Touch (Denazen #1)(34)

Eyebrows raised, he nodded for me to continue.

“I need to feel like I’m in control,” I started. “Maybe I got that from you. What those bastards did to me, keeping me tied and locked in the dark, making all those threats, it made me feel out of control. I need to find some balance.”

Dad put down the paper and leaned back, hands folded across the table. I could tell by the subtle twitch of his lip and the slight tilt of his head I had his attention. “What do you mean, balance?”

“I need to do something about it. These people are out there—God knows how many—and I can’t help but wonder if that’s all I’ll think about from now on each time I close my eyes.”

“What exactly do you propose?”

“Take me to Denazen. They filled my head with horrible lies that won’t wipe away. You can fix it.” I slammed the cup on the table, sending half of it sloshing over the edge. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that one thing they told me was true. You’re not a lawyer. I need to know the rest. I need to know the truth.”

He was silent for a long time, eyes searching mine. I thought it all sounded pretty convincing, but it was hard to tell with Dad. The guy had invented the poker face. I’d started to think he’d seen through me when a slow smile spread across his lips.

“Go put your shoes on.”

§

As we pulled into the parking lot, it occurred to me that I’d never been here. Dad had been working for Denazen for as long as I could remember, and not once, even back before we publicly despised each other, had I ever been to his office.

We exited the car in silence, walked up the stairs, and stopped inside the glass doors at the reception desk. The man on the other side raised an eyebrow at me while handing a clipboard and pen to Dad.

The lobby was bathed in bright white with pristine, cherry wood floors and matching trim. A set of elevators flanked both sides of the room. One set silver, the other white as snow.

Dad scribbled his name on the paper, looked at his watch, and pointed to the white elevator doors. “Let’s go.”

There were no buttons, only a thin strip on the wall that looked like a credit card swiper. Dad reached into the right side pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small card. With a swift pass through the swiper, the doors opened.

Without a word, we stepped inside. I waited several moments, and when nothing happened, I asked, “Well?”

“Patience.”

Another minute ticked by before a loud, odd, vacuum-sounding swoosh filled the air. Another set of doors opened on the far wall of the elevator.

Dad pointed to them and stepped through. “This is the real elevator.” Clearing his throat, he stepped inside and said, “Fourth Floor.”

Amazed, I followed him in, and the doors closed with a ping. A moment later, the elevator jerked to life and we began to climb.

“The only way to operate this set of elevators is by using a security badge. Without it, the elevator doors won’t even close. It won’t take you any higher than your security card clearance allows.”

After a short climb, we stepped out into a long, empty white hall and through a steel door. There was no one there as we made our way toward the single doorway at the other end of the hall. The silence made for an eerie stage and I wanted to fill it by asking questions—I had a million of them—but didn’t want to come across as too eager. Once we got through the door, everything changed.

Our entry into the building felt surreal next to the bustle and activity now laid out in front of me. A long row of desks lined the entire outside of the room. It reminded me of the ASPCA charity call center setup from last year’s fundraiser. At each one someone was on the phone, head down, furiously jotting notes onto paper. No one looked up as we entered.

In the middle of the room was a large reception area with a sign above that said Reception/Check In. Behind the desk, a chubby brunette with a wicked overbite flashed Dad a flirty smile. “Mornin’, Mr. Cross.”

Dad nodded and honored her with a rare smile. “Hannah.”

“Is this a new acquisition?” She gave me an almost fearful once-over before turning back to him. No secret what she thought of Sixes.

Dad laughed. “No, this is my daughter, Deznee.”

Hannah clucked her tongue in sympathy and nodded. “This is the poor dear that was assaulted by the Six, isn’t it?”

“I wasn’t assaulted,” I snapped before remembering I was supposed to be on the nay side of the Six fence. “I mean, I held my own with the bastards.”

She gave me a thin smile, one that said you-keep-telling-yourself-that. “Of course you did, dear.”

“Please have a temporary level yellow pass made up for her. She’ll be spending the day with us.”

Hannah rubbed her plump fingers together and giggled. “How exciting this must be for you!”

I forced a smile and hoped it didn’t look too fake. “It really is.”

“This way,” Dad said.

We left the room and turned right, coming to another set of elevators—these doors were green. Once inside, Dad said, “Fifth floor.” After a moment, he added, “All the elevators in the building are color-coded for the different security levels. The first three floors are silver, for the law firm. The fourth floor, Denazen’s real reception area, is white. All Denazen employees must pass through there before going anywhere in the building. The cafeteria is also on that floor. The fifth floor, where we’re heading now, is green.”