Chapter 8 - If He Finds Out
The list was not long.
That made it worse.
It was practical.
Organized.
Written without visible emotion.
1. Move joint savings.
2. Renew lease before deadline.
3. Talk to Andre if Malcolm becomes impulsive.
4. Remind Malcolm how unstable Bellweather is.
5. Emphasize cost of moving.
6. If he threatens breakup, do not leave apartment voluntarily.
7. Call Denise if necessary.
Malcolm read it twice.
“Who is Denise?”
Tasha rubbed her forehead.
“My mother.”
Andre stared at her.
“You made a contingency plan for him discovering you were sabotaging him?”
“No.”
Malcolm held up the iPad.
“That is literally what the heading says.”
“I wrote it when I was anxious.”
“When?”
“Months ago.”
“Before Bellweather contacted me.”
“Yes.”
“So you knew eventually I might figure out something.”
Tasha stood straighter.
“I knew what I had done was wrong.”
“But you didn’t stop.”
“I tried.”
“No, you got better at hiding it.”
“I did stop sometimes.”
Malcolm laughed bitterly.
“What does that even mean?”
“There were opportunities I didn’t interfere with.”
Andre said, “You want a medal?”
“Andre.”
His brother fell silent.
Malcolm scrolled upward.
The note went back almost two years.
Companies were categorized according to distance, salary and travel.
A nearby employer offering only a modest raise was labeled SAFE.
A role seventy miles away was RISK.
Anything requiring relocation was LEAVE.
Bellweather was different.
It was local.
Yet it had still been marked LEAVE.
“Why Bellweather?”
Tasha stared at the floor.
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“The money.”
“That makes no sense.”
“Yes, it does.”
“I wouldn’t have moved.”
“You wouldn’t need me.”
Malcolm’s throat tightened.
There it was again.
Need.
Not love.
Need.
“You think the only reason I stayed is because leaving would be financially hard?”
“No.”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying.”
“I think people act differently when they have options.”
“And you wanted me without options.”
“I wanted us without threats.”
“My career was a threat?”
“Sometimes.”
Malcolm turned off the iPad.
He felt suddenly tired.
Not physically.
Something deeper.
Andre seemed to sense it.
“Come stay with me.”
Tasha looked up.
“No.”
Malcolm looked at her.
She corrected herself.
“I mean—Malcolm, don’t make a permanent decision tonight.”
“I’m not.”
Relief flashed across her face.
“I’m making a temporary one.”
He picked up the storage documents.
“I’m staying with Andre.”
Tasha approached.
“For how long?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t just disappear.”
“I’m telling you exactly where I’m going.”
“What about the apartment?”
“We’ll deal with it.”
“What about me?”
Malcolm stared.
“I don’t know.”
Her face crumpled.
He hated that it still affected him.
“Tasha.”
She wiped her eyes.
“I know what I did looks horrible.”
“It is horrible.”
“I’m not some monster.”
“I didn’t call you one.”
“You’re looking at me like one.”
“I’m looking at someone I don’t recognize.”
Tasha closed her eyes.
That sentence hurt more than shouting would have.
Malcolm turned to Andre.
“Help me carry my boxes.”
They loaded Malcolm’s documents and personal belongings into Andre’s car.
Tasha stood near the storage door watching pieces of the secret leave.
Before they departed, Malcolm photographed every document.
Every box.
Every relevant screen on the iPad.
Tasha watched.
“You really are building a case.”
“I’m building a record.”
“Against me.”
“For myself.”
At Andre’s apartment that evening, Malcolm sat at the kitchen table surrounded by paperwork.
Andre placed a beer beside him.
Malcolm shook his head.
“Coffee.”
“It’s eight thirty.”
“I’ve got too much to do.”
Andre made coffee.
For an hour, they organized evidence.
Then Andre spoke.
“I owe you an apology.”
Malcolm kept sorting documents.
“For what?”
“Chicago.”
Malcolm stopped.
“I should’ve asked more questions.”
“You believed her.”
“I believed she was scared.”
“So did I.”
Andre sat opposite him.
“I thought you were getting tunnel vision about work.”
“Maybe I was.”
“That doesn’t make what she did okay.”
“I know.”
Andre rubbed his beard.
“She called me more than once.”
Malcolm looked up.
“How many?”
“Three times.”
“Andre.”
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
“When?”
“The Chicago program. Once when you were talking about buying a condo alone before you two moved in together.”
Malcolm remembered that.
“And?”
“Once last year.”
“What happened last year?”
Andre hesitated.
“That recruiter from Texas.”
Malcolm frowned.
“What recruiter from Texas?”
Andre’s face changed.
“You don’t know.”
“No.”
Andre swore quietly.
“She told me a recruiter wanted you for some role in Houston, and you were getting excited about moving.”
“I never spoke to a recruiter in Houston.”
Andre stared.
Malcolm opened the iPad.
Search: Houston.
One result.
A company called Fenwick Energy Logistics.
Salary range: $105,000–$118,000.
Status:
LEAVE.
Notes:
Andre already agrees move is bad. Use family angle.
Malcolm’s jaw tightened.
Tasha had not merely manipulated him.
She had manipulated Andre into becoming an unwitting pressure point.
Malcolm clicked the attached email screenshot.
The recruiter had requested a video interview.
Tasha had replied that Malcolm had accepted another position.
Andre looked sick.
“I helped her.”
“You didn’t know.”
“I should’ve.”
Malcolm looked at him.
“You couldn’t see what I couldn’t see.”
Andre nodded, but guilt remained.
Then Malcolm noticed another entry.
Not a company.
His current employer.
HARRISON FREIGHT — PROMOTION
Status: RISK.
Malcolm frowned.
He had applied for an operations manager promotion nine months earlier.
The interview had gone badly.
His manager had surprised him with questions about a project report Malcolm supposedly failed to submit.
Malcolm had believed he missed a deadline.
The humiliation still burned.
He clicked the note.
Three sentences appeared.
Deleted reminder. Moved draft report into Archive.
He blamed himself.
Do not interfere again at current job. Too visible.
Malcolm stared at the second sentence.
He blamed himself.
Not he missed it.
Not problem solved.
Tasha had recorded his pain like an outcome.
Andre read over his shoulder.
His voice went quiet.
“Call your manager tomorrow.”
Malcolm nodded.
Then he saw a date beside the entry.
The night before his failed promotion interview.
He remembered that night clearly.
Tasha had cooked dinner.
She had massaged his shoulders.
She had told him:
“Whatever happens tomorrow, I’m proud of you.”
Malcolm closed his eyes.
For the first time all day, tears came.
Not because Bellweather might reject him.
Not because of the money.
Because memory itself no longer felt safe.
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And as Andre sat silently beside him, Malcolm realized tomorrow’s confrontation would not be with Tasha.
It would be with every version of himself she had taught to believe he was failing.
