To Break a Heart

by ~Amberspike-Sama

Molly had green eyes like mirrors, and when she'd turn those eyes on you, wide and gleaming, they'd seem to reflect your soul. It wasn't something she was aware of, and she never probed or questioned to further the effect-it just happened, showing whatever was visible, never judging, only displaying your own feelings in a kind of strange empathy.

Some days Warner was unsettled by what he saw, but he never held it against her, because Molly was the sweetest, most innocent girl he knew, and she would never hold anything against anyone that couldn't be helped. Other days, when their expressions fell in happy harmony, the view made him feel that much better about himself.

Today was one of the latter days-elation in her soft, young features, joy creasing his, her face and his reflection like facing mirrors, bouncing happiness into infinity.

"I got the job!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands in excitement.

"That's great!" Warner said, resting an elbow on the counter, his stubbled cheek in his hand. "And you didn't believe me when I said I had sway over the man."

"I'm sorry, it was just too bizarre to be true-I mean, the head of Waldgrave Industries? He and you, knowing each other?"

"Molly, I know just about everybody in a mile's radius of here. A hundred names and favors, all locked up in this head of mine." He pointed to his temple.

"And Mr. Reiniger owed you a favor?"

"He owed me a lot of favors. Ya know how businessmen are 'bout payin' back stuff. Late as possible, sometimes only when ya call 'em on it."

"What kinds of things had you done for him?"

Warner shrugged. "All kinds of things. Tipped off the press 'bout his competitors, introduced him to suppliers, you name it. Seriously, hirin' you was the least he could do as a thank-you. I could ask much more, but I'm nice enough not to."

"You are so, so nice. I feel like I need to repay you."

He laughed and shook his head. "Oh, no. I'm not keepin' accounts with you. So long as ya come in chat every mornin', we're even."

Molly grinned, cupping her hands around her mug of hot chocolate. There was hardly ever a day that she didn't come through the door of Warner's small diner, heels clicking on the tile; short, straight hair swaying around rosy, frost-touched cheeks. Since the days that she'd attended the typing school a few blocks away, the McGinnis diner had been a scheduled stop on her morning route, and occasionally on her afternoon trek back home-separated from family by distance, she'd sought Warner as a friend to laugh or cry to, a confidant who understood.

Although he was nearly ten years older than her, he understood. He saw reflections in her-disappointment, yearning, hope-that were once his own feelings, as well as the faces he now wore, and could recall what it was like, breaking into a new world of opportunities and adulthood. He could remember the pain of falling, of being denied and deceived and forgotten, and wanted to shield her from the cold, indifferent city, position her above it with a nice, secure job.

"What is Mr. Reiniger like?" Molly inquired.

"Old, fat, ugly, nasty-tempered."

"No, for real," she said, giggling.

"It's the truth. He's a nasty, crotchety old guy who'd do good to get a pretty secretary like you."

"I've seen photos of him in the paper. He's not old, fat or ugly, and you wouldn't let me work for a mean guy, I know that for sure."

Warner laughed again. "Yeah, true. You'll get along just fine with Reiniger. He's about my age, real calm, polite, always smilin'. Seems pretty organized, too."
"You'd have to be organized to run a company."

"You'd be surprised. Some of the big executives I know've got no idea what their schedules are like. They count on a couple secretaries to work out everything and tell 'em."

"So, will Reiniger have other secretaries?"

"I think he only keeps one. You're gonna be replacin' some lady that took off to Cudney-Kerr for a bigger salary. Not very big shoes to fill, I hear. Reiniger said she was gettin' lazy."

"I won't be lazy," Molly declared. "I'll work very hard."

"I know ya will. Just don't kill yourself over it-remember, you gotta keep visitin' me."

Warner held up a finger, motioning to her to wait a moment, and stepped over to a trenchcoat-wearing man that'd sat down nearby.

"What would ya like?"

"A cup of coffee, plate of pancakes, and, uh, a couple of fried eggs," said the man.

"Want that coffee black?"

"Nah, put some cream and stuff in it."

"How do ya want the eggs done?"

"Cook 'em through."

Warner glanced back at Molly. "Did ya get that?"

"Um, let's see, it's a…a blonde with sand, a short stack, and flop two over hard."

"You got it." Warner grinned. "You've learned well. You could've worked here if ya wanted to."

"I'd rather have the Reiniger job," she said as Warner shouted the order, in slang, to the kitchen. "I mean, I have to do something with those typing classes Father paid for."

"Molly, you're the kinda girl that belongs in some quiet office with professional sorts of people," he replied. "You'll do best there. Trust me."

"I trust you," she said, and he saw his own smile in the mirrors of her eyes.

*

Waldgrave Industries was housed in a tall gray tower that reminded Molly somewhat of a cathedral, with its sweeping Art Deco stonework and pointed spire. The lobby had a high, looming ceiling, and she felt very small indeed as she crossed the plush carpet, passing beneath a golden chandelier on her way to the information desk.

"Excuse me," she said to the clerk, a severe-looking woman with pulled-back hair. "Can you tell me where Mr. Reiniger's office is?"

The woman squinted at her, as though wondering what business she could possibly have with Reiniger. "Fourteenth floor, Room 212. His name's on the door, you shouldn't miss it."

"Okay. Thank you," Molly replied, and hastily removed herself to the elevator.

A short ride and cheerful ding! brought Molly to a long hallway. She glanced around at the dark oak doors, each labeled with brass plaques. It took her a moment to figure out which way the numbers ran-then she took off determinedly to the right, thin brow furrowed with nervousness, eyes flickering across 207, 208, 209…

There it was, almost at the end-212. Beneath the oval plaque bearing the number was a rectangular one, inscribed with Glenn Reiniger, Chief Executive in serifed lettering.

Molly hesitated, unsure of what to do. He was surely expecting her, but would he find it rude if she just walked in? If she knocked, would she seem too timid? After a moment's reasoning, she supposed being thought timid was better than looking impolite, raised her hand, and knocked twice on the door.

Nothing happened. She waited, glanced about, shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She studied the nameplate, stared at a thin scratch cutting through the 'g' in 'Reiniger.' She checked her wristwatch.

What if he isn't here? I only asked where his office was, not where he was. Maybe I should go back down again…

She leaned close to the door, straining her ears for any sound, any sign of life behind the thick wood. Nothing.

Maybe he just didn't hear me the first time.

She knocked and listened again. Hearing not a sound, she sighed, turned away, and began to walk back to the elevator.

Halfway down the hall, the click of a lock stopped her in her tracks. She spun around and saw a slim, auburn-haired man leaning through Reiniger's doorway, looking around.

"Mr. Reiniger?" she ventured, stepping towards him.

He met her gaze and smiled, striding over to where she stood.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. I was in a call with the Pittsburgh plant. Order cancellations, mislabeled boxes…it's been pretty crazy lately."

She blinked. It didn't appear as though said craziness was creating much stress for him-his features were completely calm, smile friendly and effortless. His blue eyes even had a restful quality to them, glimmering slightly in the glow of a nearby wall sconce. When he put out a hand, it took her a second to react, as she was still focusing on his smooth, serene face, wondering at his composure.

"You must be Ms. Linville."

"Yes," she said, placing her small hand into his, letting him shake it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you. I've heard plenty of nice things about you from Mr. McGinnis."

"Oh. Yes, he's probably said a lot of nice things. We're good friends."

"He is a good person to be friends with," Reiniger replied. "And I am quite grateful for his services to me. Now, would you like to start work right away?"

Molly had never expected to have a choice in the matter and just nodded.

"Okay. I believe everything necessary is on your desk, but let me know if there's anything else you need."

He lead her into his office, a spacious room with a wide mahogany desk as a centerpiece, attended by a leather-upholstered chair. Molly's smaller desk took up residence in a corner, next to a window looking out across rooftops and clear sky. She surveyed the rotary phone atop it, the stacks of blank paper and envelopes, and the typewriter; a familiar object that, when she seated herself behind it, made her feel somewhat at home.

"Here," Reiniger said, handing her a list. "The addresses marked-I'm going to need envelopes addressed to those. If the phone rings, answer it with 'Mr. Reiniger's office', ask who's calling, and tell me who it is. If I happen to be out of the room, tell them to call back in five minutes. If I don't wish to speak to them, jot down their name and tell them I will call them back. I think that's enough for you to do right now."

Molly nodded, watching him as he retreated to his leather chair. There was composure, a sort of serenity even in his steps, his stance. She watched as he sat down, sat back, lifted a fountain pen and began to fill out forms in thin, precise script.

Warner had been accurate in his description, except for one thing. Reiniger couldn't be Warner's age-he was far younger.

Or perhaps it just seemed that way because he didn't have a single line of worry in his face.


*


"So, how was it?"

Molly almost jumped, tearing her gaze from a group of chattering women seated at one of the diner's tables. "Was what?"

"Your first day, of course!"

"Oh. Yes. It was all right. Mr. Reiniger is very nice."

"I said you'd get along with him, didn't I? What kinda work did he make ya do-easy stuff?"

"Pretty easy. I did envelopes, typed a few letters, answered the phone a lot. He made me go get his lunch and deliver some things, too."

"What'd you guys have for lunch?"

"He had some kind of pasta. I ate some tomato soup and crackers they had in the cafeteria…it was really expensive, and not nearly as good as yours."

"Good to know I'm passin' them up." Warner grinned. "What's tomato soup, by the way?"

"A splash of…uh…blood, or something?"

"Red noise." He cocked his head, frowning. "You're kinda distracted today, Molly."

"I'm okay. It's just the new job and everything. Can I ask you something?"

"Ask away."

"How long has Mr. Reiniger lead Waldgrave?"

"I think he's on his second year. Why do ya ask?"

Molly put her chin in her hand, thinking. "If he's your age, that would mean he started at…thirty-two?"

"Thirty-three."

"Isn't that really young for an executive? Aren't most of them, like…fifty?"

"Yeah. The thing about Reiniger, though, is that he's got connections all over the place. His dad's over at Acton's, his uncle runs Mendix-they make all kinds of medical stuff-and he's got friends in Caterling Logistics, Triad, even L. T. Sellick, last I heard. Not to mention the fact that he's supposedly brilliant."

Warner ran a hand through his tousled bangs. "You remember all the stuff he did, that everybody was gettin' all ticked about, don't ya? It was in the papers a while back. He bought and bought all this advertising and stuff, remodeled every last office in that building, dug 'em deep into debt. His advisors got all uppity about it, but business went up like crazy. Waldgrave's on the big shots' playing field now, and Reiniger's pretty much responsible for gettin' it there."

"Wow," Molly said. "But that doesn't sound like him. I listened to him talk on the phone, and he seemed concerned about saving money."

"Well, Waldgrave isn't doin' too well right now. Back around the time he started, it was doin' pretty good, and it had a ton of potential. I talked to him about it before-he said their products were fine, but their image wasn't great. All that spendin' was about appearances, makin' Waldgrave look all nice and neat and professional to the public."

Warner raised his arms, stretching. "Ya know, you can ask him these things. He wouldn't mind."

"He wouldn't?"

"'Course he wouldn't. Waldgrave's his favorite subject, really."

"But, it seems like…"

Molly trailed off, unsure of what she was going to say in the first place. She pictured Reiniger's face, his calm, calm smile, and the image was friendly enough, but somehow set apart from her, like a framed photograph that she dared not touch for fear of leaving smudges on the glass.

Warner saw his own contentment fade in her mirror-like eyes, the disquiet pass over her features.

"Like what?"

"I don't know," she said, shaking her head to clear it. "Nothing. You're right; I'm sure he wouldn't mind."


*


Reiniger approached her desk so quietly that afternoon, footsteps inaudible beneath the clack of the typewriter keys, that she didn't notice his presence until he bent to look at her work.

"Is that the Rollin Machining letter?"

She paused, glanced up. "Yes."

"I actually booked a meeting with them today-one of my associates notified me that their representative happened to be in town for something. I won't need to send out that letter anymore."

"Oh." Molly took the half-typed letter out of the typewriter, put a blank sheet in, and began sifting through the other handwritten pages he'd given her.

"I would like you to come to that meeting, Ms. Linville."

"When is it?"

"Two o' clock." Noting her puzzlement, Reiniger added, "I want you to be there so I can send you to fetch things. There are a lot of records Rollin may or may not want to look at, and I'm certainly not taking the whole stack into the conference room."

"Pardon me, but…if you brought it all, wouldn't you just look prepared?"

"Not prepared. Paranoid."

Molly raised an eyebrow.

Reiniger straightened up, folded his hands behind his back. "You see, Rollin has been considering going to another supplier. They are one of our largest customers, and we don't want to lose their business, but cannot lower our prices much more without falling into debt. If we appear desperate, they will try to negotiate prices, become disappointed when I make it clear that we can't go as low as they want, and very likely move to one of our competitors. If we look like we aren't so dependent on them, they won't try that, and will put more faith in our products. If you come into this sort of thing looking like you're trying to prove a case, it'll seem as though your products aren't good enough to speak for themselves-as though you have to actively convince people of their quality. And that, Ms. Linville, is a definite warning sign for a customer."

He smiled warmly. "It's all about appearances."

"How do you know all that?"

"Some of it I learned; a lot of it I figured out. It's a matter of thinking from the customer's perspective, considering what they want, what defenses they have. It's chess, in a way. You have to know what moves your opponent might try, if you want to win with most of your pieces still in play."

"You must be good at chess, then," Molly observed.

"Very," said Reiniger, still smiling.


*


The conference room table was as polished as the diner's counter, but without the scratches or wear of the former. There were ten chairs around it-four on each side, one on each end-and when Reiniger sat down across from the representative, he seemed like some sort of king, presiding over a banquet yet to be laid out.

"So," he said, holding up the one thin folder he'd brought. "Let's have another look at the contract."

Molly took the folder, walked the length of the table, and set it down in front of the representative, a gangly, bespectacled man with salt-and-pepper hair. There was silence as he squinted at the pages.

"We'd like to cut these orders," he announced, pulling out a pen and circling a column of text.

"That shouldn't be necessary."

"That model is low on our list of priorities. We've decided that part of the order isn't needed at this time."

"Perhaps I could offer you a more viable option. We have a few packages that include that model at a discount, as well as the other models you requested."

"Show me."

Reiniger nodded at Molly. She strode briskly from the room, retrieved a few other folders from his desk, and put them on the table.

She sat down in one of the empty chairs near Reiniger and half-listened to he and the representative talk. As the conversation slipped into technical specifications and concerns, her attention drifted to Reiniger's movements. He gesticulated a lot as he spoke, sometimes imitating the motion of a mechanical part, sometimes holding out his palms to convey honesty, once drawing a hand through the air in a graceful, dramatic sweep while describing economic trends.

Like an actor, she thought. His motions had that air to them, a little too careless, appearing almost as though he'd practiced them before.

He sent her out a few more times to get graphs and charts, things to support his claims when the representative showed skepticism. At one point, he asked for a packet describing the prices and products of his competitors, and read some of the data aloud.

"Trevelyan has been charging four thousand for a similar package, it seems. Probably due to rising ore costs in their region."

Molly, gazing at the packet, opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

"Could you get me a glass of water, Ms. Linville?" Reiniger asked.

She stared for another second, then left. When she came back, Reiniger was standing next to the representative, folders closed and papers stacked, with a fresh contract sitting on top of the pile.

"Thank you," he said, taking the glass from her stiff fingers and pointing at the pile. "File those away, please."

She did as she was told, putting everything back where it belonged in cabinets and on desks. Only when the bespectacled man was gone, when Reiniger was alone in the conference room with his glass and his smile, did she finally blurt out her shock.

"You lied to him! That said three thousand five hundred, not four thousand! You just, just-"

"I stretched the truth a bit. Goodness knows he was doing so as well. 'Isn't needed at this time'-riiiight, indeed…"

"You can't lie to your customers!" Molly exclaimed, then felt doubt prickle down her spine in the face of his tranquility. "…Can you?"

"Businesses do it all the time, Ms. Linville. It's simply another tactic to consider, another way to improve appearances."

Molly thought to protest, to declare him wrong, but she sensed that it wasn't her place-sensed her fingers hovering just above the glass of the picture frame, an inch away from smudging Reiniger's likeness. She stayed her hand, listened to her heart pounding in her ears as he strolled past, close enough to bump shoulders, near enough for her to catch a faint whiff of his cologne.

"Trust me," he said, and she knew she did.


*


A few days later, Molly returned from lunch to find two men waiting at Reiniger's door. This in itself was not an unusual occurrence, as Reiniger had a habit of meeting clients over lunch and people were accustomed to waiting for his return, but what was unusual was what complete opposites of each other the men were.

One was a broad-shouldered, older, heavyset man, with slicked-back hair and thick eyebrows. He had a worn, sun-baked look about him, as though he'd spent years toiling in fields, as well as an easy affability, conveyed in the lopsided grin he gave Molly upon seeing her.

The other man was young, short, pale, and sharp. Sharp in his stance, which was as straight and rigid as a statue's; sharp in his movements, the way he jerked his head around to look at Molly; and sharp in his gaze, bright eyes staring with steely intensity between dark bangs. He didn't smile, only regarded her in silent judgment, mouth drawn into a thin line.

"Glenn still out?" asked the older man.

It took a moment for her to connect the first name to Reiniger-it was the first time that she'd heard it said aloud. "Yes. He should be back shortly."

"Well, we'll hang around, then." He extended a bulky hand. "Bernard Vargas."

She shook it. "Molly Linville."

"Nice to meet ya, Molly. My associate here's Marion Szarkakov. Say hello, Mari."

"Good afternoon," said Marion, unemotionally.

"We're good friends of Glenn's," Bernard explained. "Just stoppin' by for a quick chat."

"Are you in business with Waldgrave?" inquired Molly.

"Yeah, a little bit. We're with an investment company-pretty small-time, I doubt you've heard of it. Broke off from Reyes' bank a couple years ago."

"Reyes? You mean the head of Steadfast?"

"Of course I mean him. In fact, I used to personally know Dionosio Reyes. He's a pretty decent guy. Been gettin' into some trouble recently, but still."

"Trouble?"

Bernard scratched his head. "Got some fraud cases up against Steadfast. There's some corruption in the ranks, and the blame's gonna fall on him unless he starts tattlin' on the guys responsible. It might turn into somethin' real big."

"What might become big?"

Molly and Bernard turned; Marion's cold eyes merely flickered towards the voice. Reiniger stood before them, his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

"The Steadfast suits," said Bernard.

"Oh, yes. I do hope they won't. It'd send quite a shockwave through the market, which is the last thing we need right now."

"Business been bad, eh?"

"Bad's a bit of a harsh term. It hasn't been great, though; I will say that." Reiniger withdrew a ring of keys from his pocket, unlocking his office door. "Go on inside. I'll be with you in a moment."

Bernard strode into the room, Marion following stiffly on his heels, leaving Reiniger standing in the hall with Molly.

"So, Ms. Linville," he said. "Your position as my secretary-this is only your second job, I believe?"

"Third. I worked at Welles & Co. for five months, and Otera for a very short time."

"You have been doing very well for someone without much work experience. I heard plenty about your good character from Mr. McGinnis, but nothing about how you catch onto tasks quickly, and the amount of focus and effort you put into them. I'm impressed."

Molly felt herself flush. "Thank you."

"I thought I ought to do something for you in return for your efforts. How would you like to have breakfast with me on Monday?"

"Breakfast?"

"I'm taking customers out to lunch every day next week, so breakfast is my only option. It would probably do me some good, at any rate, to have an actual breakfast for once, instead of just coffee."

"I…I think that'd be nice. Where do you want to go?"

"How about Moretti's?"

"Isn't that place really expensive?"

"Not for me." Reiniger chuckled. "And I'll pay, of course."

Something soft and light seemed to flutter inside of Molly at the prospect.

"What time should I be there?"

"Six-thirty would be best. I need a little time to prepare for the seven-fifteen call with Trommler."

"That'd be fine. Thank you so much."

"It's nothing."

Reiniger gave a casual gesture, a spin of his hand, weaving invisible thread in the air, and left her listening to her heart pound.


*


Molly wondered how anyone could eat so gracefully.

She studied the way he held the silverware, European-style, cutting the omelette into small, neat squares with effortless precision. She attempted to imitate his motions but quickly abandoned the idea, the fork and knife clumsy in her hands.

Omelette… There wasn't slang for that one, at least that she had heard of. Warner's diner, indeed, seemed a world apart from the plush seats and fine china of Moretti's, a place where the tables were candlelit, even as tentative rays of sunlight began to spill in from outside. This was the world Reiniger belonged to, and one she felt like a stranger in.

"Were you in a hurry this morning?" Reiniger asked. "You seemed out of breath."

"I was only trying to get here on time. I walked, and my apartment is four blocks away."

"Do you walk everywhere?"

"Not to Waldgrave. It's too far-I take the streetcar instead."

Reiniger took a sip of coffee, looking thoughtful. "I imagine it'd be annoying to wait for that during the winter. The streetcars don't run on time very often, do they?"

"They're usually about five minutes late." Molly forced her gaze from his hands, focusing instead on a lock of his auburn hair that had fallen out of place. "Do you ride the streetcar?"

"No, I have a car. Two, actually. A Ford and a Cadillac."

Molly blinked. "You have two?"

"Why not? I like cars. I admit that I'm not the best driver, though. I have a nasty habit of disregarding traffic lights."

"Really?"

"Oh, yes. I've gone right through intersections after the light turned red. There's a little space of time between that turning red and the adjacent light turning green, you know, so I took that window of opportunity."

"That-" Molly stumbled over her words, took a moment to right herself. "That doesn't sound like something you'd do."

"Because I'd never be that daring?"

"Yes. Sort of. I mean…I can't see you doing something like that in front of other cars."

"You mean that I'm the type to break laws in secret."

Her glance fell to her omelette, embarrassed. Reiniger didn't sound offended, however-more amused than anything else.

"Well, that may be. I assure you, though, I do have my moments of blatant criminality. One can't exercise self-control all the time."

Molly met his eyes and said nothing.

"You probably haven't broken a law in your life, have you?"

"As far as I know."

"What sort of home did you grow up in, anyway?"

She picked at her food with her fork. "My father worked on the Dering assembly line. We had a three-room apartment out by the plant."

"So you're from out of town."

"I came here to learn typing and stayed because of the jobs. There's really not many secretarial jobs out by Dering, just a few with the factory offices."

"I see. My family did a lot of traveling while I was a child-I lived in cities all across the country, and a few in Europe as well. Not the kind of lifestyle I'd recommend, as it makes it difficult to form any lasting connections. I'd have to look for a new set of friends after every move."

Reiniger craned his neck, gazing at the ceiling. "I was lonely quite a bit as a result. I remember entertaining myself for hours-we had this huge collection of books, hundreds of them, and I must have read three-quarters of that by my fifteenth birthday…"

"What kind of books did you like?" inquired Molly.

"Adventure stories, mostly. I liked mysteries as well. In recent years I've been more interested in the latter."

Reiniger caught the tentative smile starting to her lips, and remarked, "I take it you read a lot."

"I love books," she confessed. "I read a lot of fantasies, but I like mysteries too. I like all the puzzle-solving, how the little clues come together. It's so fascinating how all those small signs can tell so much."

Reiniger nodded, understanding. "I agree."

"I bet you solve the mysteries before the characters do, don't you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you…you think about the small things. Like with the man from Rollin. You figured out how his mind worked, what kind of impression just having all those papers would give him. Most people would never consider that. You're the only person I know that considers stuff like that."

"You make it sound like I'm weird."

"No," said Molly. "Not weird. Brilliant."

As soon as the word left her mouth, Molly felt a blush steal its way over her cheeks. Warner had used the word before, but she had the distinct notion that no one had ever said it to Reiniger's face. She was sure she'd done it then-gotten too close, smudged the glass.

But Reiniger only gave his picture-perfect smile.

"Thank you, Ms. Linville. Molly. May I call you Molly?"

"Yes," she said, nearly whispering.

"I appreciate the compliment, Molly. I don't get too many of those these days."

Molly couldn't imagine why.


*


Warner was tired and a little depressed, but for once, he could see none of it in Molly's eyes. Her mind was far away, off wandering in some distant plain, and the mirrors had clouded over, shining with a radiance of their own.

"What's goin' on?" Warner asked.

"Nothing. I'm just…I feel really good today."

"I thought maybe you were sick or somethin', since ya didn't show up yesterday mornin'."

"Oh," she said. "Oh, no. I was fine. Mr. Reiniger bought me breakfast."

"'Cause you're new and all?"

"Because I've been doing a good job."

"That's nice of him."

"I know. We went to Moretti's-yes, Moretti's-and had omelettes and talked about things. He's very interesting. Did you know that he reads mysteries and drives really recklessly?"

"At the same time?" Warner joked.

Molly sighed. "No, of course not."

"I do know about the drivin' bit. I drove out to a bar downtown once with him, and I swear he went fifty the whole way and almost hit a lady. Well, it was kinda the lady's fault, 'cause she was jaywalkin', but still, he must've stopped two inches from hittin' her. I'm surprised he's still got his license."

"Well, you did say he has connections, didn't you?"

Warner's features darkened. "I didn't mean those kind."

"Whatever he has, I'm-I'm happy to be working for him. This is the best job I've had."

Warner regarded her, wrinkling his brow, then said, "I'm glad you're happy."

"You don't sound happy," said Molly.

"Eh, some troublin' stuff's goin' on. I don't suppose I ever told ya about Reyes."

"Reyes? Oh, I heard about him at work. He was accused of fraud, right?"

"Yep, and it looks like he's bringin' some guys down with him. His lawyer said he's gonna give some names." Warner leaned on the counter. "The thing is, his is the biggest bank in town. If half his executives get carted off to jail, that's gonna open one heck of a can of worms. People're gonna rush on the bank; it'll probably run outta money to pay everybody, and if that happens, there's gonna be a ton of losses."

"People are going to lose their money?"

"Yeah. And that'll of course mess everything else up. If people don't have money for spendin', then they won't be eatin' here. I'll start runnin' out of cash, and so will every other company 'round here."

"So that's what Mr. Reiniger meant. He said it'd send a shockwave through the market."

"Reiniger in particular's probably shakin' in his boots over this. He's got a lot personally invested in Steadfast, ya know."

"He does?"

"Oh yeah. What, he hasn't been talkin' 'bout it?"

"No. I have typed a letter or two to the bank, but I didn't know that he had that much in it."

"Hmm."

"Well, whatever happens, I'm sure he'll get through it," stated Molly. "He's smart enough."

"Ya think so?"

"I know so."

Warner frowned, watched, and saw only buoyant optimism in her eyes, flying high above his world of mopped tiles and sizzling food. It was Reiniger's doing, he knew-the man had built her a pair of wings.

He hoped, for her sake, that those wings were sturdy.


*


Molly was on her way to the elevator, carrying a boxful of envelopes, when a hand grasped her shoulder so hard that it hurt.

She inhaled sharply, her whole frame going tense, the box nearly falling from her arms.

"Wha-!"

"I have a message for Glenn," Marion said evenly. "Tell him that I refuse to do it for a thousand."

"…I don't understand."

"My price is one thousand three hundred, and that's final. There will be no further negotiation."

His eyes were so cold, she thought, the bright irises like splintered glass. They seemed to rivet her in place, suck the warmth from her body, leave her pale and freezing. For a moment, her voice died in her throat.

"Promise me you'll tell him."

Molly shuddered, managed to stammer a reply. "I-I promise."

"I will blame you if I don't get my full payment in time."

"I'll t-talk to him right away."

Marion released his grip and regarded her silently, the way a coroner might regard a corpse-as though she were an object more than a person. Then he strode past her to the elevator, tread stiff and resolute.

She stood there for almost a minute before heading back to Reiniger's office, eyes prickling with fearful tears.

He was on the phone when she walked in, having a good-natured chat with some customer or other. She hesitated by the doorway, waiting for the color to return to her face, before approaching him.

"I apologize, but I cannot guarantee it'll reach you within two days," Reiniger was saying. "Within five days, certainly, but two-"

Seeing the look on her face, he faltered, then said, "Excuse me. I'm going to have to call you back in five minutes, if that's all right. …Yes, of course. Thank you."

He hung up the phone. "What happened? You look as though you've had an awful scare."

"Marion, he-he wants one thousand three hundred. I don't know, he just stopped me and-and-"

"Oh, Molly. Don't worry about him. He might seem frightening, but he'd never do anything to harm you."

Molly tugged on the sleeve of her blouse, revealing the edge of a large red mark on her shoulder, in the shape of short, bony fingers.

"Oh." Reiniger stepped up to her and tilted his head to examine it. "Well. I'll have to talk to him about this."

"What kind of person is he?" she whispered.

"The kind with no social skills to speak of, unfortunately. He's in a risky line of work and used to using force."

"Police work?"

"Yes. Undercover police work. Does that mark hurt much, Molly?"

"No."

It did ache a little, but she could barely feel it in the midst of her lightheadedness. Reiniger was standing close enough to set her insides aflutter, close enough that if she lifted her hand, moved it just slightly, she could brush the fabric of his suit jacket.

He moved first, gingerly touching her shoulder. His fingertips were warm, and without thinking, she took a tiny step forward. He lowered his arm, let it drape loosely around her-she put an arm around him-he closed the embrace, holding her.

Molly rested her forehead against his smooth cheek, feeling wonderful. She'd been so afraid of smudging the glass, of blurring his perfect image, but the glass was gone. The barrier between them had vanished.

"Can I call you Glenn?" she asked.

He smiled. "If you wish."


*


In good lighting, Warner thought, Reiniger always looked impeccable. It was his best weapon, after all-his cleanliness, his charm, the smile on his finely sculpted face. He knew he was handsome, sensible-looking, and he wielded it well.

In the dim light of the bar, however, with deep shadows outlining his features, Reiniger looked positively sinister.

"I'm here on business," he said. "I need some information, if you can find it."

Warner took a gulp of beer. "Sure I can find it. What is it?"

"Reyes' schedule for tomorrow."

Warner stared at him, catching the odd glint in his otherwise restful eyes. "And why do ya want it?"

"That isn't any of your concern."

"If you're up to what I think you're up to, then I'm not findin' anything for ya."

Reiniger reached into the inner pocket of his suit, withdrew something, and set it down in front of Warner. "I'm willing to give you this."

Warner glanced down. The wad of cash looked sickly green in the dimness, hardly appealing.

"I ain't interested."

"Don't you owe me, at any rate? I agreed to hire Ms. Linville for you."

"You still owe me for tons of things. I'm pretty sure that favor didn't cover all your debts. Besides, you like the girl, don't ya?"

"She's a decent person."

"That all you got to say?" Warner frowned. "She's 'decent'? She's one of the nicest, most innocent people I've ever met. And she likes ya. In fact, I think she loves ya."

"Loves me?"

"Oh, yeah. She's all walkin' on air at the thought of you these days. I tell ya, you better not start pullin' anything dangerous, not while she's in the middle of it. She doesn't deserve that."

"Now is a time for drastic action, Mr. McGinnis. I can't stand by and watch this fall apart, wreak havoc on my company. I need to take risks, for Waldgrave's sake."

"You'd better keep your hands out of it, for Molly's sake."

Reiniger glanced away. "She has nothing to do with this."

"She's all wrapped up in your dealin's, whether ya like it or not. Right smack dab in the middle of it all. You go after Reyes, she's gonna find out sooner or later."
"So what if she does?" said Reiniger, deadly calm. "She won't talk."

"Yeah, but look what ya mean to her. She finds out, it'll break her."

Warner pushed the money back at him. "And you'd be a fool to break that girl's heart."

"Why are we even discussing this? I came here to talk business, not matters of the heart."

"This ain't just business anymore. You've crossed the line, Glenn. You've got to the point where it's all mixed up and tangled with other stuff, and'll never come undone. I've gotten my hands dirty before, but I swear, I ain't soakin' them in this much blood."

"I might be very well doing you a service-doing every last company in town a service," Reiniger declared. "You do realize that."

"So what if it affects me? You're doin' it for Waldgrave, for yourself. I tell ya, I ain't bloodyin' my hands."

"Very well." Reiniger got to his feet, smile bitter. "Honestly, I expected more cooperation from you."

"I'm a man, not just a messenger," replied Warner, standing as well. "Don't ya forget that."

He walked past Reiniger, bumping against him as he made his way through the crowded bar and out the door. Silently, he slid his hand into the pocket of his coat, stowing away the ring of keys he'd snatched from Reiniger's pocket.

He hated to cause her pain, but Molly had a right to know.


*


"Mr. Reiniger is out today," said the clerk at the front desk, upon seeing Molly. "Sick, I hear."

"Sick?" Molly tried to imagine Reiniger down with illness, and found the image somehow absurd. It was like picturing an angel with the flu.

"Yes. He said you could take the day off too, if you'd like."

"That's kind of him. I'll leave in a few minutes; I just need to drop off something."

She rode the elevator to the fourteenth floor and strode to Reiniger's office, keys in one hand, an envelope in the other. Warner had apparently met with Reiniger the previous night, and picked up his keys by mistake. He'd asked for her to return them, as well as to deliver a letter-it needed to be there no later than seven, because he was passing it along from one of Reiniger's suppliers and they'd told him it was urgent.

She'd wondered what kind of urgent news it was, but of course she hadn't opened it to read it. It was meant for Reiniger, after all, and even though she typed all his replies, she wasn't really supposed to read his mail.

Molly unlocked the door and slipped inside the darkened office. She fumbled momentarily for the light switch, before realizing that Reiniger's desk lamp was on, and that two figures were standing just outside of the glow of the frosted glass.

"I'll use the river," a voice said, and Molly, recognizing it, felt her skin crawl.

Marion.

"It's the best way. I'll burn the face, then attach a few weights and sink him. If they ever do find him, more likely than not he'll be unidentifiable by that time."

"Will you need any aid?" asked Reiniger, voice eerily calm in the darkness.

"Vargas will provide it. You've done your part; we'll handle the rest."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Szarkakov."

"Thank you, Mr. Reiniger. If they knew, I bet a lot of important people would be grateful for this."

Molly walked slowly towards the voices, apprehension creeping up her spine. Her reason told her that since Reiniger was there, she ought not to be afraid; her instincts told her that something was terribly wrong with this situation, that something quite apart from business was going on, and that she ought to be scared out of her wits.

Summoning up the strength of reason, she called out, "Glenn?"

It happened in a flash. Marion jumped into the edge of the light, threw up his arm; Reiniger shouted.

"Stop!"

It registered in Molly's brain that she was staring straight into the barrel of a pistol. Marion stood pointing it at her, eyes hard crystal, fingers rigid, ready.

She couldn't move, not even as Reiniger stepped into the glow, face all tense and troubled, looking older than he ever had.

"Put it down. She isn't a threat."

"How did she get in?" Marion demanded, lowering the weapon.

"Did you take my keys, Molly?" asked Reiniger.

Molly didn't answer. "…What are you doing?"

"Business. Just business. It doesn't pertain to you."

"How can it be business, I heard-he said-"

"What did you hear?"

"Something about a, a-" She was sure she felt something snap, deep inside of her. "A murder."

Reiniger sighed. "Molly, it isn't a murder. We were talking about a criminal, someone that the world will be better off not having."

"You mean, you got Marion-you paid him to-"

Reiniger in particular's probably shakin' in his boots over this. He's got a lot personally invested in Steadfast…

Another snap, a heartstring pulling free as the clues slid into place. "Oh, God. You didn't. You couldn't have."

"Molly, dear-"

"Reyes. You had him killed."

"Trust me, Molly, it was for the common good. He would have caused many people to lose their savings."

"But you had him killed. He's dead."

"It had to happen. If I hadn't done it, someone else surely would've, and in a much crueler fashion. It was quick, painless, and the economy is much safer for it. Waldgrave is much safer for it-our jobs are safe now."

He was gazing at her, but his actor's composure was gone. He was trying his best to be calm, but his face was worried, pleading.

"I thought you were brilliant," she whispered, the tears starting to her eyes. "I thought you were a great person."

"It was necessary, Molly. I only did what was necessary."

"Is that one of your business tactics? Murdering people?"

"It was for the good of the company, of the economy."

"It's never good!" she cried. "If the bank collapsed, you would have gotten through that. You would have found a way. You didn't have to. You didn't have to do that!"

"I'm not a genius. I can't find a way to win every battle. Waldgrave's sales have been low as it is, and had I allowed that to happen, we would have gone under. I had no other choice."

"There is always another choice," said Molly, turning away.

"Wait!" Reiniger walked around the desk, held out his arms. "Please. Come here, Molly."

She didn't look at him.

"This doesn't have to involve you. Forget about the whole thing. We can move on, don't you see? We can forget this ever happened, since Waldgrave is no longer in danger, and all of this will be hidden away perfectly. Everything can go on the way it has been."

He put an arm around her shoulders. "Trust me."

I can't.

With a choked sob, she tore from his grasp and bolted for the door, the keys and blank, useless letter falling from her hands.

She ran down the hallway, barely seeing where she was going, stumbling down the stairs instead taking of the elevator. She staggered out a back door, collapsing finally on the cold sidewalk, not caring whether she'd been followed, not caring whether she was alone.

Outside, the sky was coated with snow-laden clouds, the buildings painted in the grays of faded photographs. A light breeze touched her short hair, her listless cheeks, then glided away. A couple people walked by on the other side of the street, didn't glance over.

She didn't cry, only sat there-a broken-winged bird, numbed by cold, until the first few flakes of winter began to fall.