When he’s out of sight, I turn back to the computer and run my hands over my hair.
I can’t do this, but I have to.
Now’s the time. Mr. Leblanc will be in a meeting for the next thirty minutes at least. I don’t need thirty minutes to put my dad’s plan in motion. Ten at most. I can use the other twenty to let my heart stop pounding.
I check to make sure I have everything Mr. Leblanc could possibly need for the afternoon, pat my mini palm tree for good luck, and pop a tropical-flavored Jolly Rancher into my mouth.
Then I click over to the company’s purchase order system.
My dad was right about one thing. Mr. Leblanc’s company processes a lot of purchase orders. It’s a two-floor office space in Manhattan, and it takes more supplies to run the office than you might think. It’s not just paper and printer toner. The tiny kitchen alone gets stocked with coffee, tea, sodas, sparkling water, and a small selection of snacks, including gluten-free options.
I feel faintly sick at the sight of the cursor blinking in the memo box.
I hate lies. I hate con men. I hate false things.
But most of all, I hate the consequences of all that bullshit. It’s never the con artist who has to pay. Not really. My dad got punched in the face, but it’s my siblings who suffer. They’re constantly afraid we’re going to lose whatever apartment my dad has dragged us to.
I don’t blame them. I’m afraid, too. I just don’t have the luxury of acting like it.
Pretty ironic that I have to follow one of my dad’s cardinal rules. Fake it ’til you make it, right? If I pretend to be confident hard enough, the fear will fade.
That confidence is how I got hired at the temp agency. Honestly, it’s perfect. They’re an agency with branches all around the country. I applied because I wanted honest work. And when my dad picks up and moves us around again, they can find me a new assignment where we land. The pay here is decent.
Single-person decent. Not rescue-your-family decent.
The twins are ten-year-old kids. They need a lot. Food. Clothes. Things for school.
My dad sure as hell doesn’t have the money to pay for those things, much less the rent.
And after the twins went to bed last night, he came clean about how much he really owes to the man with the gun. Fifty. Thousand. Dollars. I couldn’t make that much working two jobs at the temp agency. Not even if I worked all day and all night.
The agency also doesn’t give advances to bail out your con man father. Mr. Leblanc is probably the only person I’ve met with enough money to save me, but there’s no way I can ask him.
I feel more than a little guilty that it’s his voice in my ear right now.
You do whatever it takes. Understand? You’re strong enough.
He didn’t mean embezzling from his company. I know that. Butwhatever it takesencompasses many things. Out of all of them, this is the best option. It’s the only one I can use to guarantee the safety of my siblings.
That’s the top priority. Nobody’s going to come looking for them. Certainly not a man with a gun.
I’ll pay it off. I’ll pay itback.Of course I will.
My dad swore he’d help. He mentioned a payout, which I dismissed immediately. He promised to get a job.
One deep breath, and I start filling out the purchase form.
Now’s the time, because sooner or later, my dad will get angry. He’ll lose control. He’ll tell the twins that the man is after them, and then neither of them will be able to sleep. They can’t function at school on no sleep. They can’t run on terror alone.
I don’t think my dad would mean to terrorize them. Not necessarily. But he puts himself under this kind of pressure over and over again, and it affects all of us.
I read the instructions embedded in the form carefully. I need it to look real. Not like some stranger walked in off the street and ordered…
What should I order?
My dad said I should order office supplies. A giant order of toilet paper probably won’t go unnoticed. So maybe there’s something else. Something that even Mr. Leblanc will be glad to have.
It’s coffee beans.