Long Way Down Read Online Free PDF

bioengineering, was being investigated, and might soon be charged with a single count of insider trading. It appeared that Haley had sold short the company stock, using an offshore bank, just before the board voted to announce the damaging news that the strain of algae the company was working on had been wiped out in a laboratory crash die-off. While this had happened before, and was a constant risk in this area of research, the board members were concerned that regulators might view silence as akin to fraud this close to a final-product rollout. Haley had repurchased the shares after the expected sell-off, and, in fact, the stock price had since recovered to its earlier level.
    “Virgil, this sounds pretty open-and-shut to me. Can they tie him to the trade?”
    “Mr. Haley claims that he did not do it.”
    ACCUSED SUSPECT CLAIMS INNOCENCE!
    It was a headline ready-made for the
Onion
.
    “Why does the firm care? Or is Haley a special friend of yours?”
    Virgil made a steeple of his hands and tapped his index fingers together. I knew him well enough to know that was how he expressed great agitation. “The firm owns a substantial position of special nonvoting shares. A scandal could prove to be dangerously expensive for us. And, yes, Philip is a valued client. We have worked together through his first IPO, the subsequent sale of that company, and the creation of Arinna. And he has stood by me through the disaster my father brought down and the subsequent restructuring of the firm. I would like to see him cleared.”
    “I’ll make some calls.”

5
    T he Kid and I were finishing dinner. I had given his shadow, Heather, the evening off. Heather was a PhD candidate in psychology at Columbia, specializing in young children on the autism spectrum. The Kid and I trusted her implicitly. Someday she was going to finish her dissertation and venture out and get a more rewarding job, a thought that left me gasping in terror whenever I let myself dwell on the subject.
    Skeli had a late meeting with the contractor and the designer, and I was enjoying having my son to myself for a bit. The Kid had his current favorite five cars lined up in front of him and his pencil and drawing pad near at hand. He wasn’t supposed to draw until he finished eating, but I wasn’t a tyrant about it. I had my laptop, which I wasn’t allowed to touch until we had both finished eating. But the Kid wasn’t a tyrant, either.
    “How’s the grilled cheese?” I said.
    He looked down at his plate. Half the sandwich was gone, eaten all the way to the crusts, so that an uneven strip of toasted bread remained like a ribbon with crumbs.
    He nodded once. Good.
    “Eat some zucchini, too. Temple Grandin got where she is today by eating zucchini.”
    He squinted and wrinkled his forehead. He did not get it.
    “That was a joke,” I said. According to her memoir, she never ate anything but yogurt and Jell-O.
    He took a tiny morsel of zucchini, chewed thoroughly, and swallowed it.
    “Knock, knock,” he said in his usual flat tone. His voice had lost much of the rasp it once had. He spoke more often and he no longer sounded as though it hurt when he talked.
    “Who’s there?”
    They had been working on humor at school. They approached the subject as with most things—logic and necessity. Humans—NTs (neurotypicals)—engaged in this activity, therefore the students should learn about it. The Kid now knew three jokes. He could tell them over and over, never laughing himself. If I didn’t laugh, he would become frustrated and angry. If I laughed too loud, he slapped his hands over his ears. I had negotiated a deal. No more than one joke at a time and no more than three repeats. And a chuckle counted as a laugh. So far it was working. Sort of.
    “Mary.”
    “Mary who?” I said.
    “Mary Christmas.” Most budding comedians would have highlighted the punch line. Given it a little extra emphasis. Not my guy. It came out in the same monotone he almost always