“No!” Her voice cracks. “I mean, yes, I approached you because they told me to. And yes, I recommended you for the job at Akopov because they wanted you there. But Row, somewhere along the way, I forgot I was being paid to be your friend.”
“It’s the truth.” Her eyes fill with tears. “Remember when you caught the flu during finals week senior year? I stayed up all night making you soup and quizzing you for exams. That wasn’t for them. That was for you.”
I do remember. Natalie had camped out on my dorm room floor for three days, force-feeding me Tylenol and chicken soup.
“Who was paying you?” I demand, though I already know.
“I never met him directly. Not until after you were married.” She twists her hands in her lap. “I reported to an intermediary. A man named Arkady.”
The pieces click
