In Bad Faith

Chapter 9

Quietly, I helped Misha pick up a few of the remaining notes that the attendees of his presentation left behind, as I stacked them and then handed them over to him again. The contrast between him and me this Monday morning could not be bigger compared to everything that had happened Friday night, as he completely went back to being his distant self, if not worse. I wondered if he even remembered much of it since he had been really intoxicated, but his evasive attitude told me that he most likely did. Maybe he realized he crossed some of the boundaries he set for himself, as he said some things I was sure he didn't plan on saying, or maybe he was ashamed of the way he had let the alcohol get the best of him. 

I couldn't help but wonder if this was just something he did, and why he did it. The excessive drinking, the drunk driving.. I almost couldn't imagine. Misha seemed to be a careful and strict man that seemed to calculate every move he made, so this just seemed really out of the ordinary for him.

I thought a lot about the whole ordeal over the weekend. I spent hours writing my report about it to show Floyd during our next meeting, and I pondered how I was going to approach the situation from this point on. And as Misha seemed unwilling to talk about it right now, I decided to give him a little space to not scare him away completely. Because once he would get the feeling that I was a threat to him or that I knew too much, this whole mission could be done for. I would simply be fired.

"I think that's it," I softly spoke as I turned off the interactive beamer he had used to support his presentation, after which I turned around to look at him. There were no notes or documents lying around anymore, everything was turned off, and Misha had taken it upon himself to put his laptop back into his bag. "That's it," he confirmed, and nodded towards the door as a sign that we could leave. As I followed him out of the room, I turned off the lights and closed the door behind me, to then follow him to the elevator. It was quiet in the halls of this floor. A silence that seemed to make the elephant in the room even more apparent, but at the same time a silence that none of us decided to break.

Slowly the elevator doors slid open to reveal that it was completely empty. Great, more silence, in an even more confined space. And what made this moment even more awkward, almost cliché even, was that we tried to press the button of the fourth floor at the same time, making our hands slightly touch. I tried to laugh it off by chuckling softly, which made it even more awkward, as Misha eventually pressed the button saying - again - nothing. And then we just stood there, in silence. Why could I feel his presence so strongly, and why did this man have the power to make it so hard for me to stay in character?

"You've been really helpful, Nadya. Thank you for that," Misha's voice suddenly sounded, and the way he said it almost made it seem as if it was difficult for him to say. Yet again, I was shocked. I didn't do my job any differently than I did before this weekend, not to mention this was the first time he thanked me for anything work-related. So I couldn't help but wonder if he was also referring to me helping him this Friday night. Because we both knew that if he would've actually driven home, he might have not even been here right now.

I looked up at him and gave him a slight smile. "That's what you hired me for, right?" I said, as he also turned his head and our eyes met. "Well, technically, I didn't even want to hire you.. Miss Porter did," he murmured, but the way his lips curled up into a slight grin told me he was trying to make light of the situation. I couldn't help but grin back at him, as my gaze fell upon the doors of the elevator that slowly started to slide open again.

Before Misha exited, he took a look at his watch, after which he seemed to remember something important. "Why don't you go grab lunch early today? I need to make some phone calls," he said, as he took a few steps forward to prevent the elevator doors from closing as I was still standing in the same spot. Since I just checked the time before we left the conference room, I knew that I would be about twenty minutes early. But as I was pretty hungry already I would definitely not mind. "Sure, do you want me to bring you something?" I asked him, at which he shook his head. "No. I'd appreciate it if you could not disturb me in the coming hour though," he answered curtly as he looked at me. "Eh, yeah. Sure," I nodded. I had no idea what for, but it was obvious the 'phone calls' he was going to make were very private, and probably illegal. But I didn't argue. Misha gave me one last confirming nod, after which he turned around to make his way to the office.

_

And so I did. I went to the canteen to grab myself a tray of lunch, after which gazed around the still pretty empty space. There were a few people eating and working on their laptops, but compared to how busy it would be in about fifteen minutes, this was nothing. Just as I set my sights on an empty table where I could enjoy my lunch in peace before most of my colleagues would come down to eat, my eyes fell on Macy, eating a sandwich and at the same time diligently typing on her laptop. And although I could really use this brief moment of nothing, I started walking up to her. The thing about Misha and his parents was stuck in my mind ever since that conversation, and I knew Macy was just the right person to ask.

"Macy," I smiled as I approached her. She looked up at me, still chewing her sandwich. "Hm," she mumbled, after which she beckoned me to come to sit with her. I put my tray down on the table, and took place on the seat across from her. "Sorry, hi!" she smiled after she emptied her mouth. This woman seemed to be cheerful every time I saw her. "How are you?" she followed.

"I'm good, busy, but good," I said, after which she smiled at me again. "Good to hear, same," she answered, as she gestured to her laptop. Meanwhile, I knew I had to cut to the chase, since the thing I wanted to ask her wasn't really a subject to discuss at a table full of other colleagues. "Macy, it feels a little weird to ask you this out of the blue, but are Mr. Zaveri's parents dead?" I spoke a little quieter than I just spoke, after which I saw Macy's eyes widen a little. She did obviously not expect this question, which was completely understandable.

"Who told you about his parents?" she spoke quietly, almost whispering, while she looked me straight in the eyes. "Nobody. I thought I overheard him say something, and it made me wonder," I answered. Macy looked around as if she wanted to check if no one was listening, after which she looked back at me again. "They are not dead. Apparently he spent his whole life moving between foster homes," she spoke, as my astonishment grew larger by the second. Of course she didn't even hesitate about telling me this. "What?" I asked her, genuinely surprised, hoping that she would tell me more about this, because this was very important information. "Yeah, he was a foundling. Apparently left at the Boston train station right after he was born," she explained, and immediately felt my stomach drop. That's harsh.

I looked at Macy in disbelief, and for a brief moment I did not know what to say. If this was true, it explained a lot about why Misha was as messed up as he was. But still, there was no excuse good enough to justify being a criminal. I had to keep telling myself that, because this job left no room for pity. "You could even find old articles about it if you looked online, but they are not tied to him. He doesn't want the press to find out," Macy continued. "So don't tell him that I told you this. Better yet, don't tell anyone." she quietly but sternly followed. Little did she know, my whole team would be knowing about this by next week.  "Oh, no. Of course, I won't. I'm just a little shocked, actually," I told her, as she nodded softly. "I know, right?" she said, after which she took another bite of her sandwich.

This was huge. So Zaveri was not even his family name. At least, not his real family. I was dying to ask Macy if she knew more about this, but I didn't want to push it. It was probably best if I would just break this to my team and maybe even do a little research myself, if I could find the time.

I softly sighed, as I averted my gaze to the still untouched food on my tray. And I couldn't help but wonder. Did my words cause Misha's erratic behavior last Friday night? I almost felt guilty for bringing up his parents, but I knew I had to find a way to get rid of these useless feelings. Hearing about his parents almost made me feel as if I had some sort of connection with him. I didn't, because he was my target, and I was here to get him locked up for the rest of his life, but still. It was a feeling that I couldn't fully suppress.