Solar Flares & Tax Snares

by Rachel Ford

  He went back and forth in his mind on the topic for a few moments. Then he pinged Caspersen via the office chat system. “Any word from the PD about the hitman?”

  She typed back, “Nothing. They don’t even have his name yet. His ID’s – he had ten different sets – are all fake. No match to known fingerprints. The guy’s a ghost.”

  “What about the plea deal?”

  “He’s not biting yet. Harlow things letting him sweat for a bit will help.”

  “Do you?”

  Here, Caspersen typed, erased, and typed a message half a dozen times. Finally, she said, “We’ll see.”

  Which decided the taxman. Dianne Godsey’s and Rodriguez’s other killer was still out there, still free and clear. The man, or woman, really responsible for their deaths hadn’t been apprehended. And that was unacceptable. Justice had to be done.

  So Alfred typed in the full search string and sorted through the records that came up. There wasn’t much on Liberty and Freedom PAC. A website landing page declared them to be a political action committee intent on preserving the liberties and freedoms of average Americans. How, and what liberties and freedoms, they didn’t explain. They didn’t even have a pitch for donations.

  Which surprised Alfred a little. Wouldn’t a super PAC that spent a million dollars a year on consulting want to raise money somehow?

  He browsed to another site, this one a non-partisan campaign finance tracking database. Here, he learned that the PAC had only two donors. The first was a now defunct political nonprofit of the same name that had donated exactly a quarter of a million dollars a month before the first payment to Donaldson; and the second was a still active nonprofit that donated various sums of money at semi-regular intervals.

  This led Alfred on a bit of a goose chase, but between his own IRS databases and the web, he was able to get his hands on the name of the group that funded those two nonprofits. It was the same entity, another nonprofit whose name evoked patriotic intent.

  The chain didn’t end here, though. Alfred had to go through four different layers of non-profits before he got anywhere near a person’s name, when he reached a non-profit called the Rebecca Dalton Preservation of Liberty Trust.

  Alfred frowned. There was something familiar about that name, he thought, but he couldn’t quite place it. So he kept digging. The RDPLT awarded funds to many beneficiaries. But it had only one donor: Abe Dalton.

  Which, of course, is where the taxman had heard the name before: it was the name of Governor Hitt’s primary opponent. He remembered Director Caspersen talking about the race.

  Abe Dalton was considered the shoo-in. He had the party’s backing, and all the right ties.

  He stared at the contributions, regular as clockwork: one quarter of a million dollars, four times a year. Consulting fees.

  What was it Caspersen had said about his exit from the race?

  Then Dalton had that health scare – you remember? Anyway, he stepped out of the race about a week before the primary.

  The taxman turned back to Google, and put in, “Abe Dalton health scare.”

  He clicked on the top result: “Billionaire Gubernatorial Front Runner Leaves Race.” The article contained a picture of a reasonably handsome, somewhat smarmy middle-aged man in a flannel shirt, with a caption crediting the photo to his campaign. Alfred studied the man for a moment, and then scrolled on to read.

  “In a short letter to his supporters released this morning, Abe Dalton announced he was withdrawing from the gubernatorial race.

  “‘It has been my deepest honor to earn your trust and your votes. But in light of a recent cardiac scare, and on the advice of my physicians, I must do the responsible thing and step aside. There are many bright, brilliant voices running for this office, and I know we will be well-served by any of them.’”

  The article went on to note that though he praised all the candidates in general terms, Dalton did note that he would be casting his ballot for Hitt and encouraged his supporters to do the same.

  Alfred brought up a dozen more articles on the topic and found no more details than the first. A cardiac scare and the advice of Dalton’s doctors was mentioned, but nothing further.

  The taxman stared at his screen, tapping his fingers distractedly. Something about this felt off to him. Dalton had run a campaign until the very final days of the primary, and then abruptly dropped out. That was weird. But to start paying Hitt’s hatchet man a million bucks a year directly afterward? And for consulting fees? Dalton had just sabotaged his political career. He’d walked away from an almost certain victory.

  So what would he need to consult his ex-rival’s political adviser and mudslinger about?

  Alfred went back to his search window, and this time put in Dalton’s name and nothing else. He got a lot of the same results, and others detailing Dalton’s early days as the front runner in the gubernatorial primary. Further back, he found articles about his announcement to run.

  But about halfway down the second page of results, Alfred paused on a headline: “Billionaire’s wife dies in tragic boating mishap.”

  The article told the story of Rebecca Dalton’s death ten years earlier. The forty-two year old had allegedly slipped and fallen overboard in a late October cruise on Lake Michigan. Abe had jumped in after her but hadn’t been able to get to her before the icy water swallowed her up. Her body had never been recovered, and he’d been hospitalized for exposure to the water and shock.

  “Son-of-a-biscuit,” the taxman said. “It was blackmail.”

  It was all speculation, of course. At least, until Chief Harlow started dropping Dalton’s name, and mentioning the dead Rebecca, and talking about the assassin’s chance for a plea bargain evaporating.

  Then they got the full story from the hitman; and by late afternoon, Nancy and the police department IT team had cracked Donaldson’s passwords, and got their hands on the dead man’s evidence too.

  Ten years ago, Rebecca Dalton caught her husband cheating on her. She’d threatened to divorce him, but he decided that a divorce would damage both his political aspirations and his bottom line. Murder was the simplest, cheapest route to go. So he convinced Rebecca to give their marriage another try. He took her on a second honeymoon on Lake Michigan – and drowned her in the frigid October waters.

  He’d jumped in himself to give his story credence and established a foundation in her honor. And married the mistress two years later.

  All of which Fred Donaldson had uncovered three and a half years ago, when then candidate Hitt was running against the billionaire. Donaldson had used the murder as leverage to get the frontrunner to drop out and endorse his client.

  But then Donaldson had got greedy. He’d figured he needed a little something extra for himself out of all of it. And what was a million dollars a year to a billionaire, anyway?

  Enough to kill, several times over, as it happened. Dalton hired the hitman, who identified himself as Ray Blake. Harlow wasn’t convinced that was his real name, but that was immaterial to the taxman. For his purposes, it was enough to know that Dalton had employed him to kill Donaldson.

  During his reconnaissance, Blake stumbled onto the IRS investigation. He’d followed Rodriguez to his meeting with Dianne, and though the secretary hadn’t known much, he’d deemed her a threat. Dalton had gone one further and ordered him to take out the two IRS agents on the case as well.

  As for Donaldson’s evidence about the death of Rebecca Dalton, the dead man had – doubtless through illegal means – got his hands on a secret email account Dalton used. He had two dozen missives between Abe and his mistress-turned-second wife, referencing Rebecca’s death – months before it actually happened.

  That, then, was that. Justice would be served – not just for Dianne and Rodriguez, but for Rebecca too, a decade after the fact.

  The taxman and Nancy celebrated with a quiet dinner at home. They took their time eating and wandered into the living room with the idea of seeing television. “I can’t
believe it,” she said. “It’s the first time all week we can actually relax.”

  Which was precisely the moment Alfred remembered his application, and that it was due at midnight.

  That, of course, derailed their plans of a quiet night. On the contrary, he set to work immediately, and she did what she could to aid him – offering advice when he needed it, and a steady stream of coffee in between.

  The taxman made the deadline with five minutes to spare. Then they both, bleary-eyed and exhausted, stumbled into bed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Justin was waiting for Alfred when he got into work the next morning, with a loud, “Freddo!”

  “Alfred. I don’t do nicknames.”

  “So, you get your application in?”

  “What?”

  “You know. I know you’re throwing your hat into the ring. I mean, I know you like to do the double-o-seven, secret agent man schtick, playing your cards close to the vest and all that. But…” He shrugged. “You’re kinda transparent.”

  Alfred stared at him. “Justin, I’ve only had one cup of coffee so far. If you’re going to talk gibberish, you’re going to have to wait until I’ve got a lot more than that in me.”

  “The deadline, for Dixon’s job: it was last night.”

  “Oh. That.”

  “Yeah. You make it?”

  “Make what?”

  “The deadline.”

  Alfred snorted. “Of course.”

  Justin smirked. “I can see that. You were probably the first kid in class to get their assignments in, right?” He shook his head. “That just shows ‘em you’re desperate.”

  Alfred thought about his application, and the timestamp it would carry: five minutes to the hour. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”

  Justin shrugged. “I mean, it’s not going to make any difference. Between you and me, Freddie? I got this in the bag.”

  “You mentioned that already.”

  If the other man noticed the dryness of his tone, it didn’t make any difference. He just nodded. “That whole thing with the committee? It really showed me, nothing is beyond my grasp. I just need to stop asking permission. If I want something, I need to reach out and take it, you know? ‘Good things come to those who wait’ is bullshit passivism. ‘Seize the day.’ That’s my motto.”

  “Sounds…great. Good luck.”

  “Yeah, and don’t take it too hard, you know? Better luck next time and all that. And anyway, now that Rodriguez bought the farm, they’ll be hiring out his spot soon. They’ll have to. Who knows…we may end up partners.”

  Alfred figured he’d rather jump into an active volcano face first. But he forced a, “Yeah, that’d be great. But I really do have a lot of work to do…”

  This seemed to get the point across. So, making a clicking sound effect to accompany the finger guns he flashed, Justin headed back toward his own office. “Talk to you later, Freddo.”

  I hope not. Alfred waited a few minutes, just so the move wouldn’t be obvious, and then decided to shut his door – just in case Justin thought of any more pearls of wisdom he needed to share.

  He was just reaching for the door when Caspersen stepped into view. “Morning Alfred. You got a minute?”

  “Of course.”

  She nodded, and stepped into the office, shutting the door after her. “So, first off, I know I said it before, but I wanted to say it again: your work on the Dalton case was phenomenal.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Director. I couldn’t have done it without Nance, though.”

  She smiled. “I’m sure. But, really, the reason I’m here is because I saw you put in your application. For Dixon’s job, I mean.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Well, the thing is, Alfred, Dixon’s decided he’s not leaving. Not for a year or so. He had figured he’d leave training the new guy to Rodriguez. But now…well, there’s going to be two new guys.”

  “Ah.”

  “So Dixon’s spot isn’t vacant.”

  “Ah,” he said again, remembering the hours of sleep he’d missed filling out that application, and then stressing about it after he pressed the Finish button, wondering if he’d missed any steps and rethinking every answer he’d given. “I understand.”

  “And…well, he has a candidate in mind. He wants to bring her on early, so he can work with her before he goes. He thinks we need someone with a more technical background, and after this last case…well, I’m inclined to agree. So – I have to make sure she’s interested – but I’m going to be following his recommendation.”

  “Ah,” he said for the third time.

  “But,” she went on, “it’s going to take at least a few weeks to get all the approvals I’m going to need to bring in a third agent. That said…now that Rodriguez is gone, we’re going to need to fill his spot as soon as possible. I talked it over with Dixon, and he agreed with me…

  “You’re the best candidate for the job.”

  Alfred blinked, and for the life of him could only manage a fourth, “Oh.”

  “What I’m saying is, Alfred, I’d like to offer you the job. Hell, I don’t think Dixon will let me do anything else. You saved his and his wife’s lives. I’m pretty sure he thinks you walk on water.

  “We’d want you to start right away. I mean, we’ll work with you to give you whatever time you need to hand off any last projects or whatever. But we’d want you starting your training by early December at the latest.”

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she raised a finger and said with a twinkle in her eye, “And don’t say ‘oh.’”

  “Ah. I mean, uh, yes, of course. I’ll do it.”

  She smiled. “Good. Then, welcome aboard, Special Agent.”

  Alfred sat at his desk in stunned silence for a long moment after the director left. He remembered, this time, to shut his door. He didn’t want to face Justin. Not until he had a chance to prepare himself.

  He picked up his phone and texted Nance. He wanted to tell her in person, so he wrote, “Hey, can I stop by your office?”

  Then he waited, a painfully long time, checking his phone every few seconds to see if she’d picked up his message. It stayed unread, though. The taxman figured she probably had someone in her office already, or someone on the phone. He reminded himself to be patient.

  And then, feeling he couldn’t possibly wait any longer, he decided to get up and find out what the delay was himself. He took the long way, bypassing Justin’s office altogether. But he only made it about halfway down the hall when Nance herself rounded the corner.

  She was grinning like a Cheshire cat, and first touched her finger to her lips, then motioned back toward his office. He understood the gesture. She wanted to talk, but without alerting Justin.

  So they crept into Alfred’s office and shut the door after them. “You got it, didn’t you?” she practically burst as soon as the door closed.

  He blinked. “How did you…”

  She pressed a kiss on his lips, though. “Congratulations, Agent Favero.”

  He grinned and kissed her again.

  “I’m so proud of you, baby.”

  “But how could you possibly know? I barely got the application in.”

  “Caspersen came to talk to me.”

  He felt a little – was it deflated? – by that. Granted, she was the boss. But surely it should have been his news to tell Nance, at least. “She told you?”

  “Of course not. She just said she already made an offer and it had been accepted. She’d be announcing it Monday. And I knew it was you because – well, you completely kicked ass on the Dalton case.”

  “Oh.” He felt his smile return at that, so much so that he didn’t even cringe at her language. “Well, it was a team effort.”

  “But babe – you’re never going to guess what else she said.”

  “What?”

  “Dixon wants her to add another agent to the roster, so he can oversee both of the new recruits before he eventually retires.�
��

  He nodded. “Yeah, she mentioned…” Then, he trailed off, his eyes going wide. He remembered how Caspersen had mentioned tech expertise, and referred to having an unnamed she in mind for the role. He remembered the director’s quizzical smile, too, when he’d said he wouldn’t have been able to get through the case without Nance. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

  She grinned and nodded. “It’s me, babe.”

  “You’re kidding me. I mean, I know you’re not. But – well, holy shit. That’s amazing, Nance. Congratulations, Agent Abbot.” Then, hearing the words out loud, he should his head. “Dang. That’s…kind of hot.”

  She rolled her eyes and flushed at the same time. “You’re ridiculous, Agent Favero.”

  “I do my best, Agent Abbot. I do my best.”

  Thank you for reading!

  Thank you for reading Solar Flares and Tax Snares. I’d love to hear your thoughts – please consider leaving a review on Amazon, Bookbub and/or Goodreads. Thank you very much!

  More from the Author

  Beta Tester (LitRPG, humorous)

  Book 1: The Great MacGuffin

  Book 2: Hero’s Journey

  Book 3: Bugs and Loopholes

  Book 4: DLC

  Book 5: Dagger of Doom

  The Time Travelling Taxman series (humorous time travel):

  Book 1: T-Rexes & Tax Law (ebook, paperback and audiobook)

  Book 2: UFOs & Unpaid Taxes (ebook & paperback, and audiobook)

  Book 3: MarvelousCon & Tax Cons (ebook & paperback, audiobook)

  Book 4: Time Slips & Tax Thieves (ebook & paperback, audiobook)

  Book 5: Mob Bosses & Tax Losses (ebook & paperback, audiobook)

  Book 6: Gullibe’s Travels & Taxing Rabble

  Book 7: Underwater & Overtaxed