Nobody saw Ida as she floated out of the music box. The visitor hadn’t heard her either, which by now came as no surprise. The woman straightening the coverlet in Ida’s bedroom had to be the new landlady. Ida didn’t remember when she last saw the previous one—one, two, three years ago? What happened to her? Did she give up on the house, like everyone did in the end?
The landlady headed downstairs; Ida followed, gliding through the railing of the creaky, narrow staircase. As the landlady picked up her phone in the living room, Ida spied on her from the hallway, taking in all the changes she could discern from a single human being. Haircuts hadn’t changed much. Phones were bigger again. Was beige in fashion this year?
“Yes, yes, I have it all ready.” The woman’s voice was polite, with a hint of enthusiasm. She ran a finger down the coffee table and inspected her fingertip. “I’ll run a quick cleanup and he can move in right away. Wonderful! Thank you, George.” Ending the call, she strolled into the kitchen and checked the cabinets.
Move in? Someone finally rented the house? Ida giggled, twirled, and almost knocked over a delicately painted porcelain vase before she calmed down. He’d probably ignore her, like all the other tenants did. But at least she’d have company. He’d bring books, watch TV—hopefully 90 Day Fiancé—maybe even revive the garden. Oh, so many exciting things! She couldn’t wait for him to arrive.
She bet he’d be simply lovely.
*
Seventy-five hours to go
“Wakey, wakey, sleepyhead.”
Gabriel opened one eye and waited for the image to clear up. Wynona stood in the doorway in a perfect dutch angle, wearing one of his shirts, half-buttoned, and holding a steaming mug of… “That had better not be coffee.”
“Of course it’s coffee. You love it.”
“Yes, but I make my own.” He opened the other eye, rose to a sitting position, and checked the alarm clock. One past seven. Shit. He headed for the bathroom.
“Gabe.” Wynona drew out his name and ended with a well-practiced pucker of her lips.
“Sorry.” In a few fast strides, he crossed the bedroom and gave Wynona a quick kiss. “Thanks, but let me get ready first.”
“You’re negating the point of a morning coffee!” Her laughing voice followed him to the bathroom. Gabriel listened to her retreating steps and clinking noises in the kitchen for a few seconds, then got to work. Starting at seven, precisely, would’ve been preferable, but life didn’t always turn out perfect.
Except today. Today was Winning Day.
One, two, three, four, five, six minutes. Wash up, brush teeth. One, two, three, four, five, six. Shave. One, two, three, four, five, six. Style the hair. It was getting a little long, but in Gabriel’s case, passable. One, two, three, four, five, six, dress. A perfectly white shirt, but he’d go daring on the jacket. They said gray; no-one said a gradient of gray cubes was too much. Tie… He waved his fingers over the double line of folded ties in the drawer. Gray, navy blue, navy blue striped… no, it had to be the Lucky Red. He checked it against the jacket in the mirror.
“Really? Blood orange?” Wynona was back in the doorway. “Isn’t that a little provocative?”
Yes, it was. “Judge Barrett likes me. She won’t mind. Anderson will, though.” Gabriel raised a cocky eyebrow as their gazes met in the mirror. Anderson hated that Gabriel walked on the edge of the appropriate dress code for court. So, of course, Gabriel had to wear this for Winning Day.
Wynona walked up, turned him around, grabbed the end of the tie and began a knot.
“I can tie my own tie.”
“Won’t let me bring you coffee, won’t let me tie your tie. Please, babe, don’t say you’re turning into Harvey.”
“He didn’t let you keep your job. That’s different. He’s a territorial prick.”
“Not unlike you with that coffee machine.”
“You don’t have to be jealous of it.” Gabriel raised his chin as Wynona worked on the knot. The coffee machine meant nothing, but bringing someone coffee in bed—that was an act of intimacy, a sign of affection. Which he held for Wynona, it was just that…
“I can’t wait until this is all over. Have you booked the ski resort?”
“A deluxe suite. They said it’s popular with newlyweds.” Ah, sweet irony.
Wynona laughed and turned him around so he could check her work in the mirror. She’d done his tie in an intricate, layered knot he’d never seen before. Not bad.
“It’s my special,” her seductive breath whispered near his ear. “I call it the half-open lotus.”
“Wasn’t that one of the positions we tried last night?”
Wynona playfully smacked him with the tie. “If you’re all done with your routine, I need to get dressed. Less provocatively.” She sauntered to the bathroom, picking up a discarded dress on the way. “Coffee’s waiting for you in the kitchen.”
The floor-to-ceiling windows covered almost the entire open-plan apartment. Gabriel crossed the long shadows the early morning sun painted on the polished Brazilian Walnut floor and stopped to enjoy the view. The sky was clear, and a strip of golden-orange light remained from the sunrise, bright against the dark outlines of the skyscrapers. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly.
“Happy Winning Day,” he murmured to himself.
Seventy-three hours to go
In front of the courthouse, Gabriel checked his reflection in the glass pane. His coat hid the jacket and somewhat scandalous tie; together with a slim briefcase, it created a stock-image-perfect look of a lawyer. Not just a lawyer—almost partner. Gabriel had done amazing work in the past few years, and his bosses had hinted he only needed to close this case and they’d draw up the promotion papers. Ernest, Clifford and Vane. Or maybe, Ernest, Vane and Clifford. Gabriel smiled at his reflection. Sounded good, indeed.
“Hey, Vane.” One of his colleagues bounded down the stairs.
“Morning, Baumann.”
Baumann pointed at the tie, peeking out of the coat, and laughed his typical deep laugh. “Closing today?”
Gabriel did a half-turn and headed up the stairs backward, raising the briefcase at Baumann. “Winning!”
A news van pulled up, and a reporter jumped out. Early—the hearing wouldn’t begin for another half hour. But Gabriel couldn’t blame them. Today would be a quick closing, and afterward, he and his client would be ready to celebrate their victory for the media. He waited until he caught the reporter’s eye, winked at him, and went inside.
He unbuttoned his coat while he rushed down the marble-floored hallway, greeting people as they passed. The clerks—Paul, Kat, Gordie—Linda, the interpreter—Martha from IT—the new girl in the cafeteria who made the sharpest espresso… Gabriel smiled and waved and quipped, and in the brisk rhythm of his steps repeated the two words to himself: win-ning-day, win-ning-day, win—
Ollie, his paralegal, stood in front of the shut door to the courtroom, tapping his foot. Ollie always tapped his foot, but not at a rate of more than two taps per second, unless he was nervous. Three taps was bad. And, perhaps worse: the tapping stopped when he spotted Gabriel.
“Mr. Vane, thank god you’re here. Mr. Anderson and his team are already inside with the judge.”
He wasn’t late, was he? Gabriel checked his wristwatch—no, he was on time, as always.
“Had new evidence to submit—”
Gabriel snapped up. “Anderson is submitting new evidence?”
Ollie pushed his glasses up his nose and clutched an overstuffed folder closer to his chest. “Y-yes?”
“He’s got no business doing that. We should’ve been informed. We haven’t—”
“No, sir, nobody called us.”
Damn Anderson. Was he trying to ambush him? “I’ll take care of it. You wait here.”
“But, sir—”
Gabriel pushed open the door to the courtroom. The slimy bastard was there, along with his client, Mr. Sinclair, and his legal team, all in matching navy blue suits, silver ties, and black shoes. Anderson and his minions even parted their hair on the same side, like they’d never outgrown a high school clique.
He strolled toward the judge’s bench. “Good morning, Your Honor. Anderson.” He issued a curt nod to his rival and a polite smile to the judge. “May I ask what this is all about? Anderson, I believe the window for discovery closed about, oh”—he glanced at his watch—“thirteen days ago?”
“This isn’t about the case, per se.” Anderson leaned on his bench with a smug smirk. Behind him, Sinclair stared at Gabriel with lowered eyebrows and an intense gaze, too much even for a man who was just about to have his prenup declared invalid. Being upset was one thing, but Sinclair looked like he was about to murder him.
“Or, in a way, it is.” Anderson toyed with a thick yellow envelope on the bench and finally handed it to Gabriel. “Only the evidence doesn’t pertain to my client, but to you.”
A stack of photographs slipped into Gabriel’s palm. Slightly blurry, taken from a great distance, but clear enough to show a dark-haired man and woman, going into a building, then inside, in front of the window, locked in an embrace, the woman’s hair farther down in each photo as the man sank his fingers in her perfect coiffure…
Gabriel’s hands grew numb, mouth dry. “Those are…”
“Taken by the same P.I. you hired to take pictures of my client cheating on his wife, yes. I thought since he’d done such outstanding work with those, I could use his services.” Anderson didn’t let go of his smirk for a second. “One can see how you’re used to the paparazzi, Vane. The posing… and Mrs. Sinclair, too. An incredibly photogenic woman.”
Sinclair’s chair screeched ominously. Anderson cleared his throat and shuffled a foot away from his client.
The last of his wits came through a haze rapidly clouding Gabriel’s brain. “Your Honor, you cannot allow for this to be presented as a detriment to the case. We’re deciding on the validity—”
“I know what case I’m judging, Mr. Vane,” Judge Barrett replied, her voice sharp enough no gavel was necessary.
“You also can’t claim this is me and Mrs. Sinclair. Hundreds of people live in the same building. You wouldn’t believe how many of them have dark hair.”
“The tie,” Sinclair choked out.
Anderson looked over his shoulder. “Excuse me?”
“His tie.” Sinclair’s voice grew in volume as he stood up and banged his fists on the table, then pointed the finger at Gabriel. “When I called my wife this morning, to the hotel room where she was supposed to stay, she didn’t answer. And his tie is done in the same way she used to do mine. She calls it the half-open lotus.”
Anderson’s minions collectively took in their breaths. Gabriel looked down at his tie, then at Sinclair, then at Anderson, then at the judge.
“Mr. Anderson, you’ll present all your evidence in required form, after the trial is concluded. I’m sure you are aware of the proper procedures.”
“Yes, Your Honor.” Anderson’s smile remained as smug as before—by now, Gabriel wasn’t sure whether it got stuck—despite the fact the judge’s voice
carried no more favor toward him. “And you, Mr. Vane.” Judge Barrett bore her cold blue eyes into his. “I suggest you call on your second bench for the closing statement. And prepare evidence in your favor, if you have any. We’ll be discussing your suspension after the trial.”
Gabriel swallowed. Suspension? He looked down at the photo—him and Wynona, last night, or maybe that other night the previous week—probably not five minutes away from that half-open lotus—
“Permission to swear, Your Honor?”
Judge Barret raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “Denied.”
Well, fuck.
Forty-one hours to go
“Yesterday saw the conclusion of the highest-profile case of the year, Sinclair versus Sinclair. Instead of wondering how the tech mogul is going to take the loss, the eyes of the public are fixed on Gabriel Vane, the lawyer who won the case for Mrs. Sinclair. Vane, who many call the rock star of the legal world, is himself involved in a scandal…”
Gabriel turned off the TV with an annoyed click and slumped on the sofa. He’d already silenced his phone—unanswered calls were piling up—and now nothing interrupted the silence of the apartment, save for his breathing. He didn’t dare close his eyes; that one photo of him and Wynona was seared onto the inside of his eyelids, mocking him, occasionally accompanied by Anderson’s laughter.
Gabriel didn’t know what was worse: that he’d behaved stupidly and sabotaged himself, or that Anderson was the one to put the final nail in the coffin. No, no, there would be no nailing. Well, not of that kind. He’d get out of this. He only slept with his client, after the case was practically closed, and Wynona and her husband had been separated for months before that. It wasn’t asif he’d committed a crime.
A knock at the door. Gabriel burrowed into the sofa and covered his head with a pillow.
“Mr. Vane? Hello? I have a package for you too big to fit into the mailbox.”
The files he was expecting on the Linden case. It felt surreal—a remnant of life before those photos saw the light of day. Gabriel rose with a sigh and threw the door open. The hallway flashed. The man—definitely not a mailman—lowered his camera. Beside him, a woman in a sharp pantsuit and with a sharper bob cut thrust a recorder into Gabriel’s face. “Mr. Vane, can you tell me anything about the Sinclair—”
“I’ve nothing to say.” Gabriel slammed the door and leaned on it. I do have something to say. But “screw you and screw Anderson” probably wouldn’t fly well with his bosses or the media.
Thirteen hours to go
Gabriel never thought he’d fall so low as to have to sneak to the lobby of his apartment building in the middle of the night to retrieve his mail. Crawling around like a criminal.
Which, according to a survey he didn’t want to see but accidentally had, 34% of people asked now assumed him to be.
An envelope with the Court’s stamp awaited him. Back in his apartment, Gabriel sat on the sofa, the paper already damp from the sweat on his fingers. It’s going to be fine. Everything is going to be fine. Lawyers were disbarred for serious things, such as tampering with evidence or committing fraud. It would never happen to him.
He took a deep breath, tore the envelope open, and didn’t release his breath until his eyes passed over the address, title, formal dribble and then—
Suspended.
He was suspended for six months. A small part of him, the part that always tried to find the silver lining, whispered in relief—suspension is not disbarment, it’s temporary, you’ll make it through. But a much larger part fixated on that word, suspended, until it took the place of the photo on the inside of his eyelids and it was all he could think about, all he could see, all he was. A failure. A disgrace.
Eight hours to go
“It’s not good, Vane. They’re digging.” The phone’s speakers made his senior partner—almost partner—Cliff’s voice raspier, but his anxiety was clear.
“I know.” Gabriel didn’t need to, didn’t want to, hear it from Clifford’s mouth. Currently, he was worse for business than a recession and much more delightful for the media to sink their teeth into, as well.
Clifford rubbed his forehead. “I’d hate to lose you. You were good for the company.”
Were? Gabriel’s body locked up. Some people liked switching jobs and shifting hobbies and moving from place to place; for Gabriel, this was it, and always had been. When the teacher in seventh grade has asked what they wanted to be when they grew up, other kids said astronaut, doctor, a pirate. Gabriel said lawyer.
“It’s all just speculation for now, but once they get the juicy details…”
The room spun, centered around Clifford’s blurry face on the video.
Think, think, for god’s sake, think. “What if they don’t?”
“Excuse me?”
Gabriel swallowed, trying to keep his voice steady. “Wyn—Mrs. Sinclair won’t talk. Beside her, I’m the only one who knows the real details. The photos can be dismissed—surely you can do something about that. And if they can’t get to me, eventually, they’ll have to give up.”
“Being dragged into the scandal would be a nightmare for the firm.” Clifford slowly nodded, scratching his chin. “So we bury the whole thing. We bury you.”
Gabriel winced at the wording, but kept quiet. Even a non-literal burial sounded horrible, but he had no other choice, and he was lucky enough Clifford was willing to help him. He’d do anything he said.
“You’ll have to leave. You’re too easy to sniff out in the city, or any place you have connections to. If anyone asks around in the firm, you’re on vacation because of your suspension. Wherever you’d gone to isn’t our problem. Yes?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said, slightly shaky. What about Wynona? Should they both run? No—that would only make it more suspicious. Besides, he wasn’t running.
He was disappearing.
Five hours to go
With a glance behind, Wynona sneaked into his apartment and took off her hood, her ponytail somehow still smooth and perfect underneath. She snuggled into his embrace, and they stayed like that for several minutes. “You can’t go.”
“It’s best for both of us,” Gabriel said.
“You don’t know—”
“Ernest and Clifford are taking care of everything. I leave, you stay here and pretend everything is fine, and in time, it will be.” He took her hands. Please, agree with me. He needed someone to tell him it would work.
But all he saw in her eyes was worry.
A door slammed shut on the hallway. “You should go,” he said. “Coming here was risky enough as it was. No more contact from now on, fine? Not until the situation has calmed down.”
Wynona pursed her lips in that typical fashion when something didn’t agree with her. “I love you,” she said, slightly disgruntled.
“Me, too.” She might still be one step below bringing coffee, but damn, he’d miss her where he was going.
A ball of icy lead in his stomach reminded him he should figure out that one, too.
One hour to go
Gabriel paced the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand, the drink doing little to relax his nerves. The job he worked so hard to get, the apartment he never imagined he’d have, the life he loved—he’d have to leave it all behind.
He had to become a ghost.
He placed the drink by his laptop and ran a search for rentals. No apartments—he needed privacy. Pictures of houses blurred into each other as Gabriel zoomed past listings, brain switching to Research Focus mode. He didn’t need looks, he didn’t need a large space, he’d only be there during the winter so air conditioning was optional…
There.
An original Victorian house, renovated, offering plenty of privacy on the edge of a small town, five hours’ drive from here. Available immediately. Gabriel shot the owner a message and received a confirming answer not ten minutes later. Prompt—he liked that.
Or just anxious to lease out?
Didn’t matter. One thing was taken care of. Gabriel raised the glass. He’d get his life back in order, do exactly as Clifford ordered, and return stronger than ever. And he’d do it all in… he leaned back to check what the town name was.
He’d do it all in Buttons.
Hurray.
