All Chapters of PERKS OF THE POSITION : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

THOMASThe tunnels beneath the St. Regis felt nothing like Manhattan.Down there, it could have been an underground military bunker. The walls were cold concrete, the air heavy with damp heat, rust, and machine oil. Every sound echoed for far too long.It was 7:15 a.m.The rain had finally stopped outside, but underground the humidity clung to my skin beneath the grease-stained mechanic's coveralls I'd stolen from a maintenance locker. My lungs burned from running. My palms were slick with sweat and oil as I tightened my grip on the bolt cutters hanging at my side.My secure tablet was gone.I'd thrown it into the Hudson hours earlier after watching my access disappear forever.Every account, every identity, every escape route…..Gone.Officially, I no longer existed.That left me with one final option.Christopher.Collins might still be out there somewhere trying to save himself, but Christopher was the only person left capable of fighting back with sheer force.If anyone could punch

VERONICA The flashbulbs hit the glass of my silver-rimmed spectacles with the high-velocity frequency of a strobe light, fracturing the grey Manhattan morning into a hundred jagged shards of white heat.It was 8:12 AM. I had just cleared the final granite step of the Columbia Law plaza, my structured charcoal trench coat buttoned precisely to my throat, my leather briefcase gripped in my right hand with a uniform, unyielding metric of pressure. The air along Amsterdam Avenue was thick with the reek of damp asphalt, cheap coffee from the media catering vans, and the raw, desperate scent of forty domestic news reporters hunting for an executive execution.They had formed a tight, suffocating semi-circle at the base of the perimeter wall, their massive camera lenses tracking my descent like a battery of artillery weapons. The microphones were thrust forward into my personal geometry, a chaotic thicket of black foam and silver wire that completely blocked my path to the idling, armor-rei

TYLERThere are offices that breathe life, and then there’s my father's Damian Valorti’s. His own office didn’t breathe, it scares the crap out of me.The curtains were too gloomy for warmth to sneak in, the carpets too thick for footsteps to make a sound, the air too stale from cigar smoke ground into polished mahogany. His desk was as big as a judge's bench, his throne elevated above his level, and his presence—my father's presence—filled the entire room with the solemnity of a cathedral where his gospel was the only law and there I was in front of him, his blood in my veins but his shadow upon me."You seem bothered," he said to me, never looking up from the glass of whiskey that sat in his hand. His voice was like that velvet one, the sort that made you forget the razorblades sewn into the fabric."I am," I said, my jaw locked in a tight square.He smiled, never looking up. "I can only hazard a guess as to why."I shifted my weight. I did not wish to be here, in this manner, but o

STEELI lit up three cigarettes on the drive back to my club, one after the other, the window cracked enough to let the smoke whip out into the night. None of them calmed me down at all. Sin walking away like I wasn’t worth a damn breath still burned a hole straight through me.By the time I parked and stomped inside, the bass from the speakers rattled the walls and the smell of liquor clung to everything like perfume gone sour. My people nodded at me, moved out of the way, like they could sense the storm rolling off me. I ignored them, heading straight for my private booth.Except someone was already sitting there.An older man, sharp suit, silver hair slicked back, posture like he owned every damn room he walked into. Adrian Morel. My uncle. I've seen enough pictures from Knox to know every single face in the Morels and this man is the shadow every whisper in this family seemed to circle back to.He was sipping whiskey like he had all the time in the world. And spread across the tab

COLLINSThe buzzing fluorescent light above my head felt louder with every passing minute. It wasn't just noise anymore. It drilled straight into my skull until I thought my head would split open.It was exactly 4:00 AM.The glowing digital clock bolted to the cinderblock wall was about the only thing the FBI had given us that actually worked. Well, that and three paper cups of lukewarm water that tasted like burnt chicory and smelled faintly of bleach.My right wrist throbbed with every heartbeat. It had swollen to twice its normal size, wrapped in a cheap bandage already stained with dried blood and seeped-through fluid. Whenever the air conditioner kicked in, icy air swept across the room and pain exploded from my wrist all the way to my elbow. Every pulse dragged me back to that island in the Bahamas, to the heavy leather boot that had crushed the bones one slow stomp at a time."Stop staring at the wall, Collins."Christopher's voice came from the corner of the holding cell where