I Married a Billionaire: Lost and Found(23)

Daniel's eyebrows went up a fraction of an inch.

"Now," she said, raising her hands, "I have no way of knowing anything, mind you. This is all secondhand, and it's all very vague. But, I know my source pretty well. I can't figure out what motive he'd have for lying about something like this. He says one day, he just happened to be in the parking garage across the street in the late morning. Most of the employees don't ever have to park there, but I guess there was a big board meeting that day, and he was running late, so that's where he ended up. Total coincidence. Anyway, while he's there, he says he sees your broker meeting with someone. He doesn't want to get any closer to get a good look, but your broker comes away from it with a big, fat envelope. Suddenly, my friend remembers seeing your broker with a brand new watch, bragging about his new car - and he thinks to himself - well, somebody's accepting some money on the side for something. But until your story hits the news, he doesn't really think anything of it."

"That's a bit…" Daniel hesitated. "Tenuous, don't you think?"

"Hey," said Genevieve. "It's something, which is better than what you had."

"Oh - of course." Daniel shook his head. "I appreciate this very much. Don't get me wrong. I'm just…I'm trying to put the pieces together, that's all."

"Well," said Genevieve. "All this time, he's presumably been telling you some kind of story. I don't know if it's the same one that the press has been hearing - some kind of glitch? He had nothing to do with the trade? That sounds a little convenient to me. What kind of computer glitch initiates entire trades on its own and leaves no trace, other than looking exactly like your broker did it himself?"

"Well, I don't know," said Daniel. "And I suppose that's where I'm at the disadvantage."

"It would be valuable, I think," said Genevieve, "to get an audience with some of their on-site tech support, alone. Although even if you did, they might not be too hasty to implicate someone else at the firm. Even if all signs point in that direction. Still, there might be some valuable information to glean that way."

"Can your source provide any further information? Or can you?"

"Well," said Genevieve. "It's possible for me to investigate this further. But I'm going to need something from you in return."

"How much?" Daniel wanted to know.

"Oh, no," she said, smiling. "No, no, no. A feature. I want to do an article on you and your home life. Nothing inflammatory, I promise. You'll have final approval on everything. I want to portray you as a normal guy just going through the ringer on something, not necessarily as innocent or guilty, just…someone readers can relate to. Everyone's hungry for any information about you that they can get, and you know they're going to get it somewhere if they don't get it from me. So you might as well put something out there that casts you in a sympathetic light."

Daniel was thinking. "Final approval?"

"Absolutely," said Genevieve. "You have my word."

"In that case," said Daniel. "Find out everything you can about what my broker's doing, and I'll give you your story."

Genevieve smiled. "As it so happens, I have some questions prepared for an interview. Can we get started now?"

"All right."

I felt like an intruder. I went to get a glass of water, which neither of them seemed to notice, and afterwards I couldn't bring myself to sit back down. I settled for retreating to my studio with the door open, so I could hear their conversation. And, of course, the occasional peals of laughter that rang out, bouncing against the vaulted ceilings. Daniel only chuckled quietly, but more easily and more often than I'd been able to make him do in a long, long time.

I sat in front of my half-finished drawing, regarding it with something akin to anger. Why couldn't I figure out what was wrong with it? It just wasn't right. It wasn't done, even though it might seem so, to an untrained eye. There was something missing, and I didn't know what it was. I closed my eyes, trying not to hear the conversation in the living room, but unable to completely shut it out.




I took a deep breath and tried to take myself back to the memories of the willow tree that had inspired my drawing in the first place. What was I missing? What had I forgotten? I remembered the feeling of the leaves against my skin, quivering in the breeze. I remembered feeling sheltered under the drooping branches, closed off from the world in a little fortress that was just for me. I used to go there with a book, or a sketch pad, sitting cross-legged on the dirt between two of the biggest roots and stay there for hours, until someone came out to call me in for dinner. A few, very specially selected friends knew about it too - but few of them seemed to have the same connection with the place that I did. When I was there, I preferred to be alone.

Of course.

My eyes popped open. I picked up my pencil and began to sketch furiously. It was so obvious, I couldn't believe it had taken me this long.

It was me. I was missing from the drawing.

I'd never been one for drawing self-portraits, but this wasn't quite like that - the girl I was drawing could have been anyone, really. She was turned away, her face hidden from view, her knees hugged up to her chest as she looked out over the horizon. I couldn't remember the last time I had drawn this fast. Every single line and curve and shadow fell in exactly the place I wanted it to, and when I was finished, I let out a huge sigh as if I'd been holding my breath for weeks and weeks. And in a way, I had been.