I think about this for a moment, trying to conjure up the memories. Nick left Sasha behind to go do Nick stuff and she called me to pick her up from a hotel room in Wyoming. She was like thirteen when all this went down. But she was pissed off about the Company assassinating her father and grandparents, so there was no way to stop her once she got her mind on murder.
“It was Adam, Merc. He delivered me the drug lords.”
“He delivered you…” I pause to think. “That Matias guy?” The moment that name comes out of my mouth I regret it. Because he’s the man who took Nick Tate. He’s the man who crushed Sasha’s whole world when she was just thirteen years old. He’s the reason she had to shoot Nick in the head nine years ago. He’s the reason she’s broken.
And I don’t care how happy she is with Jax—and she is happy. She won. And every day she thanks her God for what she has left. But when you have to shoot your best friend in the head to change the world, you don’t get over that. Ever.
That’s the whole problem with breaking things.
You either have to put them back together or throw them away.
When you survive an event like the Santa Barbara massacre you don’t get to throw yourself away. You have to just suck it up and put it back together. And no matter how well you match up those pieces—even if the thing you broke still functions—it’s just never the same again. But when you have to metaphorically kill yourself to save the rest of us, what’s left isn’t broken. It’s destroyed.
Sasha lets out a long breath. It’s packed with weariness. “It’s an old debt. But it’s a real one, Merc. I owe him. If I didn’t feel some kind of genuine obligation, I wouldn’t even bother you. I would just tell him no.”
“But you don’t want to tell him no, do you?”
She shakes her head. “I want to do this for him. I liked Donovan. And yeah, I was just a dumb kid back then so what did I know about it? But we’ve lost enough loved ones, don’t you think? Yes, the Company is still around, but none of those old-school assholes are alive. Adam had something to do with that. He helped get rid of them.”
“And then he took over. Don’t you think that’s a little opportunistic?”
“Of course. But someone has to run things. The Company isn’t going away. People are greedy, Merc. They want shit. And some of these fuckers are not only greedy, but evil enough to do whatever it takes to get their money. Adam isn’t like that. He doesn’t care about money. He doesn’t want more, he wants less. He wants to be left alone, but that’s never gonna happen. And trust me when I say this, when you’ve got an organization like the Company that needs leadership, you want a man with no ambition in charge of it. We could do a lot worse than Adam Boucher.”
I let out a long weary breath too. She already knows I’m going to do this. I would never tell Sasha no. If she comes to me looking for help it’s because she needs that help. For whatever reason, she needs to save this Donovan guy.
“There’s something else,” Sasha says.
I turn back to her.
She takes off her sunglasses to look me in the eyes for this part. “Adam said something to me when we talked on the phone and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
“What’d he say?”
“He said… if I help him, he will give me a secret. But I need to be very, very sure I want that secret. Because…” She shrugs. “I dunno.”
“It’s something bad?” I ask.
“Of course it’s bad.” She scoffs. “But he didn’t have to say that to me. Ya know? He didn’t have to and he did.”
“So he wants to tell you the secret, but he doesn’t want to be responsible for the fallout.”
“Exactly.”
“And even though you know damn well you should let this go, you can’t.”
“I can’t,” she admits.
“What do you think it is?”
Her eyes go distant for a moment. Like she’s picturing something in her head. Then they refocus on me. “I think it’s Nick.”
“What do you mean?”
“I think it has something to do with Nick.”
“But why do you say that?”
“Because he’s the only one who could ever hurt me. And whatever secret Adam has, it’s going to hurt me.”
I consider this in silence for a moment. Nick Tate. He’s the Ghost of Company Past. The sacrifice so that we could live these good, calm, easy poolside lives.
I’ve heard rumors over the years too. Rather, I’ve seen rumors. There’s a chat board where guys like me like to hang out to get news of things most people don’t want to talk about. It’s the details. The behind-the-scenes kinda shit. The up-close-and-personal.
Hell, most people don’t even want to know about ordinary stuff. They want to live their lives. They want to work their jobs. They want to raise their kids. They want to eat out at restaurants, they want to watch live bands, and stream TV, and go on socials. They want to take vacations, and make plans for the future.
They do not want to know what the people who run this world are doing to it. They don’t even wanna know what those people think of them.
That’s all inside baseball, as they say. It’s minutiae. Detailed inner workings that affect almost no one directly, so almost no one cares about it.
But the people who hang out on this chat board are the definition of inside baseball. And these guys on the board—it’s all anonymous. You’re not allowed to have a name on these platforms. You’re no one. Or rather, you are what you post. If you post bullshit, you’re full of shit. If you post new facts, you’re a good digger. But if you can draw straight lines between things across weeks, or months, or better yet, decades? You don’t need a name to get respect. You’ve got rank. For an hour or two, at least.
I’ve toned my participation down a lot over the years. Sometimes I only visit the boards once a month. But when shit happens, I’m on there dozens of times a day trying to put the pieces together just like everyone else.
There was an incident a couple years ago that got a lot of attention on the boards so I made it a point to lurk. The incident was actually the sudden death of hundreds of elites. Billionaires and their entire families suddenly died. Not all the same way. At least, that’s not how it was reported. Some of them suicided. Some of them were in a plane crash, boat crash, weird hiking incident. Others died of an illness. How they died didn’t matter because it was all lies. The point was—they were dead. Entire families just wiped out. The board called this operation the Purge. And it had Company written all over it so I was following every fucking detail back then. Over the years I lost interest in the board, but I kept up my diligent lurking. And it paid off a few months back when his name suddenly popped up.
Nick Tate.
Back when he was killed—rather, back when Sasha killed him—there was a lot of chatter about us. All of us. Even me. But it died down to an almost imperceptible whimper because all that happened almost a decade ago now.
But then, during the Purge, there he was. And the people on this board, maybe they didn’t know him, but they knew of him. And they were intrigued.
It should go without saying that grabbing the attention of anonymous posters on a board like this is a bad thing.