by J. L. Brown
“Only my controller, but she needed a dual authorization from me.”
“What was the company’s revenue last year?”
“About seventy million.”
“And payroll?”
“About seven hundred thousand a pay period. I transferred additional funds because I was going out of town, and I wanted to make sure taxes were covered. Planned to transfer the excess back when I returned from my trip.”
“Where did you go?” McClaine asked.
“Chicago. Where the parent company is.”
Jade pressed. “Did you need to enter an additional password or use a security token? Anything like that?”
“The bank provided a security token. It displayed a six-digit authentication code prior to transfer.”
“Where did you keep it?”
“In the center drawer of my desk at work.”
McClaine and Jade shared a glance.
From McClaine: “Who had access to your office?”
Smith shrugged. “A lot of people. I had an open-door policy. Kept it locked at night, though. And when I was away on travel.”
“Anyone have a master key?” McClaine asked.
“The office manager. My controller. The rest of the exec team. The cleaning staff.”
“Who knew that you kept the token in the drawer of your desk?”
“My controller, for sure. No one else, unless they went through my things.”
“Anything else, Mr. Smith?” she asked.
“I logged out of the bank’s website and closed the browser. I always do. I take security very seriously.”
“Was it a laptop?” This from Jade.
“Yes.”
“Did you take it with you?”
“Yes. I took it home every night. The day after, I had meetings all day in Chicago.”
“Who did you meet with?”
“CFOs of all the subsidiaries. I couldn’t check our accounts until that evening. We weren’t allowed to bring cell phones into the meeting.” He turned his dead eyes to Jade. “One million dollars had been deducted from the checking account. The payroll account had a zero balance. When I got out of the meeting, I had received over a hundred text messages from my office.”
“I don’t understand,” Jade said. “If you were at corporate, why didn’t your office try to reach you there?”
“They did. They were told I couldn’t be disturbed.” He hacked out a laugh. “Well, I’m disturbed now.”
“If you didn’t embezzle the money, who did?” McClaine asked.
David Smith glanced around the room, his eyes tearing. “I have no idea. Wish I knew. I’ve lost everything. My job. No one will hire me. I’m not sure how long I can keep this house. What’s going to happen to me and my family? Whoever did this ruined me.”
*
“Harrington.”
“What time will you be finished?”
“Why?”
Jade gazed out the passenger window at the pedestrians striding down Fifth Avenue. She and McClaine had just wrapped up interviewing David Smith’s former co-workers at the technology company and were headed back to the police station.
“I’m picking you up from your hotel in an hour,” Kyle said.
“For what? And how do you know where I’m staying?”
“I’m taking you to a fundraiser. For our mayor’s equity initiative.”
“But I didn’t bring anything to wear.”
“This is Seattle. It doesn’t matter what you wear.” Kyle hung up.
Jade waited a beat before looking over at McClaine.
He was grinning. “I think we’re done for today.”
“What are you talking about? We have interview reports to finish and—”
“It can wait until tomorrow. I’ll drop you off at your hotel.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX
Air Force One
“How’s Emma?” Sasha asked.
Her chief of staff sat across from Whitney’s desk in her spacious office in the presidential suite. The 747-200B airplane was en route to the West Coast for a three-day trip where Whitney would speak about income equality in Seattle, Portland, San Francisco, Sacramento, San Jose, Los Angeles, and San Diego. They had just wrapped up her daily briefing.
“None the worse for wear.”
“And the experience of getting arrested?”
“She said the police treated them decently throughout the entire process.”
“The protesters must’ve all been white.”
“Sasha . . . ”
“I’m just saying . . . ” Quietly, she said, “Regardless, getting arrested is never easy.”
Whitney masked her feelings. It sounded as if Sasha were speaking from experience.
“Yes, me, too,” Sasha said. “I was the cool kid with the Walkman at the University of Texas, participating in a sit-in in front of The Tower.”
“Against what?”
“The lack of faculty diversity. We overstayed our welcome and spent a night in jail.” Sasha shrugged. “Glad it wasn’t another part of Texas. Could’ve ended up like Sandra Bland.”
During the last few years, reports of healthy black women dying under mysterious circumstances in Texas jails had reached the national news. Bland, arrested for a minor traffic violation, allegedly committed suicide in her jail cell.
Sasha still didn’t rise to leave.
“What is it now?”
“Xavi.”
Whitney threw her hands into the air. “It’s like Peyton Place around here.”
“He’s making quiet innuendos, suggestions,” Sasha said, “that given your daughter’s arrest . . . it’s your duty, as a mother, to step down and take care of her and your family.”
Whitney’s face got hot. “His concern for my family is touching, and I’m sure, genuine.”
If Xavi believed this would make her second-guess herself about her purpose—her destiny—he was wrong. His actions were having the opposite effect. Her pity party was over. She could take care of her family. And her country.
“And one more thing.”
Whitney pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is it?”
Sasha gestured with her thumb toward the back of the plane. Toward the press. “FOX is running another story about the year you spent with your aunt. There’s a lot of speculation out there. Not only on FOX. But on Twitter. Facebook.” When Whitney didn’t say anything, Sasha continued. “They’ve also interviewed some of your classmates who recalled that you were shy and kept to yourself. That you didn’t make any friends during your year there.”
“Really. Don’t they have anything more important to report on? They’re on Air Force One, for God’s sake.” Whitney leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened one eye. “Anything else?”
Sasha shook her head.
Whitney closed the eye again. “Then I’m hitting the gym.”
The gym on Air Force One was quickly becoming her go-to refuge.
Sasha hesitated. “Is there something you need to tell me about your aunt?”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN
Seattle, Washington
Noah stood at a window overlooking Eighth Avenue in a ballroom at the sleek and modern Hyatt Olive 8 hotel downtown. As he sipped white wine, he surveyed the crowd over the lip of his glass.
He swallowed hard as he saw Kyle Madison snake her way through the room. People parted for her like the Red Sea did for Moses. In her wake was a tall woman, beautiful in her own right, mocha-skinned, medium-length light brown hair, wearing a black business suit. She strode with confidence. Her eyes took in her surroundings, missing nothing.
Noah wasn’t the only one staring at them.
After Kyle introduced the woman to the mayor, they waited in line at the bar for several minutes talking to each other, as if no one else were in the room. After receiving their drinks, Kyle began to work the room, introducing her companion along the way.
She looked familiar, but Noah couldn’t q
uite place her.
Finally, Kyle stood before him. “Noah.”
“Kyle.”
“This is Jade.”
“How do you do?” he asked, shaking her hand. “What do you do on weekends?”
She appeared puzzled by the question.
“It’s different here than on the East Coast,” Kyle explained. “Where your first question upon meeting strangers is ‘What do you do?’ Here, our hobbies are more important than our occupations.”
Someone struck a spoon against a glass several times.
At the front of the room, the mayor spoke into a microphone. “You may have wondered about the extra security tonight. It’s not for me.” He paused as the crowd laughed. “But for a special guest who’s here to help me introduce the Seattle Progressive Equity Initiative. Someone who is rectifying inequities across this country. Ladies and Gentleman, the president of the United States of America.”
The three of them were as surprised as everyone else. After a moment of silence, the attendees applauded.
As President Whitney Fairchild navigated through the ballroom surrounded by a large coterie of Secret Service agents, conversation ceased.
“Agent Harrington,” the president said when she arrived at the threesome. “What a pleasant surprise.”
“The surprise is mine, Madam President.”
“I’m sorry I was rude the last time we saw each other. I had just received some bad news.”
“No apology necessary.”
The president took both of Kyle’s hands in hers. “Kyle Madison. Good to see you again. Thank you for your considerable support during the campaign.”
“My pleasure.”
President Fairchild turned to him. “And you are?”
Noah’s face burned. “Noah Blakeley.”
The president didn’t react.
“I had a fundraiser for you at my house,” he said. “During the campaign.”
“Of course. My apologies. Thanks for your support.”
The president moved on quickly to shake other hands.
“You all right there, Noah?” Kyle asked.
His face felt warm. “I’m fine.” He gawked at the FBI agent. “You’re Jade Harrington?”
She nodded, her smile modest.
“Noah’s the president of AMB International,” Kyle said.
He continued to stare at Jade. “Why are you here?”
“Don’t be rude, Noah,” Kyle said.
Puzzled, the agent said, “For a good cause?”
“No. I mean why are you here in Seattle?”
“She’s looking into some thefts,” Kyle said. “Cyberthefts. Come to think of it . . . weren’t you asking—”
He barely registered the angry look the agent gave Kyle. “How much money?”
“Millions,” Kyle said.
Jade looked at her sharply. “That’s enough.”
The ballroom seemed warm. He wiped his brow and murmured, “I wasn’t the only one.”
“What are you talking about, Mr. Blakeley?” the agent asked.
“We had a problem, too. My firm. Money stolen, I mean.”
“Did you report it?”
“No.”
She stepped closer, invading his space. “When did this happen?”
“I don’t know. A couple months ago.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
His eyes darted around the room, as if someone would throw him a lifeline. “I . . . uh . . . ”
“How much was stolen—”
“Excuse me, I need to go to the restroom.”
Noah walked away. He placed his half-full glass on a tray table near the wall and headed toward the stairs down to the main lobby. He didn’t bother to retrieve his black North Face jacket from the coat check. He had an old one just like it at home.
He struggled through the revolving door and motioned for one of the valets to flag down a taxi. He didn’t want to wait for a Lyft.
His father was going to kill him. He didn’t like negative publicity concerning the family firm. Much less attention from law enforcement.
Why hadn’t he kept his big mouth shut?
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Seattle, Washington
“How boring was it?”
“It was okay.”
“Liar.”
Jade smiled. “I did like the basketball game better.”
“How do you know the president?”
“She’s my boss.”
“Right,” Kyle said.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“How do you know the president?”
Kyle waved her hand. “Connected her with some donors here in Seattle.”
“I have a feeling you weren’t one of the millions of small-dollar contributors.”
Kyle smiled, but said nothing.
They strolled down Olive Way in silence. The June evening air was cool, the street empty of traffic. Few pedestrians walked the sidewalks. This part of downtown was not a happening place. The night was quiet, save the click, click, click of Kyle’s heels.
“The guy we met at the beginning,” Jade said. “What’s his story? The one who admitted to the theft at his company.”
“Noah? He comes from one of the first families, too. Our families probably knew each other, but there haven’t been any intermarriages. Thank God! Any that I’m aware of anyway. Noah’s not much of a businessman, but supports a lot of causes. An odd bird.”
“How so?”
Kyle laced the fingers of both hands behind her back. “Noah dresses as if he’s homeless instead of a multimillionaire. Maybe billionaire. He keeps one hand in his pocket. I’ve always wondered what the hell he’s doing down there.”
Jade made a face. “Nice . . . ”
“He’s just odd. He’s one of those guys that if you found out he was a serial killer, you wouldn’t be surprised.”
Jade stopped walking and glanced at her.
Kyle looped her arm through Jade’s. “Oops, forgot who I was talking to.”
They continued walking.
“What’s AMB International?”
“Transportation. Shipping. His father is Augustus Mathias Blakeley, the CEO. Noah has an older brother Augustus Jr.—they call him August—who is the opposite of Noah. Handsome, self-assured, a good business mind. August oversees the family foundation, and Noah runs the family business.” Kyle shook her head. “It should be the other way around.”
“Maybe Noah is easier to control.”
“Good point. Augustus Sr. is private. Very private. Almost Howard Hughes-like.”
They passed a local credit union with an odd juxtaposition of large vases filled with colorful artificial carnations protected by security bars.
There was a loud cry.
Jade flinched and swiveled her head.
A black woman of indeterminate age—she could have been forty or seventy—shuffled toward them, her dark clothes tattered. Tears flowed down her face. Jade could not understand what she was saying.
The woman’s hand was out, palm up, begging for money.
“Please help me. Please help me. Please help me.”
The woman reached out and touched Jade’s arm. Jade backed up, arms raised, per her Tae Kwon Do training. The gesture meant that she didn’t mean any harm, but she could quickly get into sparring position, if necessary.
Jade dropped her arms. She was being ridiculous. This woman wasn’t going to hurt her. Or anyone else. She was the one who had been hurt. She stared at the woman, almost paralyzed by her pain.
She felt a tug on her sleeve.
Kyle whispered, “Let’s go.”
She put her arm around Jade’s waist and led her away.
After a few steps, Jade said, “Wait.”
She jogged back to the woman. She pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of her pocket. “Here. Get yourself something to eat.” Jade searched her eyes. “Take care.”
The woman stopped crying and
gave her a grateful nod. “Bless you.”
In those eyes was the belief in something, or someone, Jade didn’t understand.
Disquieted, she rejoined Kyle.
A block away, Jade glanced over her shoulder. “So much homelessness. How can you stand it?”
Kyle hesitated. “It’s difficult. I’m sad for that woman. Heartbroken for her, really. I help where I can. But I can’t help them all.”
“What’s the solution?”
Kyle sighed. “Jade Harrington, you like to solve things. The more unsolvable, the better. Probably why you’re good at your job. I’m not sure what the answer is. There are organizations that help fund education and job opportunities. Provide mental-health services. Drug treatment. New construction in Seattle requires inclusion of affordable housing. But, at times, the problem seems insurmountable.” Kyle stopped. “I see some beggars in the same place every morning at the same time without fail. They’re more punctual than some of the people who work for me.”
They stood in front of a white building, the word Escala displayed in large, black cursive letters near the entrance.
Jade noted the name and looked back at Kyle. “Isn’t this where that movie took place? Fifty Shades of Gray?”
“Where it was set. Yes.”
“And you live here?”
“I lived here long before that foolishness came out. And don’t worry. I don’t have a red room of pain.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Jade gazed up at the building, and then back down the street from which they came. “Such vastly different ways of life, only a block away from each other.”
Kyle stared at her, her green eyes piercing. “Jade, I won’t apologize for who I am, what I do, or how much money I make. I had a lot of advantages because of who my parents are, but I’ve worked hard my entire life and earned everything that I own.”
“The one percent. The protests. That woman.” Jade raised her hands. “People like you living like this. Worth millions. Sometimes it’s hard for me to see where it will all end.”
She was still unsettled by the homeless woman, alone, crying on a sidewalk in prosperous, downtown Seattle. This was why people were protesting across the country. Against a system that favored the one percent.