As I headed down to Chelsea, I called Cousin Bob, Corporate Nazi Stooge and Head of Security at The McIver Group. I figured it was a fifty/fifty shot whether he would actually talk to me. Bob was definitely the old school type that might refuse to talk to me because I was disavowed.

To my surprise, Cousin Bob picked on the first ring. "Cousin Siobhan. I am truly honored. To what do I owe the impending verbal abuse I am about to endure?"

"I need a favor," I told him as I turned off the obnoxious streaming news bullshit coming from the cab's backseat Ipad. "Do you mind?"

"I'm afraid that I cannot do. Need I remind you that you're disavowed?"

"Oh Bob," I poo-pooed. "Not only can you help me, but you're going to help me. You want me to tell you why?"

"I wait with bated breath."

"It's like this Bob. This morning, I had this really deep heart to heart with Cesare Cosetino, where he told me that if I didn't marry Alex he was going to rain down holy hell on our family."

"Hmm. Sounds serious," said Bob. "But this can be averted, since you are, in fact, going to marry Alexander." He paused. "Unless, you are not."

"I am getting cold feet," I admitted as I watched the cab next to us narrowly miss wiping out a bike messenger. "If I were you, I'd do an ammunition inventory. It might get all GoodFellas all up in there."

He didn't answer, but the breathing in my ear indicated he was still on the line.

"I'm also inclined to say no and open up a can of this Battle Royale just to see what happens," I added. "You know how I am."

He cleared his throat. "You're absolutely right. I do know how you are. How may I assist you today?"

I smiled. "Pull up the firm's Discovery email."

After a second or two, he said, "Done."

"Find an email from the Hotel 57th, sent a few minutes ago."

"Got it."

"I need a facial recognition done on the woman with the dark hair and sunglasses," I told him. "I want to know everything about her, from her vitals, to her criminal record, to her immigration status. When I say everything, I mean everything."

He was quiet for a minute. "This is going to take some time."

"Don't be such a Debby Downer, Bob. I have every confidence in you that you can have it before 7 pm tonight."

He breathed some more into the phone. "How do you want the information?"

"Text me her address and vitals. Include that information along with everything else you find in the Discovery dropbox under In re Nolan Barnes. Got it?"

The cab driver asked me where I wanted him to pull over; I told him in front of the market.

"In re Nolan Barnes," repeated Bob. "Alright. By 7pm."

"That's Eastern, Bob, not Central."

"You'll have it by then. You know, you're a real kick in the pants, Cousin Siobhan."

"Don't you know it, Cousin Bob. For a corporate stooge, you're not so bad yourself." I ended the call, paid the cab, and jumped out into the crowd.

The Chelsea Market was a relatively new addition to the downtown Chelsea neighborhood. Less than twenty years old and housed in the same Nabisco factory where the Oreo was invented, it's an indoor food court, shopping mall, and office space. Walking up to it, it doesn't look like much - just another basic brick factory shaped building; however, its interior is all reuse - repurpose -recycle urban awesomeness of tastefully oxidized iron, bricks, wood, and stone. Throw in the fact that it's all about food, to the point that it's where they film Iron Chef America, well then, it's where all the cool foodies hang out.

I found Haut Medoc on the lower level of this beacon to the glories of gluttony. It was fairly crowded; fortunately, I found a spot at the end of the bar and flagged down the bartender.

He smiled at me because he wanted a tip. "What can I get you, gorgeous?"

I batted my eyes, the charmer. "What do you recommend, handsome?"

"The Argentine Malbec is excellent."

"Then I must have it."

He disappeared and reappeared a couple of seconds later with a glass of red wine. I smiled, thanked him, then said, "My sister said the Malbec was excellent as well. She was here last night." I pulled up a selfie on my phone of Jenny and I. "This is my sister. You wouldn't recognize her, would you?"

He looked at my phone politely. "My memory is very foggy."

I pulled out a $100. "It can be difficult working late nights."

He looked at the $100 bill and nodded. "Come to think of it, I do remember her. She came in with two guys, right?"

"That'd be her."

"Sure, she was here. Left with a Russian guy. Lots of tats. Didn't have a good feeling about it, between you and me."

I pulled up Nick's photo that Donnelly had sent me. "Was this the Russian guy?"

"No. This Russian guy was blonde. Stringy. Like he was all bone and muscle. He was very...forceful with her. She didn't seem to mind, but I took issue."

I looked at him. "Did you say anything?"

"I tried to. I asked her if he was bugging her, but she said she was fine." He waved at another customer at the end of the bar. "I have to go."

I handed him the $100, along with another $100 for the wine. "No change. Thanks, handsome."

He winked. "You betcha, gorgeous."

I took my wine to an unoccupied table in the corner and reassessed my information. So far, I knew Jenny was definitely gone, and I knew who'd taken her. But where the hell was she? Was she even in the country? I stared at my phone like that would get Bob to work faster.

I wasn't sure if my stare was impacting Bob, but it did make my phone ring. Caller ID said it was Sean. "Hi Sean," I answered. "Let me guess. You're calling because Alex wants me to return ASAP, and you're afraid you'll wind up like Aidan if I don't."

"Why are you being like this?" he asked, sounding positively petulant.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Sean," I replied. "Is my anger at being sold to a man twice my age so that you can maintain the lifestyle in which you've grown accustomed harshing your vibe?"

"You are so stubborn!" he yelled, making me pull the phone away from my ear. "Do you know how many women out there would kill to have the opportunity that you have?"

"Eight," I guessed. "Sixteen? Thirty two?"

"You're not funny," he fumed. "I don't understand why you can't see that this is an amazing opportunity."

I sipped my wine. "Being sold is not an opportunity, Sean. It's a crime."

He groaned so loudly that I swear it made my phone vibrate. "Why are you so hung up on that? Men buy women all the time! Besides, it's not such a bad thing! He's going to take care of you! Other women would kill for this opportunity!"

I sipped my wine and stared at the setting sun. "True. I'm sure that if Alex had bought another woman, she'd be all whatever. But I'm not that way. I'm not chattel, Sean. I'm not chattel."

He cleared his throat and loudly exhaled. He was definitely smoking. "If you don't go back right now, Siobhan, they're gonna pull the credit. They're gonna pull the credit, and we won't be able to pay our bills."

The Firm operates on a system of revolving credit. Banks front us the money because they believe we're good for it. If we get paid, then it works. If we don't get paid, or we fudge our numbers, then it doesn't.

"Well. That sounds ominous. Who's gonna pull the credit, Sean?"

"Cesare. They'll go to the banks, shut down our credit."

"What's that got to do with me?" I shrugged. "Let 'em pull the credit, for all I care."

"Siobhan, think about it!" Sean sounded as if he was teetering on the precipice of panic. "By the end of the week, we'll have to shut down. They'll be no more McIver Group."

"Oh, I get it," I replied. "He bought you, too, and now you want me to be all good with being bought the way you're good with being bought!"

"Siobhan, listen to me," Sean begged. "Hate us all you want to, that's fine, but if they pull the credit, everybody will lose their jobs."

I took a deep drink of wine. "Cool. Will that mean I can go to a top tier law school now?"

"We have nearly 1,000 employees at the Home Office alone," he went on. "On Friday, they will all lose their jobs. Some of them are too young to retire, but too old to reemployee. Others have children, and still others have medical expenses. On Friday, they will lose everything."

The support staff are the paralegals, administrative assistants, librarians, security, accountants, everybody that keeps a multinational law firm up and running. They were the people he was talking about. They weren't all McIvers. They were just regular people trying to make a living.

"Internationally, we have over 25,000 support workers, and a large majority live in countries without the benefit of socialized healthcare or other unemployment services. These people not only support themselves, but they also are the sole support multigenerational families. On Friday, these people will lose everything."

I drank more wine. "You shouldn't have outsourced."

He ignored that. "Over 26,000 people will lose everything because you refuse to marry a man who genuinely loves you, all because of a stupid contract. 26,000 men and women, and their families, and their children."

"You're a bastard, Sean," I told him, then gulped the rest of the glass.

"It's what's going to happen if you don't go back to him right now." He exhaled into the phone. "Siobhan, Alex loves you. Why can't you accept that?"

I twirled my wine glass by its stem, round and round and round. "I'm not chattel, Sean. If Alex really loved me, he'd let me go back to school. Hell, he'd encourage it. But now he's all threatening and shit." I looked at the window. "That's not loving."

"My God, you're spoiled," he wailed. "You really can't see beyond yourself, can you? Thousands of people are going to lose their livelihood and see their lives go down the toilet all because you want a fucking Disney prince."

Before I could answer that, a tall Italian man wearing a white button down and expensive jeans walked in and took a seat at my table. "There you are." Alex smiled, triumphant. "Somebody's been bad." 

I glared up at him. "You tracked my phone."

"You made me." He took a seat. "How's the wine?"

"Excellent," I replied. "It's an excellent Argentine Malbec."

"That's nice." He held out his hand. "Phone please."

"Look at that," I told Sean. "Alex is here, because he tracked my phone, and now he wants to talk to you. Is that what love is, Sean? Stalking, manipulation, and tracking?" I handed Alex the phone and glared out the window.

"I've got her," said Alex." No, she'll be fine. I think she might need a trip to the Caribbean for a few days."

Shit. The Caribbean was home to the Cosetino private island affectionately known as Camp Cosetino. Going there was equivalent to being sent to my room without supper. Or he was going to kill me. One or the other.

I looked at the door. Should I run? If I did, how far would I get."

He ended the call and put the phone in his back jeans pocket. "I'm inclined to say no to the training. I think there's some emotional issues that need to be worked out."

"Emotional issues," I repeated and rolled my eyes. "You bought me. Sorry if that makes me emotional, but... you know, you bought me."

"Oh, for chrissake, it wasn't like that." He stared out the window as if he were profoundly hurt or something. "What can I do to get through to you that I love you?"

"You wouldn't let me out of the house today," I answered.

"Where did you need to go?" He turned back to me. "Why couldn't you tell me what was so important that you climbed out the fire escape? Siobhan, you could have gotten hurt. You're in a cast, for God's sake."

"You tracked my phone and stalked me here," I retorted. "And besides. It's a small cast."

"Your behavior is erratic. I told you to stay home today because you had an intense conversation with my brother, and I know how negative emotions can impact you." His large eyes bore into mine. "I wanted you to stay home with me to recover from that, but what did you do?" He threw up his hands. "You climbed down the damn fire escape. How is that reasoned, rational behavior?"

"It was problem solving," I countered. "You wouldn't let me out the front door, so I had to figure out an alternative method of exiting and multistory building."

He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"What?" I asked. "I'm just saying. It's problem solving. You should be proud that I'm clever."

He sighed and sat back up. "Why did you need to leave today?"

"I needed to take a walk," I replied. "That's my story and I'm sticking to it."

"Siobhan, talk to me!" he exploded. "Tell me what's going on! If it's something I can help you with, let me help you! If it's something you need to do alone, then I'll know what you're doing and I won't demand anything from you."

Before I could reply, the bartender came over. He gave Alex a suspicious look, but smiled at me. "How are you doing? Would you like another glass?"

I shook my head and thanked him. Alex, on the other hand, ordered a bottle of Rothschild Bordeaux. "I gather we're staying," I said as the bartender went to get the bottle.

"Yes," he answered, his sang froid firmly back in place. "We have reservations at Harvest at 8:30, so it's a good place to meet."

"Who's we?" I asked.

"My family. What happened today doesn't need to fester."

I didn't answer that. Too late for that. It had festered. It had festered bad.

He sat back in his chair and studied me. "Siobhan, is this about the federal agent? I know you think you're in love with him, but baby, you're not."

"I'm not? Huh. Sure feels like it."

"He's an excuse, Siobhan." He continued to stare at me, like if he stared hard enough I would fall magically under the power of his gaze. "He's an excuse to run away from real intimacy, just like Notre Dame is an excuse."

I shook my head. "Notre Dame's not an excuse. It's a school with a distinct Irish American heritage."

He sighed a put upon sigh. "They're all excuses, Siobhan, because you're afraid to commit to me."

"I am?" I considered his argument. "So you're saying that I'm using Special Agent Donnelly and Notre Dame as an excuse to not get married because I'm commitment phobic."

He nodded vigorously. "Yes! Exactly!"

I scrunched my face. "No. I think I'm afraid to commit to you because you bought me."

He buried his face in his hands again.

"What?" I asked. "I think I know me better than you know me."

He looked back up at me and glowered. "You're being willfully obtuse."

"You're argument's flawed," I countered. "You're trying to say I'm unbalanced, when in fact, the situation is unbalanced."

Before he could reply, the bartender came back with the bottle and two glasses. He uncorked our bottle, then asked Alex, "Would you like to taste?"

Alex shook his head and waved him off.

The bartender turned to me and said, "I have your change here." He handed me a stack of bills.

I looked down at it, confused.

"You should count it. Make sure it's all there," he told me and took off before I could say anything in reply.

Strange. People in New York never give back money. I shoved it in my purse.

"What was that about?" Alex asked.

"Nothing." I looked out the window. "I want to walk the High Line."

"Oh my God. Siobhan, will you focus?"

"I'm focused. Why wouldn't I be focused?"

"Siobhan...please listen. I know it sounds like I bought you, but I didn't. I saved you!" He reached for my hand. "I love you, Siobhan. I want to marry you and have a family with you. But all you do is push me away." He paused and looked at me again; this time, I'll be damned if it didn't seem heartfelt. "Siobhan, it's killing me. I don't know what I need to do to get through to you, and I'm starting to wonder if I even can."

That pinged something in me. I looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"Everything I do, I do for you." He started to gently rub my hand with his thumb. "Siobhan, I only tell you what to do when I think it's in your best interest. It's not to take anything away from you! All I want to know is what was so compelling that you climbed out the fire escape?"

I didn't answer.

"Talk to me!" he pleaded. "Baby, I can't assuage your fears unless you talk to me, but you don't talk to me. Instead, you run away! Stop running! Let me help you."

"But you said you would let Cesare hurt me!" My insides felt like they were exploding. "You said it was necessary, and you would do whatever was necessary."

"Baby, I was angry, I was emotional, but the truth is, I wouldn't let anyone hurt you." He  reached out to cup my face. " You're my life. I love you."

The pinging got stronger. Maybe I hadn't really given him a chance. Maybe I had been too focused on myself and hadn't considered his feelings. Maybe I had been using Donnelly as an excuse.

As if he could read my inner turmoil, he added, "Haven't I always been there for you? You have known me your entire life. Name one time I didn't help you when you need me?"

I couldn't. Alex had always been there. He was a rock like that. I looked down at the table and mumbled, "I can't."

"Then why don't you trust me?"

I couldn't answer that. Alex had always been my white knight growing up. Maybe I wasn't looking at this whole thing right. Maybe I was being all self-absorbed and stupid. So I took a deep breath and jumped. "My friend, Jenny, is missing."

He nodded encouragingly. "Go on."

So I told him everything I knew. I should him the image I had of Jenny leaving the hotel with the Russian woman. I told him how worried I was about her, and that I was scared that she wasn't in the country anymore.

I did not tell him about Bob, or the text, or the In re Nolan Barnes and the Discovery file. Some things should always remain secret. Besides, that one wasn't mine to tell.

After I finished, he sat back for a minute and stared at me. "Siobhan, baby, why didn't you just take this to the police?"

"They're not going to care," I replied, surprised that he even asked that. "She's not a member of the community, she's a flight attendant, she's blonde, she's unsettled. The only way they would care is if they found her body."

He frowned. "Siobhan, I'm no fan of law enforcement, but I don't think it's fair to negate them so quickly. You need to file a missing persons report."

I didn't like where this was going. "Is this your way of helping me? Because it doesn't seem like you're going to help me."

"Yes, Siobhan. I'm going to help you. I'll make some calls, and we'll find your friend. In the meantime --" he reached into his front jean pocket and pulled out my ring. "--here's this." He slipped it on my hand. "Never take it off again, okay?"

I studied him. His reaction did not feel right to me. "I'm actively trusting you, Alex. Don't betray this."

"I know you are," he told me, and raised my hand for a kiss. "I promise I will do everything in my power to find your friend."

"Alright," I replied, even though this little voice in the back of my head that sounded uncomfortably like Donnelly was screaming at me that I was an idiot.

Great. My inner monologue was starting to sound like Donnelly.

"Well. Isn't this...charming."

I looked up. Good Lord. Amelia and Cesare were here. Alex got up to hug Cesare as Amelia scooted her chair next to mine. "How was breakfast?" she asked. "Isn't the Gruyere omelet delightful?"

"Don't talk to me, bitch," I answered with a smile.

"Wait until you see the dress I have picked out for you," she continued. "If you hated the last one, well, this one's going to really disturb you."

I reached for my wineglass, which Alex quickly took from my hand.

"I'm going to the restroom," I announced and marched away before any of them could comment.

Once there, I sat my purse on the counter and dug through the wad of change the waiter gave me for my lipstick. My hand hit a business card. Did the guy give me his number? Really? How disappointing... any yet, also flattering.

I pulled it out.

It read: Safe Haven Shelter for Women in Domestic Crisis. Shelter - Advocacy - Counseling - Prevention. There was a phone number on the back.

I looked at myself in the mirror. What was it about me that made the bartender think I was abused?

Because you are, shouted the Donnelly voice.

_____ * _____* _____ * _____ * _____

Alex is a smooth operator, but maybe Siobhan will wake up... or maybe not.

Thank you so much for taking time to read Siobhan's story! I look forward to your comments, and if you liked it, please remember to vote!

©Copyright Liz Charnes May 2018

This work is protected by copyright and cannot be copied or used in any way without my express consent. Please don't steal it. Thank you!