Page 82 of Five Years
“Cool?”
“No...more Gen Z–ish or something along those lines. I didn’t know what that meant, but apparently social media is full of the Gen Z–ish kind, so in order to fit in I have to wear less ties to work and more trainers.”
“Why do you need to fit in with Gen Z’s? Our average client is forty-seven years old.”
“Yes, but Claudia made a good point, the Gen Zs are the ones with the influence these days, they’re so conspiracy theory driven and focused on the impending doom of the world that they encourage their parents to see a financial advisor and voilà.”
“Voilà? That’s new.”
“Too much?” Douglas said.
“No, I don’t mind it. So, Claudia is pimping you out to the Gen Zs, that’s interesting.”
“You think it’s a bad idea?”
“No, I think it could work. Most people in the industry are dinosaurs like you and I get the need to modernise,” Leah teased.
“Hey! I may be a dinosaur, but I can still run a 10k quicker than you.”
“Fair.”
She hadn’t run since track in high school, and her dad liked to remind her. It’s not like she needed to, the elevator in the building at work broke down every other week which meant at least one or two days a month she took the stairs. Not to mention the occasional jog home from work when the rain started to pour on her freshly washed hair and her trusty umbrella sat unused in her drawer at work.
She hated that.
Leah believed there were two things in life that meant you really had your shit together as a human being, one of themwas never forgetting your umbrella, the other—noting down your passwords for everything. Despite the pain of having to go through numerous levels of security that even the FBI would struggle to breach, she still forgot to write them down.
“I’ll go and get changed.” Leah said.
“Don’t sound too excited about it.” Douglas teased.
“Bye, dad.”
The apartment was extraordinary. High atop the skyline, a penthouse as impressive as any Leah had seen on the real estate programs she binged. She entered through the private elevator into a sitting room with soaring twenty-foot ceilings wrapped in what she could only describe as a pristine glass wall. Other guests admired the 360-degree views from multiple outdoor spaces. Her eye carried immediately to the Hudson River.
Is that a pool?Leah whispered.
A private rooftop pool gleamed beneath the stars. She pictured herself pondering the poetry of existence while sipping on the most expensive champagne. Wide-plank oak flooring stretched beneath her feet, each step into the unknown cushioned by the sheer luxury surrounding her. The whole place felt like a fortress of serenity amidst an otherwise energetic city. She was in love—also flabbergasted that anyone could actually afford such an apartment.
The hired catering team rushed in and out of the chef’s kitchen with one exquisite tray after another. If her appetite hadn’t become solely accustomed to the cheap bottle of red from the corner store, she might’ve been inclined to try some.
There had been a constant stream of emails to Leah’s work phone since she’d left early that afternoon. A number of things either tied up or waiting to be addressed the moment shereturned. A new year equalled a fresh start. She ignored most of them—the subject line a clear indicator they could wait until she was back in two days—but there was one—
Was she the person standing in the corner of the most extravagant apartment checking work updates? Yes. Some might call it dedicated; she called it pathetic.
Have a night off.
The email was from the HR manager. The subject line read:
Employee info needed re:Ariana Harrison
“What the fuck,” Leah said.
She scanned the room for her father. This had to be a mistake. There had to be more than one Ariana Harrison in New York. Plausible.
“Dad, can I talk to you, please?” Leah tugged at his arm.
“Are you leaving already?” He frowned.
