Page 112 of The Suit

The New York tapes had shown Johnson Maynard, who, it seemed, had been on the FBI shit list for a while. However, with FSJ as his attorneys, he was so slippery that they’d never been able to make a charge stick. Beulah had handed them all their birthday and Christmas presents in one go, all tied up with a big ‘prison-jumpsuit-orange’ ribbon. Not only had Maynard been arrested, but so had Maloney Feather. Both of them had been questioned for over twelve hours before being left to wait in a fifteen-by-fifteen. Another fourteen partners from FSJ had also been questioned. As the Smythe and Jones of FSJ had long since retired, they were yet to be hauled into custody.

The Chicago tapes were much more riveting.

A week ago, Beulah, along with someone who looked suspiciously like my old law tutor, Professor Jennifer Grannery - who once told me that if I wanted to get anywhere in law then I needed to make sure I kept up with Beulah – walked into the Chicago office and met with Agent Ray Diggs, the official who seemed to be leading the entire investigation.

I’d been tempted to grab some popcorn as I watched the showdown between Grannery and Diggs, chuckling to myself as he became more and more irate. Having been on the receiving end of more than one of her sly quips, I almost felt sorry for him, though less so because he was being such a dick to Beulah.

Not that she couldn’t defend herself, but I’d had a sudden and surprising urge to jump in and punch him square on the jaw – or I would when I saw him.

No one got to speak to Beulah like that.

But watching her had filled me with so much pride it made my eyes water. I couldn’t begin to imagine how nerve-wracking that must have been for her; how scared she must have been. She’d risked everything; her reputation, her entire career, her future - all to do the right thing, because once she’d set her mind to something, even an atomic bomb couldn’t knock that steely determination off course.

Having obsessively scoured the news over the last week, I was yet to see ninety percent of what Cody had found appear in print, or on the twenty-four-seven news channels reporting on the seizure. I’d read and re-read, but nothing so far included Beulah’s name, which gave me both an enormous relief as well as a crushing emptiness, like the rollercoaster we’d been riding the past month had finally come to a stop, and I didn’t want it to be over.

Beyond the FBI tapes, I also hadn’t seen a picture of her anywhere in all the news tied to Maynard - even as lead in his divorce case - and so had resorted to going through the pictures of her I’d surreptitiously taken in the Hamptons when she’d been hanging out with Kit, and Bell, and Barclay, retrieving them from my deleted folder where they’d been relegated.

And if that action alone taught me anything of my behavior the past two weeks, even the past month, I wasn’t ready to give up Beulah. The fire we’d started at school had been reignited and burned at a temperature I hadn’t reached with anyone else.

The boys had been right; or Murray had been right, and Penn had been wrong.

Or someone had been wrong, and in this equation, it was most likely me.

I had been in denial about how I felt, maybe how I’d always felt, and believing that it was all still a game to her had sent me into a fiery pit of red-hot rage followed by guilt, then a sadness I’d never experienced, brought on by the memories of her tear-streaked face as I threatened her.

Memories that may as well have been stuck onto my brain with Gorilla glue for all I’d been able to do to ignore them.

I gave up trying. Instead began to formulate a plan of action, and I was quietly confident that I would be successful. For the past four days I’d been carrying around a Trojan Horse in the form of a letter from Beulah, asking me to meet her.

I took it out of my pocket, needing one more look at her scribbled, spiky penmanship. I’d folded it and unfolded it so many times that it was already starting to wear at the edges.

Rafe –

I understand how hard it is to believe me, but I am truly sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I never expected for us to happen, but now it has, I don’t want to go back to how it was before.

I don’t blame you for being angry, and I know it won’t be easy to forgive me but please let me explain in person. You have my number; I’ll wait until you’re ready.

Love, Beulah x

Love Beulah.

I ran my fingers over the already smudged ink. I hadn’t called her, I hadn’t replied. Not because I hadn’t wanted to or wasn’t ready, but because when I did, it needed to be right. It needed to come from me.

She’d already taken a big step out into the middle, and I needed to meet her there with a leap of my own.

I was the one who needed to say that I didn’t want things to change either. Or rather, I did want things to change, because they had to change. Since the first class we’d taken together all we’d ever done was fight and hate, fight and hate, then tally the score at the end of each day. A decade of that was exhausting enough to last many lifetimes.

I was done with the hate.

And I had to prove to her I meant it for real.

We had to start over.

Kit had told me Beulah was back in New York, which Cody had confirmed from her flight manifest. Her first day of teaching summer school for Grannery’s class was today, to where I was currently en-route. Her class was scheduled to begin at eleven a.m., and it was now ten forty which would give me just enough time to make a quick call then sneak into the back.

Sabrina picked up on the first ring.

“Hi, boss. You okay?”

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