by Gina LaManna
“I’m trying. He’s not interested.” I sighed, and then turned my attention to the stack of papers on the bed. “I just felt a little sorry for him is all. He’s got everything—money, fame, apparently even women—but what’s the point of it all if you aren’t happy?”
“Did he say he wasn’t happy?” Babs asked, curiosity on her face.
“Not in so many words.”
“What’d you find here?” Annalise pulled the stack of files toward her. “For now, focus on the job. You’re not paid to make him happy, you’re paid to do good work.”
“And if he sweeps you off to his castle, so be it.” Babs grinned. “Oh, wait. He’s already done that.”
“There’s no sweeping,” I said. “Just hiring.”
“You shouldn’t be showing us these files,” Annalise said, shoving them back into my hands. “What about the contract you signed?”
“I’m her lawyer,” Babs said. “I say it’s fine.”
“You’re a horrible lawyer,” Annalise said.
“I won’t show you the actual files,” I said, tucking them away. “I’ll just give you SparkNotes. Something was stolen from one of the top-secret warehouses, and I have to find it.”
“A document with strategies or instructions or codes on it?” Babs was fishing.
“No comment,” I said. “Although, Mr. Clark believes it to be an inside job. This place is very secure, and it would have been tough for an outsider to jump through all the hoops to acquire this item.”
“Any thoughts on who wanted to steal the plans bad enough to risk upsetting Mr. Clark? Babs asked. “I might not’ve met the guy, but he doesn’t seem like someone you’d want to cross.”
I pursed my lips, thumbing through the files I’d spent all day reviewing. I’d read through all of them in detail: design objectives for the chip, budget forecasts, contractor names and titles—everything.
“There was one thing,” I started. “Nick Flanagan. I met him today; he’s the Director of Operations.”
“What’s odd about him?” Babs asked.
“He’s the lead accountant on this project.” I paused, tapping the papers. “He started as an accountant here at the Clark Company years ago, but from what I can tell, he hasn’t done much of the heavy lifting in the last five or ten years. He’s strictly strategic at this point.”
“If he’s not normally involved in the weeds, why would he step in for this project?”
I shrugged. “The budget is astronomical. Maybe they needed a seasoned vet to take on this project. It just strikes me as strange that the Director of Operations is so in depth on this one project. It seems like it should be too small for him to worry about, yet he’s signed off on everything so far: expense reports, budget plans, etc. He’s the go to guy for money and financing.”
“It’s a big project,” Annalise said. “I’m not sure it’s so strange.”
“You met him, right?” Babs asked. “What was he like?”
“Nice enough. Smart,” I said. “But there was something off between him and the butler, Mrs. Dulcet. It seemed like they couldn’t stand each other.”
“Romantic tension?” Babs licked the frosting from the middle of the Oreo.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. If I had to guess, the whole thing has something to do with family history. They’ve both been working for the Clark Company for most of their lives. Apparently, Nick’s father was the first and only employee to ever be fired.”
“Oh, snap,” Babs said. “Drama.”
“I need to find out if Mrs. Dulcet has something against Nick specifically,” I said. “Or if she’s holding onto an old grudge from his father’s time with the company”
“Can you ask her?” Babs asked.
“She doesn’t seem keen to talk about the subject.”
“Well, figure out a way to work it into conversation,” Babs suggested. “Sometime when she’s not expecting it.”
“What else?” Annalise asked, eyeing the stack of papers. “That can’t be everything in there.”
“No,” I admitted. “There’s one more thing. The lead designer on the project—Joseph Anderlin—filed a formal complaint.”
“About what?” Babs asked.
“The entire project,” I said. “He didn’t want to move forward with it at all. The complaint was processed, but his concerns about the project were vetoed. Somehow, he still got the job. I’m just not sure if he was forced to work on it, or if something else convinced him that it was worth it.”
“Have you met this guy yet?” Babs asked.
“No, hopefully tomorrow.”
Annalise shifted closer to the stack of files. “Do you think the project is something illegal? And the complaint was on moral grounds?”
“No, it had nothing to do with ethics,” I said. “It had something to do with the timeline. Too tight of a turnaround on the deliverable, and he didn’t feel like they’d be able to finish in time.”
“Maybe he just filed the complaint to cover his ass,” Babs said. “You know, in case the project didn’t get done in time? He could turn to the complaint and say told you so.”
“Maybe,” I said. “I’ll find out, hopefully soon.”
“What about this butler?” Annalise bit her lower lip. “You said she acted weird around this Nick guy. What if it’s the reverse and he’s the one who knows something that makes her uncomfortable?”
“Mrs. Dulcet? No. She loves Dane—er, Mr. Clark—like her own son. She wouldn’t do anything to harm him. Or the company.”
“You’ve only known her one day.” Babs twisted her lips into a grimace. “You don’t really know that, Lola.”
“Yes, I do. She’s the one who helped me sneak you two in tonight. I’m sure she alerted the guards and they let you through.”
“Look, she’s probably perfectly sweet, but you just don’t know yet. There are lots of liars in the world, Lola Pink, and you’re not the best judge of them.”
“Let me remind you that I’m the one who was hired to look into this. I can read a person’s character.”
“Yes, but you wear rose-colored sunglasses to view the world, and it’s cute. I love that about you—your optimism, your obliviousness. But when you’re dealing with the world of a billionaire, the word ruthless takes on a whole new meaning.” Babs reached out and pinched my cheek. “I’m sorry, buttercup, but it’s the truth. Your man Dane—”
“Mr. Clark.”
“Whatever. He didn’t get to where he is because he preaches sunshine and rainbows. He’s got a brain for science, a head for business, and looks to cover a magazine. Girlfriend, he’s not as innocent as you think. Nobody is, not even Annalise.” Babs’s eyes flicked over to the gymnast. “Okay, maybe Annalise is innocent, but that’s it.”
I exhaled a long, slow breath. “Well, then maybe I’m the wrong person for the job.”
“No, of course not.” Babs reached out and squeezed my leg. “You know all that stuff I said about Mr. Clark having the IQ of a genius and being ridiculously smart?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, he hired you, didn’t he? He sees something in you. Maybe you don’t see it yet, but you will. Look into the facts, make friends where you can, and figure out who wants to steal from your boyfriend.”
“Client. Mr. Clark is my client, not my boyfriend.”
“Right. That’s what I meant. Speaking of boyfriends, how is mine?”
“When did you get a boyfriend?” Annalise turned to Babs. “And how do you find so many of them?”
“I fell in love the second Lola sent me his picture.”
“George Clooney?” Annalise said. “He’s got you by like, thirty years. Minimum.”
Babs fanned herself. “Age is a number. And speaking of numbers, if there’s a way you can get me his, Lola, I’d owe you forever.”
“Gerard,” I said. “He runs the garage. Oddly enough, his name showed up in the files, too.”
Annalise’s forehead pinched in concern. “
What for?”
“He received a bonus—a significant bonus—for his work on this project.”
“What does the car guy have to do with a tech project?”
“I have no clue,” I said. “That’s why I marked it. There’s no description in the financial documents.”
“But why would he steal something?” Babs asked. “If he already got a payout, what’s the point?”
“Maybe he had a buyer interested in the plans,” Annalise said. “And he double-dipped. A little bit of money from Mr. Clark, a lot more money from another party.”
Babs bounced her head up and down. “Stop talking about my boyfriend like that.”
“You can’t be serious,” Annalise said. “You don’t even know him.”
“Well, I will once Lola gets me his number.”
“You have a serious problem.” Annalise stood. “We’ve been here two hours. It’s time for us to head out.”
“Fine.” Babs pulled herself from the cushy bed. “The Oreos are gone, anyway.”
“I really appreciate you guys coming,” I said, gathering up the wrappers onto the tray. “Come back soon?” I’d just started building a miniature pyramid with cookie crumbles when a knock on the door froze us all in place.
Babs looked at me in horror. “Is that him?”
“Get out!” I shooed my friends toward the open window as the incessant knocking continued. I shouted at the door, “Coming! I’m naked, hold on a second.”
“You think that’s going to make him wait?” Babs gave me a funny look. “Honey, that’s an invitation.”
While Annalise was busy flipping away from the house like a slinky, Babs had taken the opportunity to hide herself in the closet. “Open the door,” she whispered. “I want to see him in person.”
“Babs!”
“Come on! The last time I saw him on the Sunshine Shore was like ten years ago!”
“Lola, is everything all right?” Mr. Clark called from behind the door. “Please get dressed. I need you out here.”
Shooting daggers at Babs with my eyes, I wrapped the robe around me and pulled open the door. “Hello,” I said through a tiny crack. “How may I help you?”
Dane Clark looked surprisingly normal for the middle of the night. He’d forgone his usual suit and, instead, wore jeans—very expensive jeans—and a gray sweater that looked softer than butter. “I need your help.”
I swallowed to clear my head. He was paying me a lot of money to work for him. The least I could do was focus on the job. “Sure. Can I have one second, and I’ll be right out?”
I started to shut the door, but Dane’s arm snaked out, his fingers resting on the doorframe. If I wasn’t mistaken, his eyes flicked toward the closet, then the bed, and finally the window. When they returned to me, his expression was unreadable.
“Sorry if I was being too loud,” I said. “I was . . . eating. And I opened the window because it was hot in there.”
“Eating Oreos?”
“Yes.”
“You enjoy Oreos?”
I glanced over my shoulder where at least two packs of wrappers sat on the bed. My pyramid of crumbs stood there, mocking me. “I’m addicted.”
“I’ll say,” he said. “Five minutes. Meet me in the common room.”
“Absolutely.”
But he didn’t remove his hand from the doorway. “Please.”
“I’ll be there. I promise.”
“Thank you.” The moment hung in time, as if he were searching for something else to say. Finally, he shrugged. “My butler tells me that please and thank you are mandatory.”
The sudden change of subject made me laugh. “It’s a nice touch.”
Looking pleased with himself, he gave a single nod, and then pulled the door shut. Babs tumbled out of the closet, an annoyed look on her face. “You’re a liar, you know that?”
“What?” I whirled to face her. “You almost got me caught. And fired from a job that I need.”
“He’s smoking!” She waved a hand at the now empty doorway. “And freaking adorable! Did you hear him? He’s trying to be all nice and gentlemanly around you. He probably asked his butler for help on his manners.”
I pointed to the window. “Out.”
“I’m going, I’m going. I’m not as flexible as Bendable Barbie, sue me.”
Babs dropped to the ground and brushed herself off. I hung halfway outside the window to give her a hug.
“Thanks for coming,” I said. “I’ll call when I can. I have a date tomorrow.”
“With your boss?”
“With Luke.”
“You’re in denial.”
“I like Luke!”
“Yeah, okay.” She blew me a few handfuls of kisses. “Good luck on your booty call.”
“It’s work!”
I threw the last Oreo out the window at her, but my plan backfired. Babs caught it, took a huge bite, and then winked. She grabbed Bendable Barbie’s hand, yanked her into the darkness, and together they disappeared.
Like lightning, I slipped into jeans and a sweater—the jeans were mine, the sweater adopted—and opened the door. Mr. Clark waited at the end of the hallway.
“I’m ready,” I said, making my way to him.
“Good,” he said. “Come with me. We’ve been robbed.”
I could hardly keep up with the man. His legs were long, and he walked fast.
“You need to exercise less,” I told him, jogging to keep up as we made our way through the castle toward the entryway. “Or else your personal assistant is going to keel over and die.”
“Did you really eat all those Oreos from the packages on your bed?”
“Um. Yes?”
“Packages. Plural.”
“I told you. It’s an addiction.”
“You are something else.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
He stopped abruptly when he reached the platform near the rear of the castle, the same location where I’d caught the train with Nick earlier in the evening. Pressing a green button near the wall, he stood back on his heels and waited in silence. I watched him, watched his clear blue eyes flicking around the quad spread before him.
The night was pleasant, as were most nights on the Sunshine Shore. We didn’t get snow here; it hardly precipitated at all, as a matter of fact. One of the very reasons our tourist business thrived.
Despite the warmth, however, I shivered. Something had changed in Mr. Clark. The wisp of innocence that had made him seem human was gone now, replaced by sharp, angular features and a cutting stare.
Suddenly, I knew why almost nobody was fired from the Clark Company—Dane Clark commanded loyalty. Respect. I hadn’t been here for a day, and already, I knew I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of this cold, calculating stare. Whoever had crossed Mr. Clark did not have a pleasant-looking future.
“Watch your step.” Dane Clark strode forward, leaving me behind him as he stepped onto the train.
I climbed on after, took one look at his face, and decided that now was not the time for small talk. He leaned against the handrail looking serious, so serious his expression was almost sad.
The whole ride, he didn’t smile or move. He merely stared into space until we arrived at Warehouse 7. The doors flashed open, and I couldn’t get off the train fast enough.
He stepped aside and let me pass, guiding the way with a hand pressed lightly to my lower back. Tingles shot up my spine until he dropped his hand and swiped a keycard to open the door to Warehouse 7.
Nick Flanagan met us inside the lobby. Nick’s eyes swept over me first, then Dane, as he nodded to us both. “Thank you for coming, please follow me.”
He led us up the stairs and into the Eagle Office, the very same office I’d been in earlier. Nobody spoke until the three of us were inside. Only then did Nick close the door and begin his explanation.
“I was up here all evening working on the budget,” Nick said, facing the desk in the center of the room.
“I was balancing everything for Warehouse 7 in preparation for the delivery of the designs on Sunday.”
My heart pounded, and the severity of the issue sank in, really sank in for the first time since I’d arrived at the castle. Seeing Nick and Dane together, their foreheads wrinkled with worry, made everything more real. It wasn’t a game I was playing here, it wasn’t Agent Pink messing around with joke-shop walkie-talkies. This was a man’s livelihood, his business, his life.
Thankfully, I was spared a response by Nick inserting a key and unlocking the top desk drawer. “When I got down to the petty cash portion of the budget, I checked this drawer and discovered the entire ten thousand dollars we’d been keeping on hand was gone.”
“That’s a pretty penny,” I said. “How much of it was supposed to be left?”
“All of it,” Nick responded. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s the only thing missing. If someone needed money, why wouldn’t they have skimmed off the budgets? There’s millions to be made there.”
“I’m not understanding what’s so curious about this,” I argued. “Somebody obviously needed money. What is curious to me is how someone might slip in here unnoticed. Do you think it could be related to the missing blueprints?”
Dane’s jaw tightened, but I continued before he could speak.
“I mean, both the blueprints and the petty cash are items—solid, tangible things. It takes an entirely different skill set to skim millions from a budget.” I shrugged. “So, in a way, maybe this makes sense.”
Dane wandered to the edge of the Eagle Office and stared down at the sea of cubicles, desks, and wide open production areas below him. “Why would someone steal the petty cash if they already had the blueprints? The blueprints are worth considerably more than ten grand.”
“Back up a second. Why do you keep ten thousand dollars here in the first place?” I asked. “To some people, that’s a lot of money.”
Both Dane and Nick swiveled to look at me.
“Did you not look over the expense reports?” Nick asked. “Warehouse 7 spent a hundred thousand dollars this morning on a single part for the chip. Before breakfast. We spend nearly a quarter million dollars paying employees every day. Ten thousand dollars is chump change, nothing.”