Page 12 of One Sweet Lie

The glassy grey skyscraper at 432 Park Avenue was the tallest building on Billionaires’ Row. Flanked by an exclusive restaurant and a day spa, I knew from here that this place housed people who were completely out of touch with the rest of society.

These people’s biggest problems were scheduling hot yoga sessions, chartering private jets, and hiring confidential staff who ran every element of their lives.

In other words, the worst people in the world.

Not wanting to go in blind with the client, I typed the address plus the word “penthouse suite” into my search bar.

The only result that appeared was “Record Holdings, LLC.”

I copied that name and searched for the owners.

Brian Johnson and Denise Cole, CFO and VIP of Record Holdings, LLC.

The following search revealed that they worked for a multi-billion-dollar sports franchise. A franchise called…Record Holdings, LLC.

No matter how I framed the search terms, the results were a continuous loophole that fell into a black hole of nothingness.

Something about this wasn’t right, and I was starting to wonder if this second interview might be a scam.

I called the queen of paranoia—my best friend Sasha— but her line went straight to voicemail.

Approaching the building’s doorman, I cleared my throat.

“Good afternoon, Miss,” he said. “What brings you to Park Tower today?”

“A job interview. Can you tell me who lives in the penthouse suite?”

“You want me to give you a resident’s private information?”

“Yes, but it’s not like I plan to do anything with it.” I shrugged. “I just want to know who is about to interview me.”

He stared at me blankly.

“I’m supposed to meet this guy at three thirty, so I also need to make sure that he’s a real person who exists.”

“He exists. I can assure you of that.”

“Great. So, can you tell me who he is before I walk inside?”

“I’m not allowing you to walk inside until three twenty five.” He looked at his watch. “That’s guest policy. Come back then.”

He walked into the building as if he didn’t want to be bothered by more of my questions.

Confused, I walked around the building’s east side and spotted a cleaning crew pushing dollies inside, so I slipped past them.

As I passed a boiler room, I caught sight of a vast library.

I stepped inside, in utter awe of the twenty-foot bookcases that touched the ceilings. I could tell from the gold trim on the windows and the avant-garde furniture that this place wasn’t meant to be seen by a peasant like me.

“Wow…” I ran my hand along a glimmering staircase railing.

Walking around it, I saw a sign of life: a man in a dark grey suit reading a book.

Finally.

“Excuse me?” I approached him from behind.

He didn’t answer.

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