Julie said as she leaned closer to the counter. “You think someone at rEcore sabotaged you—but, you don’t know who, how, when, or why.” Her breasts smooshed up against the bar, reminding me how much smaller, but firmer, my own were. “No, Julie,” I answered. “I don’t think someone at rEcore sabotaged me, I know it. I don’t really care how, or when—it’s who and why that’s important. Either I’m some really unfortunate, random fall-guy, or someone’s trying to destroy me, specifically. I’m not gonna sit around and do nothing waiting to find out which is the case.” Julie looked at me, took a sip from her pint glass, and forced a grin across her face. “Well, count me in… I’ll do whatever I can to help you.” “Thanks,” I smiled back before taking a drag from my own glass. Julie and I were sitting at the counter in Carson Café, in the South Side, which is where we’d first run into each other, just a few weeks ago, after not seeing each other since college.
