by G. K. Parks
He extended his hand. “I can do that.”
Five
“Are you mad?” I asked. Martin hated it when I overstepped, but it had to be done. I just didn’t know if he’d see it that way.
He continued to flip through the paperwork his human resources and legal department had compiled on Don Klassi. “I’m fucking furious.”
“Martin,” I began, but he held up a hand to silence me.
“Not at you.” He graced me with a grim smile. “Him. Them. Myself.” He gestured at the pages. “We have a careful vetting process for employees. But when a shareholder invests enough, he automatically gets a seat on the board. It’s ridiculous. It needs to be changed. Maybe I shouldn’t have investors and shareholders. Perhaps there’s a way I could buy them out.”
“Obviously, your company needs the added revenue.”
“Yeah, but we’re not hurting financially. Our investors mostly cover new projects and the expansion of existing lines. When Klassi bought enough shares to earn a seat on the board, someone should have done some checking. There must be a way to prevent people like him from potentially sullying the reputation of my company.” He took a breath. “At least he didn’t have any real input, but,” he rubbed his eyes, “I’ll need to get on the phone with legal and figure out what we might be facing.”
“Possibly nothing. He’ll sell off his shares, give up his seat, and that might be it.”
“That’s not the problem. Figuring out how to prevent similar issues in the future is.” Martin looked at me. “Don’s actions can’t hurt me. At least, they shouldn’t be able to. But he wanted to use my company to further his own interests. And based on what you suspect, he’s hurting other people with his real estate schemes. He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with it.”
“Damn, you’re noble.”
Martin grinned. “Like a knight in shining armor.”
“My hero. Should I swoon?”
“Only if the mood strikes.”
I hid my smile. “Maybe later.” Taking a seat beside him, I reviewed the information again. “Klassi doesn’t want this to get out, which is why I’m assuming it’s illegal, but it’s possible he’s operating in a grey, legally ambiguous area. He doesn’t have a criminal record, which is a good sign. We might be jumping to worst case scenarios. I’ll have to do more digging to figure out exactly what’s going on. But he’s desperate to get the coin he paid for, not that I blame him. Still, with that much at stake, I’d go to the cops.”
“I’ll prepare for the worst and hope for the best.” Martin pushed the files closer to me. “I appreciate any advance notice you can give me on his illegal activities.”
“Yeah, well, that’s probably up to Mark.” I glanced over my shoulder at my former boss. SSA Mark Jablonsky stood on the balcony, animatedly speaking into his cell phone. As soon as I realized just how far-reaching the financial ramifications of Don Klassi’s case were, I called Mark for help. Klassi wanted this kept quiet, but he didn’t need to know the details of how I conducted an investigation. “Mark will know when and if Klassi will be investigated. Luckily, that has nothing to do with you.”
“No, but we’re assuming it was dirty money. He might have been funneling his dirty money into my business and getting back clean returns. Maybe that’s why he bought the shares. We performed our own internal audit, and the SEC checked our findings. This really shouldn’t bite me in the ass.” It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“You’re not responsible,” I said.
“She’s right.” Mark stepped back inside, closed the door, and fixed the curtains. The wind had blown his tie over his shoulder, and as usual, his suit was wrinkled. He had been at work when I phoned for a favor, and after running the details by the guys in fraud and financial crimes, he met us at our apartment. Mark dropped into a seat and fixed his tie, brushing off some crumbs that were stuck on his shirt in the process. “Any reason Cross Security couldn’t handle this?”
I glared at him. It was no secret my mentor despised my new boss and my current job. “Cross doesn’t know everything I work on. I am free to moonlight.”
“Sure, just keep telling yourself that,” Mark said. He reached for a beer and took a swig. After wiping some foam off his mustache, his eyes narrowed. “What’s your game plan here, Alex? Are you really going to help this asshole?”
“I told him I’d look into it.” I circled the island and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “I don’t know what Klassi’s deal is, but Noah Ryder is obviously scamming people. Ten million is a lot of money.”
“Klassi made a good mark,” Jablonsky said. “He’s hesitant to go to the authorities, and if Ryder’s been dealing in cryptocurrencies, he’s probably ripped off a lot of other questionable people. Assuming he’s still breathing, he’s smart enough to only screw with these white collar fuckers instead of actual hardened criminals.”
“Ten million is a huge score,” Martin said. “Wouldn’t Ryder have moved on just in case?”
“It depends how many other big fish he had on the hook,” Jablonsky said.
I thought for a moment, not sure I was particularly committed to this case beyond the scope of removing Don Klassi from MT. “I doubt there’s anything I can do, which is why I gave it to you.” I looked at Mark. “Did anyone at the FBI recognize the name?”
“You know what the fraud department looks like. These bastards frequently change their names. It’s why it’s so difficult to track them, but Ryder’s a new one or at least a new alias. They’re opening a file on him now, and we’re looking into other scammers known for dealing in cryptocurrencies. Assuming Klassi told you the truth, Ryder could be a miner. Cybercrimes will help investigate. Maybe someone on the dark web knows Ryder or heard about this scam.”
“That’s a lot of ifs.” I leaned against the counter. “Any helpful suggestions on how to get answers faster?”
Jablonsky’s look spoke volumes. “For starters, you could be working at some government agency instead of parading around town like Lucien Cross’s trophy. Don Klassi is precisely the type of client Cross takes. This isn’t you, Alex. You like knowing you’re on the right side of things. In this instance, you can’t say that.”
Before a biting remark could leave my lips, Martin intervened. “She’s doing this for me. This is my fault. Don approached her last night at a dinner party. I put her in this situation, not Cross.”
Jablonsky grumbled to himself. “It’s still a waste of talent.” He sighed and shook his head. “The two of you attract trouble like magnets to a fridge.” He finished his beer. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything. I just hope you’re happy, Parker. Lord knows I’ve caused you more heartache than anyone. You needed out of the job, and you’re out. But I will always have your back, even if you are Lucien’s lackey.” He gave me a hug, shook hands with Martin, and bid us goodnight.
“Why does he always have to be so tough on me?” I asked, more to myself than to Martin as I cleaned up the remnants from dinner.
“He loves you. He wants what’s best for you, and we all have doubts about Cross.”
“So true.” I finished loading the dishwasher and got ready for bed. “I just hate that he sees my career choice as a disappointment.”
“Do you want me to talk to him?” Martin joined me in the bedroom, stripping out of his t-shirt and jeans before pulling down the covers. “It might make my armor shinier in your eyes.”
“We’re back to the knight thing?”
“Knight, hero, god, whatever you prefer.”
I threw a pillow at his head and got under the covers. We had just settled in when the phone rang. “Son of a bitch.” I hit answer. “What is it?”
Lucien Cross cleared his throat. “The police are insisting on a second round of interviews with everyone involved in the CryptSpec case. Report to the office tomorrow by noon.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Has anyone from the precinct contacted you since that morning?” Cr
oss asked.
“I spoke briefly to Detective Heathcliff. Last I heard, he was trying to determine why Stuart Gifford was at the CryptSpec building that morning.”
“You’re positive Gifford was inside?” Cross asked.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”
“I didn’t remember. And when I did, I told the person in charge of the investigation. You made it clear this wasn’t our job.”
“Tomorrow at noon. Don’t be late.” He clicked off before I could respond.
Martin rubbed my arm as I placed the phone back on the nightstand. “What is it?”
“We said his name one too many times. He’s like Beetlejuice.” I turned off the light and fought away the images that ran through my mind. “The police have more questions about the murder. Cross is having everyone meet at the office tomorrow. It’s not a big deal.”
Unfortunately, this reminder right before bed ruined my night. After hours of twisting and turning, I woke up panicked and covered in sweat. The bedroom felt too small. The dark was too dark. I grabbed my pillow and went into the living room, turning on the small kitchen light along the way. Martin found me thirty seconds later and stretched out beside me on the grey suede. He calmed my frantic breathing with his guided, steady breaths.
When I awoke the next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. Images and memories flooded my mind, causing something far worse than any hangover. The last thing I wanted to do was go to work. My eyes fixed on Martin, who was transitioning from upward dog to downward dog. At least someone was putting my yoga mat to good use.
He lifted his feet slowly off the floor and floated them to where his hands were supporting his weight before standing up and moving through some sun salutations. I hated yoga, probably since I was a failure at inner peace. The few things I did like about it were the emphasis on strength training and flexibility; both of which Martin had in spades.
After executing a perfect flying crow that made me jealous, he transitioned into a handstand and did several vertical push-ups. When he finally stood up, I said, “I didn’t know you were into yoga. Do the other ladies know about this?”
He reached for a towel and wiped his face. “Since my home gym is at home, it’s the best workout I can get without any equipment.” He wiped off my mat and rolled it up. “Did I wake you?”
“No. Thanks for sleeping out here with me last night.”
He leaned down for a kiss. “You’re welcome.” He stretched his arms, wincing when his shoulder popped. “We never got a chance to finish the conversation we started the other night.” He put a pan on the stove, added some oil, and cracked a few eggs. “You never gave me an answer to my question about selling my house.”
“I can’t answer that.”
“Yes, you can. I just want to know if you’re comfortable there. I think I already know the answer, but I don’t want to sell the property if that’s where you want to live or where you want to live one day.”
“Can we please not talk about this now?” I climbed off the couch. “I have to get ready for work, and I’m having enough trouble keeping my mind off of you getting shot.” My eyes went to his shoulder, which he was absently rubbing. Martin was on his best behavior. He wanted to comfort and support me in the hopes I wouldn’t push him away or hide. Unfortunately, every part of me wanted to run, but running would hurt him. It wouldn’t save him or protect him, even if my inner voice loudly and vehemently disagreed.
“You should try yoga. It’s supposed to be a great way to get centered.”
“Or to show off,” I quipped.
He popped a mushroom cap into his mouth, a devious twinkle in his eyes. “I must admit, I also enjoy it as a spectator sport.”
“To watch or be watched?”
“Both, but only when it comes to you.” He left the eggs cooking and moved closer, brushing my hair out of my face. “You have to stop reliving the past. I understand that watching someone die is going to affect you, but you can’t let it destroy us. Life’s too short, sweetheart.”
“Carpe diem.” I searched his eyes. “Do you trust me?” That was our biggest obstacle. I’d lied to protect him before, and that had caused a chasm between us that we’d only recently bridged.
“I do, and I want to make it perfectly clear that I’m here. You don’t have to deal with this alone.”
I nodded; the words stuck in my throat. I could use a break from the emotions and feelings. Perhaps going to the office on a Sunday wouldn’t be such a terrible thing after all.
Six
Lucien silently observed the follow-up interview from the corner of the room. Surprisingly, he didn’t have any of the city’s elite defense attorneys sitting in on the meeting. Perhaps they were all golfing.
“Thanks for your time.” Detective Heathcliff flipped back the pages in his notebook. “That’s all I needed.”
The security team looked to Cross, who gave a slight nod. As if on cue, the four of them filed out of the conference room. Cross moved stiffly away from the wall. “This unfortunate homicide had nothing to do with my team or our investigation. Today was a courtesy. I hope you realize that.”
“We appreciate your cooperation,” Heathcliff replied in a mechanical tone.
“Parker,” Cross said, “see him out.”
“Yes, sir.” I swiveled my chair back and forth, alternating between watching Cross storm down the hall and Derek making a few final notes. “You’re a detective. Tell me you aren’t that oblivious.”
Heathcliff looked up from his notes. “I’m just making sure I have the facts, ma’am.”
“Don’t you dare start that. I’m not nearly as diplomatic as Lucien.”
He tucked his notepad into his jacket pocket along with his voice recorder. “You are when you want something.” He looked around the conference room. “Are we under surveillance?”
“Honestly, I have no idea.”
“How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“That would be nice.” I led the way out of the conference room and back to the elevator. A temp was working at reception, and a couple of guys were working investigations inside their closed offices. But for the most part, the place was dead, just like Stuart Gifford. “Maybe next time you stop by, I’ll give you a tour. It just depends on Cross’s mood.”
“I won’t hold my breath.” Derek led the way to the café at the end of the block. Once we were situated at a table, he asked, “Were they straight with me?”
“As far as I know.” I blew on the steaming liquid inside my cup. “Do you have any leads?”
“I thought you were staying out of this.”
“I am, but you invited me to coffee. And something tells me it wasn’t because you had an extra five bucks in your pocket and no idea what to do with it.”
He leaned closer. “From what I have deduced, Gifford’s computer was hacked and held hostage. A friend of his suggested he visit CryptSpec. They run a side business overriding ransom software. I have a few leads.”
“So you wanted to know if Cross Security knew anything about CryptSpec’s side hustle.” I thought for a moment. “I didn’t come across anything related to it. CryptSpec’s in the software business. They make a lot of training and simulation programs and apps. Are you sure removing ransomware is actually a service CryptSpec offers and not just something one of the programmers does on the side?”
“Hard to say for sure.” Heathcliff grinned. “Didn’t you promise me a copy of your files?”
“Ah, so you were just bribing me with coffee. Why the mind games to make me think I was going to ask you for a favor?”
Heathcliff shrugged. “I thought you’d be more willing to help if you thought it was your idea.”
I laughed. “Derek, it was my idea.” Cross might fire me for it, but I owed Heathcliff. “Hang here. This may take a few minutes.”
“Not a problem.” He studied the menu written on the chalkboard. “I’ll just get some lunch.”
When I opened my office door, I half expected Lucien to be waiting on the other side. Thankfully, he wasn’t around. Maybe he had somewhere else to be this afternoon. After running the files through the copier, I stuffed everything back into the cabinet, put Derek’s copies into a manila envelope, and locked my office.
“Where are you going?” Lucien asked.
I spun. “Excuse me?” The bastard always popped up at the most inopportune moments. He was a human Jack-in-the-box.
He nodded at the envelope. “What is that?”
“Research.”
He narrowed his eyes. “On?”
“A case I’m working.”
“What case?”
“It’s private.”
He wasn’t buying it. “I see.” He stepped into the elevator with me. “Show me.”
“Don’t you trust me?”
“Not particularly.” He moved closer. “I could take that from you and open it, but I’m pretty sure I know what I’ll find. It’s probably the same thing I would discover by printing the last page from the copier’s memory. And I’d really hate to have to draw your loyalty into question.”
“You told me you didn’t require my loyalty.”
“Why does the detective want our files?”
“He doesn’t want our files.” Just mine.
Cross took a step back. “Who’s the client?”
“I don’t want to say.”
“You either tell me who your new client is or I’ll be forced to find out myself, starting with whatever you just photocopied.”
“Don Klassi.” It was the only name that came to mind.
Cross gauged my reaction, but it wasn’t a lie. “He’s on the board at Martin Tech.”
“How do you know that?”
“I make it my business to know things. You should realize that in a security firm, my security firm, I’m not going to risk data breaches with subpar office peripherals. The copy machine erases data after printing is complete and has a routine built in to overwrite deleted data.”