by Toby Neal
Thank God Raveaux had chosen to be honest with her!
Now she was sleeping in her father’s apartment, and counting on the protection of his position—and of course, he was enjoying that. He loved her best when she needed him.
Sophie set her watch for five minutes of crying, something she had tried to wean herself off of—but today she needed the release. “It’s okay to let go,” Dr. Wilson, her therapist, spoke in her mind. “Crying is good. Tears carry away cortisol, a stress hormone. Cry regularly.”
Sophie cried for the memory of Jake, and memories of the terrible loss that had been stirred up by Raveaux’s description.
She cried for the fact that her mother was a psychopath that, while pretending to ask her forgiveness, wasn’t to be trusted.
She wept because her beloved father didn’t believe she could manage her life, her work, or her relationships.
And she cried because she was going to lose her friend Connor because of his vigilantism—and because he was turning into someone she really didn’t know anymore.
It was becoming clear that she needed to sever all ties with Connor, or find herself becoming collateral damage in the war between him and worldwide law enforcement.
There was no one around her that she could really trust.
She blew her nose on a paper towel.
Well, there were a few people: Dr. Wilson. Armita. Marcella. Maybe even Raveaux, but not if he kept anything from her. Bix would always tell her straight as far as work went. Paula was more than an assistant . . .
The alarm on her watch went off.
Sophie got up from the chair in the lounge area and went over to the sink. She splashed water on her face, then dabbed it dry with paper towels.
Her eyes were puffy, bloodshot slits. She retrieved a makeup bag from her locker under the counter and applied eyedrops. She touched up her pale cheeks and put on a bit of raspberry lipstick to bring some color to her face. She used a couple of handfuls of water to smooth her curls back from her face, but she liked the look of the mane of wild ringlets tumbling to her shoulders.
“Those sons of a fetid pig better have some advice for me,” she growled at her reflection, and headed for the door.
Raveaux and Fernandez were as she had left them: Raveaux sat at one end of the couch, Fernandez on the loveseat across from him. Fernandez had taken out a briefcase, and Raveaux held a business card in his hands. The two men were bent towards each other as if she had interrupted them in conversation, but they sat back and gave her their full attention as she returned to her seat.
Sophie smoothed her skirt over her knees and folded her hands in her lap. “Recommendations, please.” Her voice was cool and assertive, just the way she wanted it to sound.
Fernandez cleared his throat. “In light of the amount of crossover and the complexity of the case, I am referring Raveaux to a colleague. This conversation is still completely covered by attorney-client privilege, however, and I have given Monsieur Raveaux a signed affidavit to that effect. I believe he has some thoughts for you, and having heard them, I support them.”
Sophie inclined her head toward Raveaux. “Proceed.”
Raveaux leaned forward. His keen eyes fixed on her like a hawk. “Sever all ties with Connor. Remove the chip so that he cannot be lured to your location, since your father knows about the chip and has no doubt given that information to the team.”
“I’ve come to the same conclusion. Anything else?”
“Don’t let on to your father that you’re aware of his involvement with the case. I know this will be difficult, but the reasons that you sought shelter with him originally are valid. You need the protection of his position, and for everything to appear as if you aren’t aware of his involvement. By his side is the safest place for you to be, Sophie, and if it helps at all, I believe he agreed to help in order to protect you.”
“That doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have trusted me by telling me what he knew.” She gestured. “Go on.”
“I believe the task force will move on from attempting to involve us in their scheme when they realize we have nothing further to offer.” Raveaux sat back. “For what it’s worth.”
“Yes, it will be difficult to live with my father and conceal that I know of his betrayal. But I agree with you, at least for the moment. I’ll remove the chip as soon as possible and cease all communication with Connor.” Sophie turned back to Fernandez, raising her brows. “Anything further?”
“I agree with Monsieur Raveaux’s opinions,” Fernandez said. “And I further recommend that you move Connor’s holdings that were deeded to you into a neutral LLC Trust, of which you are the owner. That will help keep them from being confiscated if your connection to Hamilton/Remarkian is challenged.”
“Good idea,” Sophie said. “Thank you, Bennie.”
“I feel certain that your father was threatened that you would be taken into custody if he didn’t cooperate with the team’s plans. I hope you will not judge him too harshly. Sometimes we do foolish things to protect those we love,” Raveaux said.
“I was fine with your thoughts until you crossed the line into what is none of your business, once again,” Sophie kept her voice flat and cool. “That will be all, gentlemen.”
“Good,” Fernandez said. “Keep me posted of any changes or new activity.” He snapped his briefcase shut and rolled his portly form up out of the couch. He extended a hand to Raveaux. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help you more directly.”
Raveaux stood, and shook the little man’s hand. “It was a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Sophie walked to the door and pulled it open, holding it ajar. “I’ll be in touch with either or both of you, should I need your services.” She could tell by Raveaux’s raised brow that he had not planned to leave with Fernandez, but he followed the little lawyer out with a nod.
Sophie shut the door behind them, flipped the lock, and sagged against it.
She needed a nap.
But first, she needed to get rid of the chip.
She walked over to her desk and removed a box cutter she used for opening packages. Grabbing a handful of tissues, she propped her elbow on the corner of her desk, placing the pad of tissues on the desk’s surface beneath her arm. After locating the slight node of the tracker in the tender skin under her arm, she extended the box cutter’s razor tip and sterilized it with an alcohol wipe that she had in her drawer.
She cut into the skin, set the box cutter down, and squeezed gently on either side of the tracker. The chip was actually cylindrical, half an inch long and a quarter-inch wide, filled with coiled material inside of a plastic case. It popped out easily from under her skin, along with a gush of fresh, bright blood.
Sophie hadn’t expected the wave of nausea that hit her as she pressed the tissues to the wound in her arm. She gulped, hoping to forestall the inevitable—but a moment later, she vomited into her wastebasket.
“Pregnancy isn’t for sissies. Ugh.” She dabbed her mouth with more tissues, and removed a bottle of water from the cabinet under her desk. She drank a few sips, and then tied the plastic trash bag tightly shut.
Sophie felt too weak to get up just yet. She depressed a button on her desk phone. “Paula? Can you come tidy up in here? You’ll have to bring your keys. The door is locked.”
“Right away, Sophie.”
She pressed the tissues against her arm. The bleeding had stopped. Paula came in just as Sophie got up and headed over to lie down on the couch, propping her head on one of the throw pillows. “Please put away the tea things from the meeting, and re-stock the bar,” she told Paula. “And I wasn’t feeling well. If you could pick up the trash and replace the liner . . .”
“Of course. Are you sick, Sophie? Do you want to go home?” Paula’s pretty face showed concern.
“Just a touch of morning sickness. You might as well know, along with everyone else,” Sophie said. “I am due in six months. My fiancé left me a little surprise.”
Paula cuppe
d her face with her hands, her mouth an O, and came over to Sophie, dropping to her knees to hug her on the couch. “Congratulations! I’m so happy for you. Momi will have a brother or sister! What a blessing!”
Easy tears came to Sophie’s eyes. If only everyone had given her this kind of support at her news! “Yes, children are always a blessing.”
Chapter Thirteen
Pim Wat
Pim Wat, seated at her vanity, turned her face from side to side, admiring the new facial structure the bone surgeon had created. She’d taken the opportunity to have her face not only repaired, but completely made over.
She didn’t recognize herself anymore, but in a good way this time.
Her cheekbones had been wide before, pointing to a narrow chin that set off her lush mouth and tilted eyes. Now her cheekbones were higher, her jawline squarer, and her eyelids, completely redone, were a rounder shape, giving her a look of mixed Thai and European lineage. Even her mouth looked different, but it was still sexy and full. The surgery scars at her hair and jawline were pink and raised; but a few more laser treatments over the next months would take care of that, and makeup could cover the rest.
She’d also put on the colored contacts she’d chosen to be a permanent part of her new look. These were dark green, masking her brown eyes. A hairdresser had dyed her white hair platinum blonde; it shimmered against her golden skin in a fashionable short style.
This face wouldn’t register on any facial recognition software. Pim Wat was a new woman.
She smiled into the mirror, catching the eyes of the team of three plastic surgeons, hovering in the background. “This is acceptable.”
They broke into delighted applause. “You are exquisite, Mistress,” one of them said.
“Our very best work,” another chimed in.
Pim Wat turned on her padded swivel stool to face them. “This has been stressful for all of you—everyone here wants to please the Master, including myself, and I believe he will be well pleased. My maid has prepared a congratulatory beverage for us.” Kupa, standing in the corner holding a tray, came forward. “Let us toast.”
Kupa’s tray contained four glasses of traditional Thai rice beer. The doctors clustered around, chatting, as they took the beverages. Kupa, her eyes down modestly, brought the final glass, marked with a golden ribbon, to Pim Wat.
Pim Wat rose from her chair. She’d been working out with yoga and pilates, and her breasts had been tightened and filled. They rose proudly without need of a bra, her pert nipples lifting the cream-colored silk of her robe and drawing the eyes of the surgeons as they turned toward her, their faces wreathed in smiles, their relief palpable.
Men. They were all the same, the simple creatures.
“To my talented team. May you prosper as you deserve!” She raised her glass. They raised theirs. Everyone drank deep, as was traditional. “Thank you again for my exemplary care. Your fees will be posted today.”
She’d promised an astronomical fee by direct deposit, and it was indeed on its way to their bank accounts for all of their families to enjoy.
She sat back down. Turned toward the mirror again. Looked at her face, turning from side to side to admire it. Unfamiliar, but beautiful. A fresh start to a new chapter in her life. “Kupa, come here.”
The maid came to her side. Pim Wat still didn’t like the lumpish, timid woman, but she’d had Kupa’s breasts and face lifted and her hips liposuctioned; she was less of an eyesore. The facelift had brightened her eyes and tightened her sagging cheeks. Pim Wat enjoyed pretty things. “You look nice, too, Kupa.”
“Mistress.” Kupa ducked her head. Her graying hair was a fresh shiny black now, a smooth curtain lengthened with extensions. “You honor me.”
“The team did a good job on both of us.” Pim Wat drained her beer and set her glass on the tray Kupa still held. “They deserve what we paid them.”
When the doctors died, it was sudden and silent. They collapsed, one by one, in the middle of talking, smiling, laughing, and toasting that they’d gotten away unscathed from working on the consort of the most powerful man in Thailand.
No foaming at the mouth, no ugly vomiting or seizing or soiling of their pants. The poison paralyzed them first, then stopped their hearts. Painless and merciful; tidy and civilized.
That poison was one of Pim Wat’s favorite tinctures. An additional bonus was that the victim appeared to have died of natural causes.
Death was the most secure non-disclosure agreement, and her records were already erased. No one would ever be able to speak of what had been done to Pim Wat, of who she’d been, or what she looked like now.
Kupa, standing beside Pim Wat, trembled from head to toe. Pim Wat’s empty, beribboned glass tottered on the tray.
“Stop that, Kupa. You’re making me uncomfortable, and I dislike being uncomfortable.”
“You said I was putting a vitamin in their drinks. A supplement to make them more comfortable in your presence, Mistress.” Kupa was about to drop the tray, she was shaking so hard.
Pim Wat took the bamboo platter and set it on the vanity. “They felt nothing—an easy death. Look at their peaceful faces.”
Kupa looked. They were very dead: their mouths slack, their eyes open. “I killed them, Mistress.” She covered her face with her hands and burst into sobs.
“Useless twat!” Pim Wat lost patience. She set aside her glass, picked up the tray, and whacked Kupa with it, hard. “Stop that blubbering at once, and go fetch the cleanup crew.”
Kupa fled.
Pim Wat went into the walk-in closet filled with designer clothes she’d bought to celebrate her new identity. She tried on outfits as the Master’s ninjas removed the bodies and the glasses and tidied her suite.
Plastic surgery was a risky career, in Thailand.
Chapter Fourteen
Raveaux
Day 3 afternoon
Raveaux followed Leede into a well-appointed office in a suite off of busy King Street. “Nice space you’ve got here.”
“Offices send an important message to clients.” Leede hung her petite jacket on a hanger and stowed it in a shiny carved armoire behind her desk. “I’ve been here for five years. Retired from a government agency job in the UK, and relocated here after my divorce.” Leede gestured to a table in the corner fronted by two comfortable-looking chairs. “Why don’t you have a seat? It might be best for you to become aware of how I do my work, then we can decide how your role fits in.”
“Perfect.” Raveaux sat in one of the chairs she indicated. He opened his worn messenger bag and removed a pad and pen.
Leede nodded to his satchel. “That looks familiar.”
“I too, retired from a government job before relocating here for the weather,” Raveaux said. “I was an inspector with the French police.”
“Ah. I have great respect for my sister agency. I was with Scotland Yard.”
Raveaux’s brows shot up, and he examined his new colleague with renewed interest. “What division?”
“Forgeries and art theft.” Leede seated herself. “You’d be surprised how much of that kind of work involved in-depth accounting reviews.”
“I would not be at all surprised. Now tell me how you would go about tackling something like this current investigation. What did you present to the board member who hired you?”
“I planned to meet first with the accounting firm who does Kama`aina Schools’ bookkeeping. From what I’m given to understand, each school has a bookkeeper staff member. Those monthly reports are aggregated, and each school’s principal has a budget they’ve developed the previous year. Allocations are given during the summer break for the following year. The main pot of funds, filled monthly by the lease payments of the hotels in Waikiki that are on land owned by the Trust, are then administered and managed by a firm, Peerless Accounting. They also do an audit of schools that become financially strained and look for ways to get them back on budget.”
Raveaux made notes rapidly. “Where did
the concern about funds come up?”
“There appears to be a discrepancy between the amount that should be in the main budget pot from the leases, and what is distributed to the schools. Several million dollars is missing.”
Raveaux’s eyes widened. “That’s significant.”
“You’d think so.” Leede gave a delicate snort. “But the budget is huge. Close to a billion a year.”
Raveaux sat back in his chair with a creak. “What? For a school?”
“We’ll go visit a campus here in Honolulu so you can see firsthand. These schools teach Hawaiian children with ‘the best potential’ at a college preparatory standard.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “They spare no expense in doing so. The rationale is that the college prep curriculum makes up for any disadvantage the children might have experienced growing up Hawaiian. Because it’s funded by the remains of an illegally seized monarchy, it’s not only a noble cause, but legal to discriminate in supporting exclusively Hawaiian children. Applications to the schools are extremely competitive. Parents do pay a sliding scale fee, but it’s nowhere near the real cost of the education they are receiving.”
“Fascinating,” Raveaux brushed his fingertips over the small goatee he was experimenting with. If nothing else, the springy salt-and-pepper growth gave him something to play with. “I’m trying to imagine how such a thing would work in France.”
“It wouldn’t.” Leede swiped through some apps on her tablet. “Now. My plan is to ask for a meeting with Peerless Accounting and get access to the spreadsheet files and computers used for Kama`aina Schools. I will start combing through those files. You can take any computers we get to Ms. Smithson to work on. I’d like you to help me begin interviews with the members of the Kama`aina Schools’ Board, and I’ll interview the Peerless staff. We can both record the interviews and compare notes.”