In It For the Money

by Cathy Perkins

  “The tampering is bad, but, wow. Or should I say, whew?” She gave an exaggerated swipe of her forehead. Inside, the relief nearly melted her spine. “If it isn’t a design flaw, you’re not responsible for the wreck.”

  “Right. It’s a relief not to have that liability hanging over my head.”

  Or Tate’s head. She hoped he’d already heard the news. If not, she’d be thrilled to pass along the update. Good news for a change.

  “How was the part tampered with?” Rick asked.

  George fingered the report folder. “The dampening fluid and the valve assembly were removed. The cavity was refilled with motor oil and then the strut was resealed.”

  “Why would they do that?” Holly tried to remember what Tate had told her about the part’s operation. “Isn’t the valve stuff what makes it so great?”

  “Who knows why they did it?” George shook his head. “Unless you noticed the small patch, it looks exactly like our product. From the outside, it is our product. On the outside, anyway. It might’ve been okay to use on the street, but on the course? I’m surprised it lasted as long as it did.”

  “Are you, the cops, thinking sabotage?” she asked.

  “What else could it be?” George raised an eyebrow. “Someone deliberately removed the critical components of the internal mechanism.”

  “If it was sabotage, who was it directed at? The driver?” Rick looked from George to her. “What was his name?”

  “Danny Shaw,” she said.

  “Right. Shaw.” Rick turned back to George. “Or was it random? Maybe someone looking to cause trouble for Cascade Precision?”

  “Or for Tate,” Holly added. “Knowing why they did it would probably tell us who did it.”

  George steepled his fingers. “At this point, figuring out the who is the cops’ job.”

  She kept her fingers still. Could she let go of the question that easily?

  Probably not.

  “Can we take the tampered part being a knockoff off the table?” she asked. “According to the drivers I talked to yesterday, that’s been the issue with the other parts that failed on the circuit.”

  “It doesn’t look like a counterfeit part is the problem this time. Other than obviously for Daniel Shaw. So far, the incident appears to be an isolated case of sabotage.” George dropped his hand. “But it’s really important that we come out strong this weekend in support of our suspension.”

  “You might want to share that with Mikhail Petrov.” She clamped her mouth shut, wishing she could recall the words.

  “What do you mean?” Surprise lifted George’s eyebrows.

  Well, I’ve already stepped in it... She shared the scene she’d observed behind the vendor tent, with Mikhail moving the inventory back into the van.

  “Maybe he just didn’t want a big pile sitting there,” Rick suggested. “Too much inventory could make it look like no one’s buying it.”

  “That’s possible.” Her fingers twitched as she considered the cold viciousness of Mikhail’s tone when he chewed out the van driver. Without knowing more, pushing her concern about Mikhail would be counterproductive. “Tate mentioned last night there was limited stock available for sale,” she said instead.

  “I noticed that too.” George straightened, then leaned forward with a predatory grin. “Believe me, we’ll have plenty on hand this weekend.”

  She hid a smile. She would’ve loved to be a fly on the wall for that confrontation.

  “Now that the liability issue is settled, what did you want to see me about?” George asked.

  As far as she could tell, unfortunately the tampered-with part problem—and any associated liability—was far from settled. There were still huge questions—at least in her mind—about where the sabotaged part came from and who the damage was aimed at. Then there was the big issue—was whoever did it finished?

  “We hate to add to your problems,” she said, “but Rick’s team found a discrepancy in the inventory counts.”

  “What kind of discrepancy?” An annoyed expression clouded George’s face.

  She glanced at Rick. “Rick can explain since he’s more familiar with the details.”

  “There’s an inventory problem.” Rick tapped his folio. “A significant shortage.”

  George groaned. “Why did I ever get involved with this damned part?” He rubbed a spot between his eyebrows where a frown line made a furrow. “It just keeps getting worse. Okay. How did the shortage happen?”

  Rick draped an ankle across his knee. “We’ve already compared the freight reports. The total weight for the truck matches—the weight when it left the factory in Mexico and when it arrived at the warehouse here.”

  “We received what appeared to be a full load?” George asked.

  Rick nodded. “The classic way to cheat on inventory is blaming scrap. Excess scrap during assembly sometimes means either the part, its components, or the raw material’s being stolen. You expect some breakage or parts to be rejected by quality control. All that should happen in Mexico. But our problem is here, not Mexico.”

  George’s eyebrows twitched. “Is someone stealing inventory from the warehouse?”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. If someone’s stealing the parts, they aren’t going into a store. Usually stolen parts show up at flea markets or on Craigslist.”

  “Too many places to even consider tracking.”

  Stealing. Holly shifted, uncomfortable. Like George—and Tate—didn’t have enough problems to deal with without worrying about theft.

  Rick shot a considering glance in her direction. She knew she was supposed to play the professional. To look calm and in control. Restless didn’t begin to cover the tension cramping her shoulders and stomach. The last thing she needed was a client situation spiraling out of control. Especially when a family member was part of the fallout.

  “Have you had any indications there was a problem with the inventory prior to this?” Rick asked George.

  Please say no. She flicked a glance at George. Don’t make us restate the financials.

  So far, there’d been limited press about Cascade Precision’s new role in the auto industry. Dragging the company through the dirt over liability for the new suspension would be a public relations nightmare. And notifying all the professionals and companies potentially impacted by a restatement of the financials would trash Desert Accounting’s reputation.

  George shook his head. “With the focus on the competition-grade part, distribution of the suspension isn’t widespread yet. Sales are slow, but steady. I’d hoped they’d pick up with the interest created by the sporting events.”

  “Rick and I will do a full inventory this weekend,” she said. “Let’s plan to talk Monday about our findings.”

  The door flew open. All three jumped and pivoted at the sound.

  Mikhail stomped into the office. Two red splotches marred his high cheekbones. In an irrelevant thought, Holly noted she’d have to tell Laurie her assassin wasn’t James Bond worthy after all. He lost the Ice Man designation too easily.

  Lisa, George’s admin, hovered in the doorway behind Mikhail, practically wringing her hands. “I’m sorry, Mr. Chen. He insisted on seeing you.”

  “It’s okay, Lisa.” George raised his eyebrows. “Mikhail. I wasn’t expecting you.”

  “You’ve stuck me with a warehouse full of crap merchandise I can’t sell.”

  Holly and Rick exchanged glances. This should be interesting.

  “I didn’t stick you with anything.” George leaned back and folded his hands over his stomach. “You’re the one who was interested in investing in this product.”

  “Mikhail,” Holly interjected. “The merchandise isn’t bad. We were just discussing the accident”—she leaned on the word—”report. The investigators say the part’s design didn’t cause the wreck.”

  “Tell that to the people at the event.” Mikhail pivoted toward her. “Everyone is talking about that wreck and saying the part can’t take t
he stress. After that guy—Shaw—died, no one wants to take a chance on it, and I can’t blame them. Until we know precisely what the problem is, I don’t want that product on the shelf.”

  For a heartbeat, she debated telling him the participants at the event weren’t worried about the part, and calling him out on rejecting the stock for the vendor booth. Her better sense suggested she wait and see where he took his objection.

  George continued his smooth explanation. “You know Mr. Shaw didn’t die from injuries suffered in the wreck.”

  Mikhail shifted his attention back to George and visibly dialed down his agitation.

  “The police are looking into his death,” George said. “There haven’t been any more incidents at the track involving the suspension. The newspaper will print a retraction this weekend for the rumors about the part being defective. It’ll blow over.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Mikhail sighed and shifted his attention back to Holly. “I heard you talked to some of the drivers yesterday. What are they saying? Are they concerned? I think a number of Ford owners have installed the suspension. I don’t want them thinking the sponsors are ganging up on them, forcing them to drive unsafe rigs.”

  George and Rick turned surprised expressions in her direction.

  She felt her cheeks warm. Maybe she’d misjudged Mikhail’s actions that day. “None of the drivers indicated they were worried. I asked if anyone had concerns and everybody said the rumors Randy Kapaska was spreading were ridiculous.”

  “Who’s Randy Kapaska?” Rick asked.

  “The newspaper’s source and a guy with enough problems to fill multiple pickup trucks.” She kept her gaze focused on Mikhail.

  “Well, until we get this straightened out, keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong.” Mikhail narrowed his eyes and added some menace to his tone. “I’ve spent years building relationships with the other sponsors and a lot of the drivers. I won’t have you screwing that up.”

  Didn’t take him long to revert to bully-mode. She met his glare with one of her own. “I’ll do whatever I need to do to protect my client and my cousin from false accusations.”

  “I really think this will work out on its own.” George interrupted. He leaned his forearms on his desk. “Holly, I appreciate that you wanted to alleviate concerns. Mikhail, I’m sure sales will be back to normal this weekend. We’ve already discussed inventory levels in the main booth. Let’s make sure it’s prominently displayed so everyone knows we have confidence in the product.”

  Mikhail gave a curt nod, turned on his heel and walked out.

  “That was interesting.” Holly broke the silence.

  “I’ve never seen him act like that.” George shook his head. “He’s usually very level headed.”

  She glanced at the still-open door. “Maybe the newspaper articles and all the chaos around Shaw’s death were the proverbial last straw. It was easier and less risky for him to yell at you—at us, since we were all here—than at whatever actually has him upset.”

  Or more likely, the guy was a pain-in-the-ass bully used to having his own way.

  “You’re probably right.” George sighed. “The suspension was supposed to be an easy addition to his product lineup. No one expected all these problems.”

  “I know you and Tate talked to Walt Chambers about the newspaper articles,” she said. “Was Mikhail part of that discussion?”

  “I didn’t see any reason to include him. He’s a vendor, not the manufacturer.”

  “Isn’t he an investor in the joint venture?” She glanced at Rick. “Do we have financials on that?”

  Rick shook his head. “Not yet. Mikhail’s company is doing the accounting work.”

  “Yes and no on the investor part,” George said. “He actually loaned money to the venture rather than taking a stock position. A seat on the board of directors of the new company was a condition of the loan.”

  She blinked. “So, you and Tate are the sole owners of the joint venture?”

  “Along with a few other investors.”

  She filed the information away to think about later. Why hadn’t Mikhail wanted an actual ownership stake if he was willing to put money into the venture? “If Mikhail isn’t an owner,” she asked, “why is he controlling the accounting work?”

  George waved off the concern. “Since he has an exclusive on the suspension sales at this point, it was cleaner for him to account for the sales and inventory. Once we go to a wider distribution, we’ll re-evaluate.”

  She didn’t like it, but it sounded almost reasonable. Of course, Mikhail could be manipulating the sales data, which would be a really bad reason for the inventory numbers to be off.

  Then again, there was still the possibility George was the one shaving costs on the product by leaving out the heavy-duty components or using a cheaper material. If so, he could manipulate the information Quality Distributing received about costs.

  Damn, she hated suspecting her clients.

  Rick picked up his folio. “Holly and I will be at the warehouse first thing tomorrow morning. We’ll need access and cooperation, but I’d prefer notice to your employees be limited. If there is a theft problem, I don’t want the thief to have advance warning.”

  George clicked around on his computer. “I’ll send an encrypted email with the access codes to both of you. Larry Jennings is the manager at the warehouse. I’ve known him for years and I trust him. I’ll notify him. He can authorize any help you need with the operators.”

  But could he help them with the owners?

  Or catch a thief?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Bad Company (Bad Company)

  Holly dropped into her desk chair. Would this week ever end? Given that she and Rick would be observing inventory on Saturday, her work week wasn’t over yet. And that lovely adventure meant she’d have to cut short her date tonight with JC. She was too old to stay out all night and still function the next day.

  She sighed. Her life sucked.

  Yeah, yeah. First world problems.

  The phone rang, an outside call that had come through Tracey.

  She stared at the desk phone. She’d only stopped by the office to pick up her laptop. The last thing she wanted to do was deal with another client crisis. Whatever it was, it could wait until Monday.

  Then again, the way her week was going, it would be JC cancelling their date—because he had to work.

  JC would call her cell.

  With a groan, she picked up the receiver and added chipper professional to her tone. “Desert Accounting, Holly Price.”

  “Dennis Ashiro here. When can I expect you back in the office?”

  She gave a silent head smack. She’d told him she needed time to think. “I haven’t made a decision yet.”

  “What is there to decide? This is what you want to do with your life.”

  Not his choice. “It’s an important decision. I haven’t had a chance to discuss it with some of the people who’ll be impacted. I’ll discuss it with them this weekend and let you know my decision early next week.”

  “What is there to discuss?” He cleared his voice. “I can allow you a few more days. There has been a regulatory issue. The attorneys are resolving it. As soon as we get the green light, however, we must be ready to proceed immediately. I need you here.”

  Quit pressuring me. I understand the timetable—and the stakes for both of us.

  Then again, screw you. I can play hardball as well as you can.

  “I understand you need me. I heard Raintree specifically requested I lead the diligence.”

  The brief silence betrayed his surprise. “Who told you Raintree made such a request?”

  “My skills at uncovering details is part of what makes me so valuable, isn’t it? I’ll talk to you next week. If I decide to return, we can discuss the new terms of my arrangement with you.”

  This statement was met with a stunned silence.

  Still smiling, she hung up the phone.

&nbs
p; It immediately rang again. She nearly did a double-take, wondering if Ashiro was calling back, but it was the single ping of an internal call.

  “You have a visitor.” Tracey’s voice sounded strained.

  “Are you okay?” Holly asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That doesn’t sound convincing. I can hang up and call the police if you say ‘yes’ again.”

  “That won’t be necessary. The gentleman is waiting for you in the lobby.”

  Holly strode into the lobby, tense from Tracey’s vague warning.

  Frank stood beside the low-slung chairs, looking out the window at the traffic on Grandridge. Tracey’s tone made sense now. She’d referred to him before as tall, dark and dangerous.

  Of course, Tracey had no idea how dangerous.

  Frank turned his cowboy hat in his hands, as if burning off nervous energy.

  It was a stance Holly had seen from him too many times in Seattle.

  For one second, she closed her eyes and hung her head. Why, God?

  She blew out a long breath and stepped across the open lobby. “Hello, Frank. Why are you here?”

  He swung around. “I wanted to talk to you. I figured you’d avoid the casino.”

  “And why do you think I might do that?”

  “On Thursday morning, I noticed a car enter the parking lot,” he said wryly. “No one emerged after it parked. That caught my attention. It’s unusual. When you finally got out of the car, I figured you were either on the phone or working up to talking to me.”

  Warmth climbed her cheeks at being caught out. “My presentation of the dealer tips was professional. It was exactly what you and the DEA agents requested.”

  “It was first rate. But you couldn’t get away fast enough afterward.”

  Hands clenched, she stared at him and fought the churning in her stomach. “I can’t do this again. You cannot start this up.”

  He beat a slow tattoo with his hat. “I know we’ve crossed paths a lot this week, but I learned my lesson.” He glanced at Tracey, who was pretending not to listen. “I hesitated about coming here, but there was no way I’d risk going to your house. The office seemed like neutral territory.”