Betrayed by Myself

"You really think it was her?"

With one of her fries she points at a young woman who just exited the building on the other side of the road. I've met the woman in my passenger seat last year at my company's summer party in San Francisco. She is one of the middle managers in my company, currently overseeing a team of about eight engineers in charge of operations. Since then she has become one of my closest confidants.

"I'm pretty sure. I've seen her following me for the last couple of weeks."

"So? Means that you're right or that you're paranoid."

I guess she's not completely wrong. We were successfully shadowing her for the whole day without her knowing we are watching her for a change. At least I think that she doesn't know. Maybe she doesn't care since the story is already out.

"Maybe..."

"Do you know her name?"

"No, I actually don't. The article was published anonymously," I respond. "I just got some info about her looks from a friend at a different newspaper."

"Huh..."

I light a cigarette to calm my nerves.

"I mean, even if she's the one that leaked that shit to the press about you, isn't that something that you should discuss with a lawyer?"

Again, she's not wrong. I mean isn't that what a retainer is for?

"Yeah, but I'd be risking the whole company going to court. Opposing counsel could freeze my assets, the company's assets, it would turn into a big media spectacle-"

"Ok, I get it..."

The woman starts moving. I start the car.

"I just want to see if I can find out who she's working for. Not her employer, but who exactly gave her the info that there is something to actually be leaked to the press," I say. We make a left turn into a different street. My eyes are locked onto the woman.

"I think she works for the DON. The Daily Online Network or something," she said in between sips from her now cold coffee.

"She must be working with someone though. Either someone who gave her the assignment to go after me or someone in my organization supplying her with information as to where she would find her big story," I say, eyes still locked onto the woman.

"Or both?" she adds.

"Or both," I agree.

The DON is one of those litigious online "newspapers" that spin anything into a "story". In my case, they've "found out" that part of my success was that I cut out one of my co-founders. I went to school with him. Has been found dead in a ditch in his hometown. The article doesn't really threaten me (legally speaking) but it puts my reputation in jeopardy.

"Do you have a plan?"

"No, not really," I say. "I just want to follow her. See if she meets up with someone somewhere."

"You need to make a right. She just crossed the streets heading for Iris Ave," she said.

"Thanks, I got it."

I turn right, making sure to keep about fifty meters between her and our car. The woman's fishing in her purse for something. After a few seconds, she pulls out her phone and calls someone.

"Who do you think she's calling?" I ask her.

"I don't know," she mumbles in response.

The woman seems to say something to someone for a few seconds before she slides her phone into her back pocket.

We drive a few more minutes behind her. She takes some more turns. We follow her. After some time she enters a coffee shop and sits down behind one of the big windows at the entrance. She again calls someone, says something for a few seconds to them before putting her phone back down.

"What are you going to do now?" She asked.

"I don't know yet," I say. "What do you think?"

I look over to her. She lights a cigarette, lowers the passenger window a couple of centimeters and just stares at the buildings in front of her.

"I don't know. Let me think," she mumbles.

I wait for her response. She is shaking a bit. She's a middle manager at my company. She's probably struggling with this weird investigative situation that we're in currently.

"Ok, what about this: You go in there and sit in front of her", she says, looking at me without making meaningful eye contact.

I hesitate.

"She's completely alone in there. She wouldn't even have evidence that you confronted her!"

"And what? Just go in there and ask her, who the fuck she has her information from?" I laughingly ask her. "Isn't there some kind of journalist-source-privilege like lawyers have?"

"Maybe. It's a little bit of a long shot, but maybe she'd be so intimidated by you showing up that something would slip."

I look over to the woman. She's still sitting in the window looking at her phone every now and then.

"Sure, fuck it. Couldn't hurt I guess."

My hand touches the door handle. I start to pull on it, before turning back to her. She looks at me with those deer eyes I have fallen in love with so much. I place my hand on the back of her head and I pull her in for a kiss.

"I love you. Thank you for doing this with me."

She sits there, blushing, still with those surprised eyes.

I push open the door and step out of the car.

--------

"You really think it was her?"

With one of my fries I point at a young woman who just exited the building on the other side of the road. I've met the guy who I'm shadowing this woman with at last year's summer party. We work at the same place - or rather, I work at his company. Some bullshit B2B software company where I talked my way into a management position.

For the last couple of months, we've been in a bit of a... situation. We got drunk at a bar some time after the party and went back to his place.

"I'm pretty sure. I've seen her following me for the last couple of weeks."

"So? Means that you're right or that you're paranoid."

He's the only one who believes that this woman is actually someone that he should care about. She's just a small cog in a bigger machine. My machine.

"Maybe..."

"Do you know her name?" I ask him. Her name is Rachel Malas. I know that. He shouldn't.

"No, I actually don't. The article was published anonymously. I just got some info about her looks from a friend at a different newspaper."

"Huh..."

I try my best to act surprised though I expected this response. His friend at the other newspaper should inform the IT department that they have a bunch of security issues on their mail server. That friend didn't answer this email.

He lights a cigarette. He smokes way too much. I should tell him that.

"I mean, even if she's the one that leaked that shit to the press about you, isn't that something that you should discuss with a lawyer?"

"Yeah, but I'd be risking the whole company going to court. Opposing council could freeze my assets, the company's assets, it would turn into a big media spectacle-"

"Ok, I get it..."

He always acts like he lives in some Suits-esque Netflix drama where everything revolves around his story as the protagonist. To some extend, I think it's really annoying, but it also keeps it fun.

Rachel moves. She's probably on the move to the agreed upon location.

"I just want to see if I can find out who she's working for. Not her employer, but who exactly gave her the info that there is something to actually be leaked to the press."

We make a left turn into another street.

"I think she works for the DON. The Daily Online Network or something," I say, trying my best to keep him mentally as occupied as I can. I take a sip of my coffee which even before it went cold tasted like shit. But he insisted on taking me to this specific coffee place before we went on our investigative adventure.

"She must be working with someone though. Either someone who gave her the assignment to go after me or someone in my organization supplying her with information as to where she would find her big story."

"Or both?", I add.

"Or both," he agrees.

At least we're on the same page about this issue.

I would never read the DON voluntarily. The pieces and opinions are usually sub par and never the actual truth. A piece of shit newspaper but the perfect vehicle for what I had planned. This scumbag next to me has killed the only thing that I have ever loved. Craig. He was one of the co-founders or Mr. Shitty-Coffee-Shop's company. I've read every police report there is, talked to every family member of Craig that I could find. Everything points to him being the murderer of Craig. I've hated him for so long for taking away the only thing that I have ever loved. But now-

"Do you have a plan?"

"No, not really. I just want to follow her. See if she meet's up with someone somewhere."

"You need to make a right. She just crossed the streets heading for Iris Ave," I say.

"Thanks, I got it," he replies.

We make a right. Rachel is fishing for something in her purse before pulling out her phone and calling someone.

"Who do you think she's calling?" He asks me.

My watch vibrates softly, letting me know that someone's calling me.

"I don't know," I mumble.

She seems to leave me a message.

A couple more minutes pass as we follow her every move down various streets and corners. Then she turns onto the street with the coffee shop I had arranged to meet her at. At least that's what I told her would happen.

"What are you going to do now?"

"I don't know yet," he says. "What do you think?"

The moment is getting closer and closer. I light a cigarette.

Do I really want this?

"I don't know. Let me think," I mumble.

I know exactly what I will tell him to do. I know exactly that he will agree with me, no matter what I say. I know every detail of what will happen in the next one or two minutes.

Why am I shaking so much?

"Ok, what about this: You go in there and sit in across from her."

I should want to do this.

I can't look at him.

He pauses.

"She's completely alone in there. She wouldn't even have evidence that you confronted her!"

I just need him to cross the street. Or do I?

Rachel is still sitting in there, trying to call me every couple of minutes.

"Sure, fuck it. Couldn't hurt I guess."

He places his hand on the door handle, ready to leave. Why is he stopping?

He grabs the back of my head and pulls me in for a kiss.

Fuck, I love him.

I kiss him back.

"I love you. Thank you for doing this with me."

I want to stop him. I need to stop him. I am so fucking overwhelmed right now.

He pushes the door open and steps out of the car.

--------

The car door slams shut behind him. I look at him, adjusting his tie, running his hand through his hair.

I call Rachel. I need her to make a run for it. That is the only way that I can save him. The shot was planned for the crossing. He would cross the street diagonally and-

"Rachel!"

"Hey, where are you?"

"Look to your left!"

"Oh shit, he's here? How do you-"

"Get fucking going!"

Rachel grabs her stuff and bolts for the door. He sees her trying to exit and rushes over to try and catch up to her.

For a second I believed that I could salvage this.

Two blocks ahead, sunlight flashes in a hotel window.

Shit.

I push open the door and step outside.

"Get down! Please get-"

The sound comes first.

Wet. Heavy.

I see his body falling over, folding into the street.