The next morning, Elida went to St. Jude's.
It was the orphanage where she had spent weekends volunteering, mostly to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the Adkins estate.
Sister Margaret was waiting for her in the garden.
"You look terrible, child," she said, handing Elida a cup of tea.
"I'm fine, Sister."
"You're unemployed and homeless. I heard."
News traveled fast in the Catholic network.
"I have a proposition," she said. She pulled a photo out of her habit.
"Sister, I'm not doing a blind date."
"It's Preston Walsh. He's a tenure-track professor at Columbia. Sociology."
Elida looked at the photo. A man with thick glasses and a kind, slightly confused smile.
"He needs a date for his faculty dinners," Margaret said. "His mother is on my board. She's... persistent."
"And what do I get?"
"He specializes in medical law. He can help with the billing dispute at your mother's care facility."
Elida sighed. "Fine."
She met Preston at a coffee shop in the West Village an hour later.
He was wearing a corduroy jacket with elbow patches. He looked exactly like a stereotype.
"Sister Margaret said you're in a bind," he started, forgoing pleasantries. "And frankly, so am I."
Elida blinked. "Okay."
He slumped in relief. "My mother thinks I just haven't met the right girl. The truth is... my partner and I would like to adopt, and my 'bachelor' status is a hurdle with the board. I need a beard. Just for a few months."
"I need legal advice," she said. "And maybe a free dinner occasionally."
"Deal."
They shook hands. It was the most honest relationship she'd had in years.
"So," Preston said, stirring his latte. "You worked for Crane? Is it true they're under DOJ investigation?"
"Where did you hear that?"
"Academic circles. Rumor is they're looking into asset hiding. Using shell companies."
Her stomach tightened. Abraham.
She pulled out her phone under the table. She logged into the forum.
The_King: The board is set. The pieces move. A queen will be sacrificed to save the king.
He was angry today.
The_Novice: A queen is the most powerful piece on the board. Perhaps she's sacrificing the king instead.
Preston walked her to his car-a beat-up Volvo station wagon.
"Let me get the door," he said, playing the part. He leaned in close, whispering, "There's a guy in a gray sedan taking pictures of us."
Elida stiffened. Mercer.
"Smile," Preston said. "Make it look good."
She forced a laugh and touched Preston's arm.
Across town, in the back of the Maybach, Abraham's phone pinged.
He opened the photo.
Elida. Laughing. Touching another man. A man in a cheap jacket.
He felt a burn in his chest that had nothing to do with his spinal injury.
She moved on in twenty-four hours? With him?
He typed furiously into the forum.
The_King: Hypocrisy is a woman's natural state.
Elida felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She checked it as Preston drove away.
The_Novice: And prejudice is a tyrant's epitaph.
When Preston dropped her off at her building, a familiar white Porsche was parked illegally by the hydrant.
Jenna.
She rolled down the window.
"Is that your new ride?" she sneered, looking at the Volvo. "Very... vintage."
Preston leaned across Elida. "It's Swedish engineering, actually. Safer than a plastic marriage, wouldn't you say?"
Jenna's mouth dropped open.
Elida got out of the car, suppressing a smile. "Thanks for the ride, Preston."
"Anytime, darling."
