THE NUMBER SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE SEEN
Naomi lived in a small apartment in the Mission District.
The building was old.
The elevator had been broken for six months.
The walls were thin enough that she could hear the couple upstairs arguing about rent.
But she loved the apartment.
It had been her first place after graduating from Stanford.
Back then, she had believed she would stay only a year.
She would find a position at an international investment firm.
She would build a career.
Maybe move to New York.
Maybe work in Washington.
Maybe spend a few years overseas.
Instead, life had happened.
Her mother died.
Her father became ill.
The family restaurant her parents had owned closed.
The savings disappeared.
Then came the medical bills.
Naomi had learned that intelligence was not protection against bad luck.
That night, she entered her apartment and found her father sitting by the window.
James Carter was sixty-eight.
He had once been a strong man.
He had worked construction for thirty years.
Now he moved slowly.
A scar ran along his neck from a surgery two years earlier.
He looked up.
“You're home early.”
“I lost my job.”
He sighed.
“I figured.”
“How?”
“You only come home this early when something is wrong.”
Naomi put her bag down.
“A man insulted me.”
James looked at her.
“Did you insult him back?”
“No.”
“Then I'm disappointed.”
She laughed.
It was the first laugh she'd had all evening.
“What happened?”
Naomi told him.
When she finished, her father was silent.
“You spoke Mandarin?”
“Yes.”
“To billionaires?”
“Yes.”
“And then you got fired?”
“Yes.”
James shook his head.
“That's my girl.”
She smiled.
Then his expression changed.
“Naomi.”
“What?”
“I need to tell you something.”
Her smile disappeared.
“Is it the hospital?”
“Partly.”
“What happened?”
“They want to change my medication.”
“Why?”
“The insurance won't cover the one I'm taking.”
Naomi closed her eyes.
“How much?”
“Two thousand a month.”
She stared at him.
“No.”
“Naomi—”
“No.”
“I can manage.”
“You can't.”
“I've managed before.”
“Dad.”
He looked away.
She sat beside him.
“We'll figure it out.”
James nodded.
But Naomi could see the fear in his eyes.
She knew exactly how much money was left in her bank account.
$2,814.
Rent would take $1,900.
That left $914.
The new medication cost $2,000.
She didn't know what she was going to do.
Her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
She answered.
“Hello?”
A man's voice said:
“Naomi Carter?”
“Yes.”
“This is Henry Lin.”
She sat up.
“How did you get my number?”
“I have friends.”
She smiled.
“That's vague.”
“I apologize.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I owe you an explanation.”
“For what?”
“Tonight.”
Naomi looked toward her father.
“I don't understand.”
“Victor Hale has been negotiating with my company for six months.”
“I know.”
“He told us his waterfront project would cost eight hundred million dollars.”
“Yes.”
“He told us the project had already secured approval from the city.”
Naomi frowned.
“It hasn't?”
“No.”
She remembered what she had seen on the presentation.
There had been a discrepancy.
She had assumed she was imagining it.
Henry continued.
“The project has an unresolved environmental assessment.”
Naomi stared.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does if the financial projections are based on the assumption that approval has already been granted.”
Naomi was silent.
“Mr. Lin…”
“Call me Henry.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you noticed it.”
She looked down.
“I worked in financial analysis before I became a waitress.”
“I know.”
Naomi frowned.
“How?”
“You graduated from Stanford with honors.”
She looked at her father.
Then back at the phone.
“You researched me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because people who notice numbers usually notice lies.”
Naomi smiled faintly.
“That sounds like something my mother would say.”
Henry paused.
“Your mother?”
“My mother used to say that numbers don't lie. People do.”
There was silence.
Then Henry said:
“Would you meet me tomorrow?”
Naomi hesitated.
“Why?”
“I want to offer you a job.”
She laughed.
“I just got fired from a restaurant.”
“I know.”
“What kind of job?”
“Financial consulting.”
“How much?”
Henry gave her a number.
Naomi nearly dropped the phone.
It was more than three times her restaurant salary.
“I don't understand.”
“You don't need to understand tonight.”
“Then what do I need to do?”
“Come to my office tomorrow morning.”
Naomi agreed.
When she ended the call, her father looked at her.
“Who was that?”
“Someone offering me a job.”
James smiled.
“Your mother would be proud.”
Naomi smiled.
Then her phone vibrated again.
Another message.
This time, there was no name.
STOP ASKING QUESTIONS ABOUT VICTOR HALE.
Her smile vanished.
A second message arrived.
YOUR FATHER PAID FOR YOUR SILENCE ONCE.
Naomi stared at the screen.
“What is it?” James asked.
“Nothing.”
She deleted the messages.
But she couldn't delete the feeling that someone had been watching her.
Across the city, Victor Hale sat alone in his penthouse.
The view of San Francisco glittered beneath him.
His assistant stood nearby.
“Henry Lin canceled the meeting.”
Victor didn't look up.
“Why?”
“He said his company needed additional verification.”
Victor's jaw tightened.
“Who spoke to him?”
“We don't know.”
Victor turned.
“You do know.”
The assistant swallowed.
“The waitress.”
Victor stood.
“Find everything about Naomi Carter.”
“We already did.”
“No.”
Victor walked toward the window.
“Find everything.”
“Her family?”
“Her family.”
“Her education?”
“Everything.”
The assistant hesitated.
“There is something unusual.”
Victor turned.
“What?”
“Her father.”
“What about him?”
“He worked for Calloway Development twenty-seven years ago.”
Victor went completely still.
“Say that again.”
“James Carter worked for Calloway Development.”
Victor's face changed.
“Where is his file?”
“We're looking.”
Victor stared into the city.
For the first time in years, an old memory returned.
A warehouse.
A young accountant.
A missing document.
A woman named Claire.
And a promise that had never been kept.
Victor whispered:
“No.”
His assistant looked confused.
“Sir?”
Victor turned.
“Find the Carter file before anyone else does.”