Irreparable Harm Read Free Page B

get ready for work or ran straight to Prescott & Talbott’s offices and showered at the firm gym, where she kept a supply of business clothes.
    Sundays she neither worked out nor worked. She slept until noon and then spent the afternoon at her parents’ house, staying for dinner with her brothers, their wives, and her assorted nieces and nephews.
    By the time she showered, dressed, and stepped off the elevator into Prescott’s offices six days a week at eight a.m. sharp, takeout cup from the coffee shop in the lobby in her hand, Sasha was alert, loose, and ready for her day. No one asked if she’d spent her morning learning how to crush a windpipe with the blade of her forearm, disarm someone wielding a knife, or subdue an attacker using an arm triangle chokehold, and she never mentioned it.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter 6
     
    Bethesda, Maryland
     
    Tim Warner had the bad luck to be the first one in the office on Tuesday morning, as he was most mornings. He’d never really been a morning person, but when he started working at Patriotech, he learned he got most of his work done before his colleagues arrived for the day and started peppering him with questions about how many vacation days they had left and when their worthless stock options would vest.
    Even though his job was mundane, Tim felt lucky to have landed a job shortly after graduation, especially in a recession. His salary sucked, that was for sure, but he did have an impressive-sounding title—Director of Human Resources—which was made somewhat less impressive only if one happened to know he directed a staff of zero.
    Tim told himself he was making an investment in his future. Patriotech, as a technology startup in the defense sector, was well-positioned to go public within a few years. At least that was what the CEO, Jerry Irwin, had said when he’d interviewed Tim for the position of human resources specialist. After the interview, Tim had been inspired by Irwin and his vision for the company, so he’d leapt at Irwin’s offer to come aboard with a fancier title and stock options, despite the paltry pay.
    In the two months he’d been at Patriotech, Tim had remained impressed by Irwin’s vision, even as he’d grown to hate and fear the man. Tim lacked the technical background to understand the product Patriotech had developed, but he assumed Irwin’s violent outbursts and rapid mood swings were a sign of his genius. Or more accurately, he hoped they were a sign of his genius, because Irwin was making his life miserable.
    Tim stooped and picked up The Washington Post before swiping his access card in the reader by the lobby doors. Once inside, he flipped on the lights and took the newspaper from its biodegradable green bag, scanning the headlines before he deposited the paper on Lilliana’s desk in the reception area. What he saw below the fold ruined his day: “Hemisphere Flight from National Airport Crashes into Mountain in Virginia; No Survivors.”
    Tim skimmed the article to confirm what he already suspected—the downed flight was bound for Dallas—then hurried into his cubicle in the back corner of the office, pulled out a personnel file, and dialed Angelo Calvaruso’s home number.
    After he hung up with Calvaruso’s newly minted widow, he sat perfectly still, cradling his head in his hands, for a long while. He stayed immobile when Irwin came into the office and breezed past him on his way to his glass-walled corner office.
    After another minute, he steeled himself and walked over to Irwin’s office. His legs felt like they were encased in rock. At just twenty-three, Tim had never had to deliver news like this before; he wasn’t sure how to go about it.
    He rapped softly on the open frosted glass door. Irwin looked up from his Wall Street Journal .
    “Tim,” he said. Then he waited.
    For a moment, Tim had an overpowering feeling Irwin already knew, but he dismissed it as wishful thinking. Irwin read nothing but The Wall Street Journal