Page 33 of Every Silent Lie
“Meredith.”
“Why?”
“She got a little . . . aggressive toward someone.”
“Meredith from Payments?”
“Yes.”
“Who was she allegedly aggressive toward?”
“Phillip.”
My eyes widen and blink. “Her husband?”
“Yeah. They’ve separated.”
“Right.” I rise, marching around my desk and past Thomas.
“What are you doing?”
“Dealing with it.”
“Whoa, Camryn, we have to follow protocol.” He chases my heels, blabbering a load of nonsense about policies and employee rights. I make it to Meredith’s office. Poor thing looks scared out of her skin faced with me. Placing my palms on her desk, I lean closer, dropping my voice. “What’s going on?”
Her eyes dart, checking the vicinity before she swallows, regret contorting her pretty face. “He called me crazy.”
“Well, that’s not so bad.” Thomas pipes up from behind me, laughing lightly but stopping the moment I turn a killer glare his way.
“I’m not crazy,” she says meekly. “I’m emotional. How does he expect me to be? He’s telling everyone I’m unhinged.”
And now he’s trying to get her fired. “Where did you supposedly get aggressive toward him?”
“In the kitchen.”
“When?”
“Last Friday when we all finished early and Thomas brought in the champagne to celebrate December.” Her lip wobbles. “I mean, I’d had a glass, but I wasn’t drunk, Camryn.”
I turn on my heels and head for the security office, entering and asking one of the tech people to pull up the kitchen CCTV from last Friday. “Sorry, I don’t have it.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have it?” I ask, watching as he merrily goes back to his screen, not giving me a second look.
“I mean, we assess footage regularly and delete it from the server to free up disk space.”
“Fuck.” I turn and leave, feeling myself getting more and more worked up.
“Ms. Moore?”
I stop and find one of the juniors pulling the door to the security room closed behind him. “Can I have a quiet word?”
Thomas looks between us, frowning. “What is it, Reggie?” he asks.
I point to a spare office, and he nods, accepting my silent offer and wandering in. I follow him and watch as his hands play nervously, closing the door when Thomas is through it. “I don’t want any backlash.” he says.
“For what?” I ask.
“Telling you something.”
