Chapter 147

Over the next few evenings of me being home alone without the girls, I take to spending most of my time job hunting. As both of my recent previous jobs have sort of fallen right into my lap, it takes me some time to accustom myself with the job hunting tools necessary for this task.

Some of the websites I would have used back in the day don’t really do it anymore. Apparently now, there’s an entire social network dedicated to work contacts. I immediately sign up and make my profile.

Job hunting is both interesting and tedious. It’s been so long since I’ve combed through the listings, that I don’t recognize all the different kinds of jobs. At times, it feels like I’m unlocking a whole new world. So many things involve AI.

Other times though, I see the listings I do expect, and those are the ones I need. It can be infuriating, however, after submitting my resume to a company’s website, when I have to go in and manually type in the information into the boxes again. Why can’t they just read the resume?

After a few hours, the tedium and repetition gets to me. While keeping the job application website open on one tab, I switch to another to casually scroll through the news.

Procrastination, maybe. Distraction, definitely.

As I’m reading, I notice a particularly politician’s name come up quite a bit: Representative Franco. He apparently has ties to several charities in the area. They even include a picture of him cutting the ribbon on a blood bank.

Curious. Why does that name sound so familiar to me?

I go back to the job listings and spend another twenty minutes, before switching back and searching for more information on Representative Franco and the name of the charity he donates the most time and money to.

The charity records are public, though they take some digging to find. When I do find them, I immediately see some discrepancies between what the articles had represented.

It seemed that for every donation Representative Franco made to this charity, the funds were immediately withdrawn, with the withdrawal labeled as Room and Board. An odd label for a collection of blood banks.

I continue digging, each source leading me further and further down a rabbit hole. I suspect the money is being laundered, but it’s difficult to prove how. Even though it’s late, I make a few phone calls to a few sources.

By midnight I might have entirely neglected my job search but I have enough pieces of this mystery to be able to put it together in my mind. I can’t prove anything yet, but I’m certain I’m onto something.

The evidence looks a hell of a lot like Representative Franco has been funneling funds through this blood bank charity to, not just buy expensive prostitutes, but to keep them on a kind of retainer. The room and board is for them and their needs. Expensive purses and jewelry, fancy cars. The works.

By two am, I have the start of an explosive article, but my eyes are starting to droop. So I leave everything on the table and head to bed.

Early the next morning, I track down the few leads to piece everything together officially. At my desk in the office, I finally finish everything and save.

Just as I do, a message pops up on my screen from Kimberly. Meet in my office.

Since I’m at a good stopping point, I leave my desk and walk into Kimberly’s office. When I do, she gestures for me to sit down.

“I have a few new leads for you to hunt down this week,” Kimberly says, starting our typical weekly one-on-one meeting.

Before she can even finish, I excitedly tell her, “I have an explosive new expose on Representative Franco.”

She lifts a brow at me. “The blood bank guy?”

“The blood bank is a front,” I whisper to her. “I have it all on my computer.”

“Well, send it to me. What are you waiting for?”

“I’ll be right back,” I say excitedly.

Hopping from the chair, I hurriedly return to my desk. Sitting down and looking at my screen, something seems immediately different.

It’s showing the desktop. Didn’t I leave my article open?

That’s odd, but… maybe the computer did an automatic restart or something. Sometimes it needs to do that after it updates.

With that hope in my heart, I search for the file in my document folder.

It’s not there.

That can’t be right.

Panic setting in, I open the word processor and check in recent files. It’s not there either.

Nor is it in my downloads, or in my emails.

Everything I’ve worked on. My entire article. It’s all just… gone.

I glance around, but everyone just seems to be working away on their own projects at their own desks.

This doesn’t make any sense. It has to be here. I search again. And then again.

Knowing Kimberly is waiting for me, I send her a quick message, briefly explaining.

I can’t find the file.

Then I pick up the phone and call IT. I’m so panicked on the phone that they send a tech up right away. The tech scours the computer, but even they can find no trace that the file even existed.

“You sure you saved it?” they ask me.

“I did.”

I’m starting to feel like I’m losing my mind.

In Kimberly’s office, close to end of day, I tell her, “I can rewrite it. I’ll have it for you tomorrow.”

Kimberly gives me a pitying look. “You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately…”

Does she think I’m making this up? “The article is real.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t, Esther. But maybe you should take it easy for a couple of days. Why not take a few sick days and recuperate.”

I’m not taking sick days. I don’t need sick days. What I need is an explanation as to why the article I spent all of last night and this morning working on is suddenly gone.

Kimberly doesn’t have that explanation though, and I know if I push the issue, she’s only going to think I’m breaking further with reality.

“Go home, at least,” Kimberly says. “It will probably turn up by the morning. Or you can start fresh.”

“Yeah... Okay…” I don’t really have any other choice right now. Maybe she’s right. I have been burning the candle at both ends. If I relax… Maybe I will remember that I saved the file somewhere else… Or sent it to a different email…

None of that makes sense, but I guess it’s possible.

As I leave Kimberly’s office, I nearly run straight into Sabrina. We both stop short before we can collide.

“Oh, Esther. Sorry.”

“It’s my fault,” I tell her.

“I should have been watching where I was going.” Sabrina tilts her head as she frowns, giving me a sad kind of look. “I heard about what happened to your article.”

“Yeah…” I didn’t tell her about it, but I suppose she could overhear me talking to the IT tech.

“But maybe this is a lesson,” she continues. “You really need to learn to back up all your work.”

“Right…”

Sabrina’s frown doesn’t last. Instead, she starts to smirk ever-so-slightly as she says, “Tough luck, newbie.”