling from, or what he’d been doing. Something .
But he quickly proved himself wrong.
“You were working pretty hard at that job,” his high school roommate reminded him.
“It was like you were underground,” said the former tight end for the UNH football team.
“You’re right,” Kevin was forced to keep saying.
He had come to 74th street now, and he could see the entrance to the school half a block down the street on his right. Danny was already there, manning one of the doors. He was shaking hands with each student coming in, giving the boys a serious welcome. He looked, Kevin thought, like an extraordinarily kind night club bouncer who just happened to enjoy teaching English composition and reading comp rehension .
Kevin waited another minute before heading down the block to join him. He had one more idea first. Not an idea he had been eager to use, but he was growing desperate. His list of outside contacts was dwindling; soon there would be no one – no one anywhere – whom he could ask to give him information about the last three months of his life. And there was something very frightening about that.
Something very isolating.
He took a deep breath and dialed the main number for Tanner and Trevor. The pickup was immediate. “Reception.”
“Could I have Robert Warner, please?”
The receptionist did not bother responding to his request. The switch-over happened instantly. And then, a half-second later: “Warner.”
Kevin waited a beat before saying anything. Then he plowed ahead. “Rob, it’s Kevin. I know you’re not happy with me, but I just need to ask if – ”
“No,” Robert Warner said, without missing a beat. He was a 42-year old self-made billionaire with three separate hedge funds under his control, a seat on the board of five Fortune-100 companies, and two houses in the Hamptons. He had an ex-wife, five children spread out over fifteen years and with three different women (one of whom had never been acknowledged in any legal document associated with the Warner estate), two bad knees, and a severe case of tennis elbow. And this despite his hatred for tennis, a game he considered a bigger bore even than golf. He was not about to waste his time, his incalculably valuable time, listening to Kevin Brooks talk about what he needed.
“I’ll tell you what I need,” Warner said sharply. “ I need to ask you who the fuck you think you are. Just because you’re good with a computer doesn’t mean you can act like an asshole.”
“I know, but – ”
“Shut up.” Ten seconds in, and Warner had already built up a full head of steam. Kevin almost felt nostalgic. His old boss had always been a force of nature. “ I ’m the one who started the fund,” Warner went on. “ I ’m the one who secured all the initial investments, and that means I ’m the only one who gets to act like an asshole. Who do you think signed your checks for the last eight years? Who do you think secured that insane loan you apparently needed for that ridiculous new
After two rings, a groggy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Hey, Sean. It’s Kevin.”
“Kevin Brooks ?”
“Yeah. Sorry to call so early.”
An exhausted-sounding grunt. And then: “No problem.”
“Sean, when was the last time we spoke?”
“Um.” Sean paused, presumably giving his brain a moment to kick into gear. Kevin wished the same trick would work on his own memory. “I don’t know,” Sean said at last. “Maybe six months ago.”
Kevin nodded. “Right, that’s what I thought. Okay, talk to you soon.”
“Wait. Kevin, what – ”
“I have to go, Sean. I’ll call you back.”
He hung up and tried another number. There weren’t too many old friends he kept in touch with, but surely he had called at least one of them during the last three months. They’d be able to tell him something. Where he’d been calling from, or what he’d been doing. Something .
But he quickly proved himself wrong.
“You were working pretty hard at that job,” his high school roommate reminded him.
“It was like you were underground,” said the former tight end for the UNH football team.
“You’re right,” Kevin was forced to keep saying.
He had come to 74th street now, and he could see the entrance to the school half a block down the street on his right. Danny was already there, manning one of the doors. He was shaking hands with each student coming in, giving the boys a serious welcome. He looked, Kevin thought, like an extraordinarily kind night club bouncer who just happened to enjoy teaching English composition and reading comp rehension .
Kevin waited another minute before heading down the block to join him. He had one more idea first. Not an idea he had been eager to use, but he was growing desperate. His list of outside contacts was dwindling; soon there would be no one – no one anywhere – whom he could ask to give him information about the last three months of his life. And there was something very frightening about that.
Something very isolating.
He took a deep breath and dialed the main number for Tanner and Trevor. The pickup was immediate. “Reception.”
“Could I have Robert Warner, please?”
The receptionist did not bother responding to his request. The switch-over happened instantly. And then, a half-second later: “Warner.”
Kevin waited a beat before saying anything. Then he plowed ahead. “Rob, it’s Kevin. I know you’re not happy with me, but I just need to ask if – ”
“No,” Robert Warner said, without missing a beat. He was a 42-year old self-made billionaire with three separate hedge funds under his control, a seat on the board of five Fortune-100 companies, and two houses in the Hamptons. He had an ex-wife, five children spread out over fifteen years and with three different women (one of whom had never been acknowledged in any legal document associated with the Warner estate), two bad knees, and a severe case of tennis elbow. And this despite his hatred for tennis, a game he considered a bigger bore even than golf. He was not about to waste his time, his incalculably valuable time, listening to Kevin Brooks talk about what he needed.
“I’ll tell you what I need,” Warner said sharply. “ I need to ask you who the fuck you think you are. Just because you’re good with a computer doesn’t mean you can act like an asshole.”
“I know, but – ”
“Shut up.” Ten seconds in, and Warner had already built up a full head of steam. Kevin almost felt nostalgic. His old boss had always been a force of nature. “ I ’m the one who started the fund,” Warner went on. “ I ’m the one who secured all the initial investments, and that means I ’m the only one who gets to act like an asshole. Who do you think signed your checks for the last eight years? Who do you think secured that insane loan you apparently needed for that ridiculous new
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