It’s a drizzly, melancholy day, and I’m watching umbrellas float by outside like bubbles on a slow-moving stream.
I’m in Bygones, the pub across the street from Ruskin House, the philanthropic organization where I work.
My friend, Jake, shakes his head in awe. “What’s an Osgoode lawyer doing working in a small burg like this, for a non-profit?”
I smile and shrug. “I was drafted.”
He scowls at my flippant reply. “Say, what happened to the Grant Preston I knew in law school—you know, the hipster who’d answer, Hell no—I won’t go. Did somebody take him captive?”
“Maybe he just grew up, Jake.”
“I think it’s more like somebody has him enthralled.”
I arch an eyebrow, but he smirks and points through the bleary pane to the yellow window squares of Ruskin House. Jeannie Church, the secretary, is framed in the windows adjusting the blinds.
He sighs wistfully, “O, she could teach the torches to burn bright.”
The mere glimpse of her lovely face saddens me—I’ve tried everything to make her like me—all to no avail.
Jake sees my sad expression and turns serious. “That bad, huh? Guess you struck out big time with her. Sorry, Pal.”
“I just don’t get it, Jake. I’ve never met a woman so cold and distant. It’s as if she took an instant dislike to me the moment she met me. Nothing I do or say can thaw her icy reserve.”
“So, why are you still there? It can’t be the ambience—that building’s at least a century old and you’re boss is kind of dreary too.”
“Mr. New? Naw, he’s all right. He’s a kind man, and it’s strange because his warmth drew me to Ruskin House in the first place. I wasn’t planning on working pro bono, but somehow the place just melted my heart. He hired me because he said he saw a light in me—and I believed him. And, he offered me the same salary I’d receive at a big firm.”
Jake looked perplexed. “No kidding! —Well, how do they do it—where’s the money coming from?”
“Mr. New simply says it’s a trust fund set up by a wealthy benefactor.”
“Man, that’s really odd—you don’t often hear of that.”
“That’s not all that’s odd. He’s got a silent partner I’ve never met. He has an office next door to ours and he never comes out. In my six months with the foundation, I’ve never seen him enter or leave. If Alfred needs to consult, he buzzes him on the intercom, and the partner’s door clicks open, and he goes in.”
Jakes eyes are wide. “Wow! That’s really spooky.”
The wall clock chimes the hour–my signal that it’s time to get back to the grind.
“Thanks for dropping by for lunch,” I say, getting to my feet, “—let’s get together on the weekend—maybe catch a Jay’s game.”
“Sounds like a plan. And oh, if I were you, I’d forget about that secretary, Pal—they say it’s gonna be a long, cold winter—and you won’t need any more frostiness.”
I laugh and clap him on the shoulder, but inside, I’m grim. I’ve been thinking the same thing.
Back at Ruskin House the day goes from bleak to bad. “You’re retiring—how am I going to run things without you, Mr. New? I’m just getting my feet wet.”
“Now, now, Grant—you’ll be fine. If I didn’t have confidence in you, I would never have hired you. Besides, you’ll have Jeannie here to assist you.”
I glance over at Jeannie’s inscrutable face and feel panic rising inside me. The girl won’t even acknowledge my existence—how can this possibly work?
The old gentleman senses my anxiety and gently ushers me into his office.
“Look, Grant—I’m not abandoning you entirely. I have a silent partner, Anthony—if you need help, he’ll bail you out.”
“But I haven’t even met him and how will I get in touch with him?”
“You won’t, my boy—he’ll get in touch with you.”
“But how will he know I’m in trouble?”
“Ha ha—don’t worry, son. Anthony always knows.”
He puts on his overcoat and hat, smiles goodbye and is out the door.
I slump down in his chair—now mine, and ponder my fate.
Jeannie is blithely typing at the ancient Smith Corona, as unfazed by Alfred's departure as my succeeding in his place.
The next week is incredibly awkward. I ask Jeannie a question only to get a short, staccato response.
Hours go by and the only sound I hear is the ticking of the Regulator wall clock and the interminable clacking of her typewriter keys.
I get to the point where I can take it no longer. I resolve to hand in my notice at the end of the day.
No sooner do I resolve the matter in my head, than I hear the door to Anthony’s office click open.
Jeannie’s at my door. “Mr. Ashley Cooper would like a word with you, Mr. Preston.”
“And I with him,” I growl, thinking it the perfect time to vent my frustrations.
Her eyes grow huge, but she says nothing.
I stride out of my office and enter the partner’s den—and stop dead in my tracks.
The office is an elegant oak-paneled study with bookshelves lining one wall and a magnificent fireplace occupying the other.
Anthony is sitting in a high-backed leather wing chair by the fire.
“Sit down, Grant,” he smiles and motions me to another high-backed chair facing his.
I’m taken aback and sit down in a daze.
“I’m sorry to see you’re disconsolate and ready to leave, Grant—Alfred would be sad to hear that.”
“How do you know that?” I croak. It’s odd, but I feel intimidated by his presence.
“Oh, I know a lot of things about you, Grant—in mid-sentence, he breaks off and calls out, “that will be all, Jeannie.”
The door clicks shut and merges seamlessly with the oak paneling.
My eyes grow wide. Reflexively, I grip the arms of the chair.
“No need to be afraid, Grant. I’m sure you’ve noticed by now I cast no shadow. So, now you know—I’m not merely a shadow partner, but a phantom one as well.”
A tingle of fear sends icy chills up my spine. I feel my skin start to crawl.
Boredom has been supplanted by terror.
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