Game Theory--A Katerina Carter Fraud Legal Thriller

by Colleen Cross

  Then she took a deep breath and reminded herself: this time was going to be different. She needed to keep her cool and work her plan. Get rid of the old man, and she would be on her way to her new life.

  She glanced back at the calendar. December featured an amateurish watercolor of poinsettias that looked like it had been painted by a two-year-old. Piece of garbage. As she tore it from the wall, she saw what she’d been hunting for. Behind the calendar was the key. The one that would unlock her future.

  Chapter 38

  Kat rubbed her hands together as she exited the elevator onto the fourth floor. She shuffled towards her office, grateful to be out of the cold. She stopped when she saw her office door. It was partially ajar, and it was obvious from the damaged doorjamb that it had been forced open. Someone had been here.

  She debated calling Marcus before entering. But that would only invite more questions and delays. She didn’t have time for that right now. First she needed to change, pull her Edgewater report from the remote data storage, and change passwords to minimize Nathan and Victoria’s access to her files.

  She pushed the door open slowly and listened. Hearing no one, she entered and searched around, starting with the reception area and then the kitchen and two offices. She relaxed a bit when she realized whoever had been here was gone.

  The office looked exactly as it had before, except Harry and Jace were conspicuously absent. The thought of Harry gave her a twinge. At least he was with Hillary.

  Kat punched in Jace’s cell phone number. Her anxiety grew when she realized there were no messages from him on her office phone. There were, however, half a dozen messages from Zachary. Angry messages, asking why the hell she hadn’t called.

  She knew she should call Zachary. Calls to her cell phone would have gone unanswered too, and given his tenuous financial straits, he had every right to an update. But he’d have to wait until their meeting a few hours from now. Right now she had more urgent things to worry about. Like finding Jace.

  Jace would leave a voicemail here and at home, after being unable to reach her on her cell phone. She was sure of that. Dread enveloped her.

  She hung up after a dozen rings and glanced at the message pad beside the phone. Furious indecipherable scribbles ran off the page. The few words she could make out were misspelled and repeated. Harry had always been a stickler for penmanship, but the tangles of dementia had overcome him in just a few short months. It broke her heart to watch him deteriorate.

  That was when she noticed a square-shaped bare spot on the desk. Harry’s desktop computer was gone. Kat swore under her breath. Without her laptop or Harry’s computer, she couldn’t retrieve her Edgewater report or the supporting documents from the remote server. She had to go home.

  Kat called home, only to hear a recording of Jace’s voice. Tears welled up as she listened. What if she never saw him again? Wherever he was, he’d be counting on her to find him.

  She looked up the number for the Hideaway Bay RCMP and waited uneasily. After six rings, her call went to voicemail. She slumped in Harry’s chair. What kind of cop shop didn’t answer the phone? She left a message and then slammed the handset down, fuming. Jace was missing, and she was completely at a loss on what to do next.

  Harry’s house and cell numbers went unanswered too. She realized she didn’t even have Hillary’s phone number. Harry no longer remembered phone numbers, so it was unlikely he’d call the office, even though her office and home numbers were programmed into his phone. He’d had difficulty using his new phone, a replacement for the one he had lost a few months ago. Maybe Hillary would call. At some point her patience would wear thin, and she would want to dump him off so she could concentrate on her social life.

  She had second thoughts about Zachary and called him to postpone the meeting. She was relieved when she got his voicemail instead. For a guy conjoined to his cell phone, Zachary was surprisingly impossible to reach. She decided against leaving a message. She had just enough time to get home and back. Besides, she needed to talk to Zachary in person about Nathan and Victoria and last night’s events. She also needed time to figure out her approach. What if Nathan’s accusations about Zachary were true?

  How else could Zachary trade fictitious amounts and not know it? How could he be unaware of such a huge Ponzi scheme? You’d have to be an idiot not to know the trades weren’t being executed.

  She checked her watch and realized she needed to get moving if she was to be back in time. But first she did a quick walk-through of the office. Nothing else appeared to be missing.

  She paused at the bathroom mirror. Her tangled hair framed a grubby face covered in scratches from her struggle with Victoria. Where the dirt on her face came from she had no idea. No wonder Marcus had backed away.

  She rifled through the wicker basket she kept her running clothes in and managed to find a tracksuit, socks, and an old jacket. Enough to get her home without freezing to death again.

  She still needed bus or cab fare. After coming up empty in her office, she padded down the hall to Harry’s desk. She rifled through his desk drawer, hoping for enough loose change for bus fare.

  Harry’s top drawer was a mess. Elastics and paperclips tangled together in clumps. She pulled out everything one by one and deposited it on the desk. Two staplers, tape with grit stuck to it, three pairs of reading glasses, and a bottle of expired ibuprofen. She opened the bottle and popped two of the pills, hoping to dull her aching head.

  Kat picked up a small metal Sucrets© box and shook it. It was rusted from age, but the clinking sound was promising. A masking tape labeled change was affixed to the top. She opened it and found loose change and two twenty-dollar bills. She counted it, pocketed the money, and dropped an IOU into the box.

  Then she noticed the two keys. The first was a spare office key. The other appeared identical to Harry’s house key—same as the one on her keychain. It suddenly occurred to her that her own house key was in her purse, which was still up at the resort. She grabbed Harry’s key. At least it allowed her to retrieve her own spare key at Harry’s house if he wasn’t home.

  She closed the drawer and opened the second one. It was almost empty, a sharp contrast from Harry’s usual clutter. As a matter of fact, it was spartan. Completely different from his other drawers. Odd. She remembered that Harry kept something there for safekeeping but couldn’t recall exactly what it was. It had to be something important, though, since Harry never left empty spaces. Just as he filled up a room with his presence, so did his stuff. She had never been more conscious of that emptiness than she was right now.

  Chapter 39

  Twenty minutes later Kat paid the cab driver and trudged up Uncle Harry’s steps. She knocked on his front door and waited.

  No answer.

  She tried again and peered through the side window. No signs of movement. She descended the stairs and headed for the back yard. Harry might be in the garage, puttering around with the Lincoln. Or maybe in the garden, even if it was December. The stranglehold of dementia meant nothing surprised her anymore.

  She opened the garage door and froze. The Lincoln was gone. Had Harry figured out how to unjam the door? Unlikely in his current mental state. Someone must have done it for him. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought of Harry out driving in the snow. A disaster waiting to happen no matter how she looked at it.

  Hillary’s Porsche wasn’t out front either. Harry could still be with her. But Hillary wouldn’t be caught dead in a late-seventies Lincoln, whether driver or passenger. Kat pressed her thumb on the opener and the door swung open. Just as she feared: someone had reconnected it.

  She exited through the open garage door into the lane, hoping to somehow find it. Instead, she discovered dozens of plastic garbage bags stacked against the back fence. Dread burned in Kat’s stomach as she walked over for a closer inspection. Threadbare brown plaid peeked out from one corner. She hoisted a bag up and tossed it aside. Harry’s La-Z-Boy recliner was rain-soaked and closer to ru
in. Why was his favorite chair out here, discarded like garbage?

  Kat’s chest tightened. Her uncle would never part with his recliner. The chair and his other furnishings fit him and the house like a well-worn shoe. Hillary must be behind this, and the Lincoln’s disappearance. Hillary always overstepped boundaries, and Kat was certain Harry had no idea his prized possessions were out in the trash. He would be heartbroken.

  The garbage truck rumbled down the lane one block over and it dawned on her that today was garbage day. She checked her watch. First things first. She had to save Harry’s things from the dump.

  She grabbed bag after bag from the laneway and heaved them into the empty garage. She stopped counting at four dozen trash bags. Barely a dent in the pile, just enough of an opening to slide Harry’s recliner through. There had to be hundreds of bags.

  At least she’d arrived in time to save his belongings, but now what? She’d worry about that later. She slid the recliner back, scraping the legs along the uneven asphalt as she dragged it inch by inch out of the rain into the garage.

  She tossed the last bag into Harry’s garage just as the garbage truck turned into the lane. She stopped and wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. The rain had turned her hair into a frizzy mess, but she didn’t care. At least she’d managed to do something right today.

  The garbage guy waved at her. She raised her arm in a slow motion wave that felt more like surrender. Not even nine a.m. and she was already weary from battle. Jace was still missing, along with the World Institute documents, her laptop, and the Edgewater case files. Her client was mad at her, even though it really should be the other way around. She had assumed that at least Harry was still with Hillary, but now she was beginning to wonder. Whatever the case, she had to get home.

  She trudged back into the garage and tapped the garage door opener to close the door behind her. It creaked shut as she ran her hand along the shelf above Harry’s workbench, searching for her spare house key. She breathed a sigh of relief when her hand touched the metal. Two keys. Her spare house key and another of Harry’s spares. At least Hillary hadn’t got her hands on that.

  She pocketed her key and exited the garage, then bounded up the back stairs to Harry’s kitchen door. She knocked and waited a minute, just in case he was sleeping. Highly likely, with all his worldly possessions dumped in the lane. She had a bad feeling about it all.

  Long enough. What if Harry was inside, hurt, or worse? She slid the key in the lock and opened the kitchen door.

  Empty.

  Gone were Aunt Elsie’s cookbooks in the shelves beside the fridge. The figurines above the kitchen sink had also disappeared, as had the calendar Harry planned his life by.

  Even the kitchen table was missing, though she hadn’t seen it in the pile of furniture out in the lane. Had scavengers already sifted through Harry’s belongings? What the hell was going on?

  She already knew the answer. A lifetime’s worth of simple possessions meant nothing to Hillary. Especially those of a frugal old man who had scrimped and saved to give her the best of everything.

  Hillary’s designer labels and expensive cars were regularly tossed too, replaced with the latest status symbols at any cost. Everything and everyone was disposable after it had served a purpose. Her entire existence revolved around re-inventing her image, positioning herself as an available female of a certain socio-economic class. Except she needed others to finance her brand.

  Harry’s favorite chair and mementos were simply junk to her, a reminder of where she came from. So she discarded them, despite knowing perfectly well how he treasured them. Kat felt a slow burn in her gut. Hillary didn’t have the right to decide what stayed and went in Harry’s house. Even if it was cluttered, it was his clutter, and he had a right to live how he chose.

  But Hillary’s self-centered nature was only part of the problem. Kat’s bigger concern was the underlying reason for her actions. How did tossing Harry’s stuff fit into Hillary’s bigger game plan?

  Was Harry aware of what she had done? Either way it spelled disaster. Familiarity was very important to a person with dementia. Just a small disruption to Uncle Harry’s routine might put him over the edge. Assuming he was actually around when she had tossed his stuff. Kat shuddered at the alternative.

  Her thoughts returned to the Lincoln. She ran to the living room and looked out to the street. Maybe she’d missed Hillary’s Porsche. She hadn’t. The only vehicle outside was a neighbor’s F–150 truck.

  The living room had been stripped bare too. Not only was the La-Z-Boy missing, but so was everything else. The house had been completely cleaned out, stripped down to the oak floors and bare walls. An empty pail and mop sat by the fireplace.

  Her mind raced. If it really was Hillary’s doing, where was Harry? It would be terrible for him to see his empty house, but even worse if she had left him alone somewhere. Her cousin’s sudden reappearance after ten years was a shock. Hillary had always felt this town, and the Denton family, was beneath her. Now she was back like a curse.

  “Hello?” Her voice echoed through the empty house.

  She went upstairs. What if Hillary had disappeared again and taken Harry with her? She dismissed the thought. He would cramp her lifestyle.

  Kat realized all this had been her own doing. By cancelling Harry’s credit cards, she had brought Hillary back to the feed trough. Once she got some money, she would disappear again and leave Harry heartbroken. Which would be soon, since Harry’s money had all but run out.

  Hillary was capable of loving no one but herself. On some level Harry knew that, yet he still gave her money. His way of keeping the truth at bay, a form of denial.

  Kat jumped as she heard a click in the lock. They were back. She breathed a sigh of relief and ran downstairs.

  But it wasn’t Harry or Hillary standing in the hallway. A stranger faced her instead.

  Chapter 40

  The man was thirty-something and clean-shaven. His suit jacket strained at the buttonholes to contain a body packing too many business lunches. He slipped his cell phone back into his suit pocket and stared back at Kat.

  “Who the heck are you? How’d you manage to get in here?” He smiled at her, but cold eyes betrayed him. A couple in their early thirties came up behind him, the woman obviously pregnant.

  Just because she looked like a vagrant didn’t give him the right to talk to her that way.

  “I should ask you the same. I’m Katerina Carter, Harry Denton’s niece.” Harry couldn’t have done this. He hadn’t been out of her sight until he left Hideaway Bay only yesterday morning with Hillary.

  Hillary.

  What was Hillary up to?

  Why was she explaining herself to strangers?

  “Denton? Oh, right. Aren’t you supposed to be someplace else? Because I’m showing the house.” His pupils dilated like bloated dollar signs.

  “You’re a real estate agent?” Kat crossed her arms and blocked the hallway. “Harry’s house isn’t for sale.”

  “It is for sale, and Hillary told me it was vacant. Now, if you’ll excuse us...”

  The woman sniffed and hugged the wall as she waddled past Kat.

  “Hillary doesn’t own this house.” Kat didn’t move. “Harry Denton does. Unless you have permission from him, I suggest you leave. We’ll straighten this out later.”

  “Katerina?” The real estate agent didn’t wait for Kat’s confirmation. “Hillary—the owner—listed the house, and these nice folks—” he gestured to the couple, who were already discussing how to gut the kitchen, “—want to look at it.” He pulled out his cell phone again. “Uninterrupted. I don’t want any problems, so if you’ll just leave quietly...”

  Every ounce of energy she had left evaporated. She started to protest, but had nothing left inside. So Hillary had her hands on Harry’s house now too? That might explain Harry’s possessions in the lane. One thing was clear; the real estate agent wasn’t about to divulge the details. She was to
o afraid to hear them anyway.

  In the end she did leave. Even if it was Harry’s house, this was not the time or place to fight. She would confront Hillary, but right now she had more pressing things on her plate. Like finding Jace and getting the truth from Zachary.

  Chapter 41

  Kat turned the corner onto her street and breathed a sigh of relief when her house came into view. The old Victorian was sandwiched between a forties bungalow and a turn of the century Craftsman house. Even from half a block away it was obvious Jace wasn’t home. His truck still sat in the same spot it had been in when they left for Hideaway Bay. A thin slab of half-melted snow slid partway down the windshield. The absence of tire tracks in the driveway meant the Subaru hadn’t been here either. No one had come or gone since their departure.

  She trudged up her front steps as the weight of her troubles burned in her stomach. Harry’s house, Jace gone, and the increasingly sinister tone of the Edgewater case was wearing on her.

  Jace was right about the World Institute. Why had she dismissed it as a half-baked conspiracy theory? Retaining those WI documents to help prove Nathan’s fraud might have led down a different road, but the end result was the same.

  More than anything, she regretted ever going to Hideaway Bay. Landers obviously played a role too. If only she hadn’t been so anxious to talk to him.

  Kat turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open. She braced herself for another break-in. Instead the front door lodged against a pile of mail and flyers and it was obvious no one had been here. She bent to pick up the mail off the fir floor and stopped, suddenly aware of the tick-tock of the kitchen clock. She had never noticed the quiet before.