Living Proof, стр. 17
“Now,” Dopp said, “this slap on the wrist is nothing compared to what we could do if we happened to get a confession out of Arianna Drake about stealing EUEs.”
Trent knew he was referring to a clinic shutdown, which could happen only if the department found proof of a doctor destroying embryos for scientific research; biotech cannibalism was a felony and would entail a murder trial and an almost-certain jail sentence.
“But,” Dopp continued, “I wanted you to witness, on a smaller scale, the importance and the effect of our work. Whenever you get frustrated, remember the exhilaration of knowing that you did right, that you are defined by your conscience and not your own desires. I want you to be able to feel that, too.”
“I want to, boss,” he said, and a deep-seated admission escaped him. “I want to know my life has a meaning.” Speaking the words stung. He was aware his painful uncertainty existed, but it had been repressed, buried like a splinter.
Dopp did not respond right away, and Trent smiled uncomfortably, trying to mitigate the weight of his own words. But when he looked into Dopp’s eyes, he saw empathy.
“Your life does have meaning, Trent,” Dopp said. “The meaning is in your pledge to do whatever it takes to help others. And I know you have made that pledge, because you are here right now. If it isn’t clear to you yet, it’s because you haven’t seen the direct effect of your work. You see the data and you analyze the reports, but you’re not out there taking action. That’s why I want you to have a go at this assignment. And if you’re successful, we can talk about moving you to fieldwork permanently.”
Trent’s head snapped up. “Really?”
“You miss being a reporter, don’t you?”
He was taken aback; how did Dopp detect something he had barely admitted to himself? But it was true—he craved interacting with people and hitting the streets for a scoop, blissfully far from an office.
“Sometimes,” he allowed. “But I know my work here is more important.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be one or the other. Maybe you’re not as well suited for an office gig.”
Trent couldn’t have asked for more incentive. “I think you read me right.”
Dopp chuckled. “We may just be more alike than I thought. I understand where you’re at, son.”
The fond slip made Dopp smile; it was clear he relished his position as a mentor, something he had given up when he left the Church. They were almost back at the office, and as the car made the last turn around a corner, Trent was convinced he did not have to seek guidance from Father Paul, as his parents had suggested at brunch the day before. Everything he needed to see and hear and emulate was an arm’s length away.
“You won’t be disappointed,” he said, grabbing the door handle. “I will crack this case.” His own confidence surprised him; he wasn’t used to feeling so sure about anything. And then he realized that he did have faith in the outcome, based on the strength of his own motivation. Though he wondered briefly if that was really faith, if it was based on reason.
The car pulled up in front of their building’s towering black façade, and Trent jumped out, remembering what he had to do.
“In a hurry?” Dopp called.
“Yeah,” he said, jogging backwards on the balls of his feet. “I’ve got a book to read.”
FIVE
Trent thumbed through the last hundred pages of Dakota’s novel, barely concentrating on the words. Tonight was the night. Would he flub his approach? Would Arianna brush him off? Would she even be there?
It was late afternoon when he finished the book, a mystery with a seemingly ambiguous ending—the kind he would have enjoyed pondering if he were not so distracted.
“You’ll be in God’s hands tonight,” Dopp reassured him before he left the office.
Trent wanted to draw comfort from the words, but somehow they sounded like a preemptive excuse for whatever might happen: If you fail, it was never meant to be. The words also seemed to carry the subtext that if you succeed, it was due to God’s help, not to your own skill. Either way, he walked home feeling like a pawn of a higher force. If he did conquer the case, he wanted to believe that he was responsible for the triumph. But that was selfish, he thought, and silly. Who was he to steal credit from the Lord? And to even resent His help? Trent laughed out loud, feeling better. And then a brilliant thought clicked in his mind. To destroy his inner monster of egoism was simple: All he had to do was laugh at it.
When he reached his apartment, at Seventy-third and Columbus, his anxiety about the night was gone. He whistled as he showered, shaved and dressed, taking care to gel his unruly hair and iron a red button-down shirt. Wearing comfortable washed-out jeans and black sneakers, he felt more like himself than he ever did at work. He left for the bookstore an hour early, even though it was only seven blocks away.
But as he neared it, an unexpected sight made his heart thump: A line stretched from inside the store down Broadway, looping around Sixty-sixth Street and out of sight. Would Arianna take one look at it and decide it wasn’t worth the wait? He scanned the crowd, restlessly searching for her face as the line inched forward for a half hour.
Just as he started to convince himself that waiting in the rest of the line was a waste of time, a ringlet of black hair edged into his peripheral vision. He glanced to the right and saw the woman’s profile: It was Arianna. At first, he just stared. She was clutching the book and chatting with another woman off to the side of the line, where liter bottles of soda were arranged next to cups on