Page 92 of Made for You
“Hello?” says Ally.
“It’s me,” I say, putting her on speakerphone.
“Julia!” Her normally bright voice is a little croaky. “Okay. I’ve just pulled an all-nighter, so I hope at least something I found is helpful. Honestly, I’m not sure if it will be. It’s surprisingly difficult to find anything on Andy Wekstein, which tells me he scrubbed the internet at some point. Not just for himself, but his immediate family as well.”
“That sounds suspicious,” I say, pulling a motel notepad and pen off the nightstand.
“Not necessarily. A lot of high-profile people do it. Alright. You ready?”
“Shoot,” I say, uncapping the cheap pen and trying to ignore the steadily increasing volume of my physical pain.
“I’ll start with brief backgrounds. Let’s see—Eden Grace Jeliazkova. Twenty-six. Raised by her grandparents, mother deceased, father lives in New Jersey. She doesn’t appear to have contact with him. She attended Caltech. Founded a student group called No Woman Harmed, organized a couple marches to build awareness around violence against women. Never graduated. Interned for WekTech the summer after her junior year, got hired on full-time right away. Worked on project JULIA alongside Andy.” Ally pauses after this lightning-fast delivery. “At that time, she was the second-highest-paid person at WekTech.”
“Wait—second-highest-paid? Are you sure?” The emo, overall-wearing, weed-smoking sweetheart who sends me adorable selfies with Annaleigh? Even though Andy told me she was super smart, it still feels like being told the kid with the lemonade stand is also running a Fortune 500 company.
“Yes.”
I frantically scribble notes. “And she’s still on payroll?”
“Correct.”
“What’s she doing in Eauverte?”
“I’m not sure. But girl has done her taxes, and WekTech is definitely her employer.”
I rub my forehead. “Wow. This is a lot.”
“Ready for Andy?”
“Go ahead.”
“Full name, Andrew Leonard Wekstein, thirty-seven. Born in Des Moines. Undergrad at Indiana University, accelerated PhD at Carnegie Mellon. Obviously, the founder of WekTech. Parents, still alive as far as we can tell, though like I said, it was very hard to find any information about them. Sister, Laura Wekstein, deceased. He built Wekstein Memorial on IU’s campus in her memory. There’s a small statue of her out front. Let’s see... Oh! You might find this interesting. Through WekTech, Andy has donated millions of dollars to mental health organizations that specialize in suicide prevention. He’s also donated substantial amounts to local women’s shelters in the Los Angeles area.”
Well, there’s one interesting connection between Andy and Eden, besides their interest in robotics: an interest in violence against women.
My skin prickles with awful possibilities. Did Andy and Eden know Josh’s propensities before making me for him? Or is it just some horrible irony that they designed me for a man with anger problems?
“I’m happy to dig deeper on any of this,” says Ally.
“Thank you. I really do appreciate your help,” I say as my eyes run up and down my notes. I stop at Laura W and slowly underline her name. I remember her wistful statue, like she was reaching for a sky she could never touch. “Can I ask, how did Laura Wekstein die? And how old was she?”
“Twenty-one. I couldn’t find anything about her cause of death, though. Not even an obituary. Andy might’ve scrubbed that. If you give me more time...”
“What did she look like?” The bronze statue’s features weren’t that defined. I’ve been imagining a short girl with curly dark hair like Andy. But a different idea is blossoming.
“I only found one picture of her, and it’s black-and-white,” says Ally. “But her coloring seems lighter than Andy’s. Maybe brown hair, or even dark blond?”
“What about red?” I feel like I’m teetering on a precipice. If Andy killing Josh to defend me was dark, this whiff of an idea is even darker. There’s a sharp pain in my thigh. Ah—I’ve been digging my nails through the thin material of my leggings. The second I lift my nails, the pain in my ankle and chest goes poker hot, like pain is sitting on both sides of a seesaw. I grit my teeth. “Could she have been a redhead?”
“Maybe...”
“You have Facebook, right?” I say.
“Sure do.”
“Look up Laura Pine. It’s a memorial page.”
“Okay, I think I found it,” says Ally after a while.