Page 98 of Due Diligence

“How do you know?”

“I know you,” he said, stating it as a fact. “He pretends to know you, but he doesn’t. I do. And you’re never going to stop thinking about me, Cass. He has no chance.”

Chapter 26: Marcus

As Friday crept closer, caveman instincts I never thought I possessed started to emerge. I ended up going down a Google rabbit hole when I couldn’t sleep at night, trying to find out anything and everything I could about Trevor. By the time I realized it was four in the morning and I had researched this prick for so long that my phone was on ‘low power mode,’ I had learned his middle and last names, the names of his parents and the approximate price of their house when they bought it twelve years ago, the name of his high school, and the name of every member of the shitty band he was in when he seduced Cass.

That Friday, I was forced out of the fishbowl for most of the morning to do some calls with our lawyer from Alex’s empty office. Then I had to lead a staff meeting over lunch, so it wasn’t until well into the afternoon that I even had a chance to greet Cass.

She was wearing earbuds and listening to music when I walked in, so I quietly took my seat on the other side of the table. Sheglanced up and raised her chin in my direction, smirking as she did it. I returned the gesture, smiling back. The exchange was playful, the kind of comfortable exchange I didn’t share with many people. Maybe just Alex, actually.

We worked in silence for a while. I had a backlog of emails that could take hours, having been away from my computer for most of the day. One of those emails was from Alex, who hadn’t made an appearance in the office—which was typical for him.

Better for me, frankly.

It was a half-hearted apology email for the other day, which I responded to with an equally half-hearted acceptance of his apology. That would be enough of a band-aid to hold us over for the next few weeks, at least.

When I looked up, I saw Cass smiling at her phone. I assumed she was texting Trevor again, which sent a pang of jealousy right through me. But I meant what I said—I wanted her to think of me, and only me. I picked up my own phone and texted her:

Me: What are you smiling about?

Me: It’s me, isn’t it.

Me: Smiling because you know you’re going to be thinking of me all night.

Cass glanced up at me and she let out a sigh. After a few seconds and some rapid typing on her side, she texted back:

Cass: I’ll be smiling because I don’t have to look at your irrational file naming conventions for a whole evening.

Me: That’s the cruelest thing you’ve ever said to me.

Cass: Crueler than me saying you’re an idiot for dropping out of Princeton and your company was built on hypocrisy?

“What did you mean when you said that?” I asked aloud.

Cass met my eyes and she took a deep breath. We had never spoken about this before—not beyond apologizing and putting it behind us. “The hypocrisy?” she asked.

Nod.

“What did two kids from Princeton know about student debt?” she said. “It just felt like you were capitalizing off misery you didn’t even understand. That youstilldon’t understand.”

Her comment probably would have offended a lot of people in my shoes, but I loved these kinds of debates. Every time interviewers lobbed questions like this at me, I leapt at the opportunity to respond. Alex, on the other hand, avoided them at all costs.

“Is it really capitalizing off something if it addresses the problem?” I asked. “Do I need credibility to address the fact that millions of Americans are suffering under the weight of crippling student debt?”

“The problem isn’t the debt,” Cass countered, returning my serve. “Paying back debt won’t solve the problem. That’s like saying you’re sorry when you don’t really mean it. The problem is so much deeper than the money.”

I quietly considered her words—and wondered if she had ever really listened to them before.

“I think you’re right,” I conceded. “It’s not just debt. The problem is a system that asks people to take out tens of thousands of dollars if they even want ashotat getting a job that will make them enough money to enhance their quality of life.” I shook my head. “It’s an unwinnable game. And I don’t want to live in a country that deters people from trying to better themselves. Social mobility is a good thing. Even if you’re heartless, you have to admit it’s a boon for the economy. It just doesn’t make sense to keep huge sections of the population in the red.”

“So you actually care about the state of the world,” she noted, tilting her head. “Shocking. Rare, these days. You know, my father would have a hell of a good time debating you.”

“You think?”

She nodded. “If I weren’t estranged, I would love to introduce you two just so I could witness it.”

“Do you ever miss them?”

---