by JoAnn Durgin
Be charitable, Caty. Not that Belac served alcohol at parties. Not that Belac even had parties. Not since she’d worked for them, anyway. With a reclusive owner, parties weren’t exactly encouraged.
Restless and needing something to do, Caty walked across the office to the large display case set into the back wall. It reminded her of a museum. The crowning glory was a signed baseball glove illuminated by a soft spotlight. Caty felt like a kid peering in a shop window with her nose pressed so close to the case that she fogged the glass. With a frown, she used the sleeve of her blouse to wipe it off but still couldn’t decipher the signature.
Cordelia returned with her jacket in short order. “The temporary stitches should hold until a professional tailor can repair it.” Gesturing for Caty to turn, she helped Caty into the jacket. In the process Caty caught a whiff of…Chinese food? A mental image of Abernathy with the carry-out boxes popped into her mind. He’d mentioned his assistant. Maybe he also worked closely with Mr. Reid and Cordelia? No matter where he worked, it’d be for the best if she didn’t meet up with him for a few days to let the dust settle. By then she’d hope to appear more competent.
“You’re the best, Cordelia. I’m sure Mr. Reid must adore you. Have you worked for him a long time?”
“I’ve been his assistant since he started the corporation almost eighteen years ago. I’d served overseas in the Army and was a widow with two boys in college at the time. Mr. Reid’s almost done with his conference call. He’s negotiating new contracts with investors, so it’s taking a bit longer than expected.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Caty said. Those contracts helped pay her salary, after all. “I’m in no hurry. I’ll be here whenever he’s done.” She wondered if Cordelia called Mr. Reid by his first name in private. After eighteen years? Surely they were on a first name basis by now. In any case, her loyalty was inspiring.
“I’m going to pick up your parking card at the building office in a few minutes, and I have your Belac ID badge,” Cordelia told her. “I’ll leave them both for you at the front desk. Be sure and get them from Suma before you leave today.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks again for all your help.”
“You’re welcome, Caty. I’ll see you again soon.”
Caty smiled and nodded. “I’ll look forward to it.”
After Cordelia departed, Caty investigated the wall-mounted shadowbox which showcased the Louisville slugger with Nolan Ryan’s signature. Did A.C. Reid know Nolan personally? That was a strong possibility and would make sense since they might be contemporaries—both native Texans in the same age group.
The interior door opened after a few minutes and Caty heard a man’s voice. He paused in the doorway just beyond her range of vision.
Caty inhaled a quick breath and then released it slowly.
Here I go. Lord, please be with me.
Chapter 4
At first glance, A.C. Reid was what Caty expected—early to mid-sixties, tall and lean, glasses, slightly balding on top. He wore a well-tailored navy suit, yellow silk tie, and dark leather shoes. His expression was serious, almost somber, and he gave her a courteous nod as he entered the office.
“Miss Lewis, we finally meet one-on-one.”
No nice to meet you. No thanks for your hard work. Why should she have expected compliments? The first few words of her rehearsed speech flew right out of her mind. Completely gone. Poof! She’d have to wing it. She’d done it before.
“Mr. Reid, it’s nice to meet you in person. It’s been a pleasure working for Belac the past five years.” Caty strode forward, praying the broken heel of her shoe stayed in place. She didn’t know if she could survive another stumble. Surely, she’d used up her annual quota this afternoon alone.
Meeting him in the middle of the office, Caty offered her hand. “I was admiring your Louisville Slugger signed by Nolan Ryan. Looks like you have an extensive collection of wonderful memorabilia.”
“Yes, well, I like baseball.” That much was obvious although his less than enthusiastic remark struck her as odd. Didn’t most baseball aficionados love to spout a fact or two to substantiate their knowledge of the sport?
“Let’s talk.” He motioned to the same chair she’d vacated. The man seemed to be all-business and not inclined for small talk. Taking a seat in the other wingback chair facing her, Mr. Reid crossed one elegantly clad trouser leg over the other. “Your email indicated you have a matter of great importance to discuss. Considering this is the first time you’ve insisted on a private meeting, I’m curious. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
“That’s correct.” Caty swallowed. The man’s time was valuable, and she needed to state her case before she lost her nerve. She’d worked hard for Reidco to establish a reputation for excellence and proficiency. That alone had earned her an audience with the man today, but she was also here to protect her reputation and integrity if it was in question.
“Mr. Reid, based on the last two monthly profit and loss reports for Reidco, I’ve noticed discrepancies. To be blunt, I strongly suspect someone within our division is testing the waters and”—she hesitated to use the word embezzling—“diverting funds, a little at a time. I’ve found four separate instances of this happening. In the first three cases, the amount increased by a negligible amount, and within a few hundred dollars of the previous amount. This seems to be occurring at random times, different days of the week, and varying times of the month.”
Mr. Reid’s forehead creased. Shifting his position, he leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I assume you’ve brought evidence to back up your assertions?”
“I have.” No matter that those assertions had been scattered all over the Houston city sidewalk a half hour ago. Pulling the briefcase onto her lap, Caty retrieved the red folder containing the most crucial summary report. She placed the file on the desk and began to run down the line items, pointing out the ones in question.
“You’ll see that each of these first three amounts I’ve highlighted are for losses in the Reidco gas station convenience stores in two locations—Lubbock for the first and Laredo for the other two. Added together, all three amount to $856.93. The first two were recorded as losses due to theft. The last, also the largest individual charge, totaled almost $470, and it was counted as a damaged item. Until last week, there hadn’t been a single entry over $1,000 withdrawn that wasn’t allocated elsewhere. But take a look at this fourth and final entry. You’ll see it’s a much larger amount, and it’s the main reason for my coming to you directly.”
Mr. Reid listened as she showed him a payment of $8,000 to an oil supplier in West Texas. “That payment was the one that clued me in to the sloppiness of the person behind these withdrawals,” she told him. “I believe they’re getting bolder and overconfident if they believe they’re getting away with it.”
The man’s frown deepened and the crease between his brows grew more prominent. “The payments to oil suppliers are always higher, and the amount seems to have been properly allocated, Miss Lewis.”
Stunned speechless, Caty tried not to stare at him in disbelief. Surely he understood the implications. Was A.C. Reid nothing more than a figurehead, a man clueless as to the inner workings of his own multibillion dollar corporation? She’d studied the history of the corporation, enough to understand the brilliant mind behind Belac. Based on the borderline nonchalant reaction of the man sitting across from her now, she had to wonder. More like she wanted to shake him and ask him what he’d done with the real A.C. Reid.
This makes no sense!
Caty drew in a quick breath. At the same time, she tried to tamp down the initial stirrings of suspicion. “With all due respect, sir, Belac stopped accepting shipments from that oil supplier six months ago. As I recall, the internal memorandum issued seven months and six days ago stated that all business ties with that particular supplier were severed, effective immediately.” She hesitated and made sure she had his full attention. “A memorandum issued under your signature. I have a
copy here if you’ll give me just a minute.”
“That won’t be necessary.” His tone was almost too calm, his words succinct and measured.
Several seconds passed without either of them speaking. Long enough for Caty’s suspicions to grow. Could it be? The theory was inconceivable but perhaps no more ludicrous than current circumstances.
Sitting back in her chair, Caty tried to maintain control although her mind was spinning. She nodded to the shadowbox containing the Nolan Ryan signed baseball bat. “What is Nolan Ryan’s nickname?” She snapped her fingers as if trying to remember. “It escapes me at the moment.”
Lord, forgive that lie. In this case, Caty considered it justified. Something weird was going on here, and she needed to uncover the truth. Now.
“I don’t recall. Nolan played for the Astros, and that’s when he caught my attention.” Behind his glasses, the man’s eyes avoided hers. If he cared enough to have a Nolan Ryan-signed bat, how could he not be aware of the basic facts most ten-year-old boys in Texas would know?
“He made his major league debut and played for the New York Mets in 1966,” Caty said. “Then he went to the California Angels for seven years before coming to the Astros.”
Mr. Reid continued to avoid her gaze and drummed his fingers on the desk.
“Do you know where Nolan Ryan ended his major league baseball career…Mr. Reid?”
He rose to his feet and began to pace. “No, but I’m sure you do, Miss Lewis.” The man was agitated. Good. She wanted him agitated.
I can’t believe this! “Nolan was with the Texas Rangers from 1989 through 1993.”
Shoving his hands into the pockets of his slacks, the man stared at her. “Did you work for the MLB at one time, young lady? You seem to have an uncommonly good handle on random baseball facts.”
She was surprised he hadn’t tacked for a woman to the end of that sentence although his expression implied as much. Her respect for the head of the corporation plummeted to the ground and was about to crash and burn. If he was the founder and CEO. More than ever, Caty was convinced this man was not A.C. Reid.
Lord, what’s happening here?
“I grew up with a dad and three brothers who love Texas baseball. I also happen to like the game very much.” Rising to her feet, Caty closed the folder. “Those facts aren’t really so random if you’re a true Nolan Ryan fan.” She hesitated. “Are they?”
Silence reigned in the room, the only sound the ticking from a clock on the wall.
Tick tock.
Caty lifted her chin. “I have one more question.”
Tick tock.
“What’s that?” He didn’t flinch. Neither did she. Adrenaline raced through Caty as curiosity tempered with incredulity—and maybe a tiny bit of outrage—claimed possession of her nerves.
Say it.
“I specifically requested a private meeting with A.C. Reid.” Caty spoke slowly and with purpose. “Would you please ask him to come into the office now so that I may speak with him directly?”
Chapter 5
The man’s eyes narrowed and he inclined his head. Without another word, he turned and departed out the same side door. Watching him, Caty seethed. How dare the man? Was he playing her for a fool? Should she be more peeved with this obvious imposter or with A.C. Reid?
Tick tock.
“Oh, be quiet.” Great. Now she was chastising inanimate objects?
When Caty overheard muffled male voices from behind the door, she closed her eyes.
Lord, give me strength.
“The date was September 22, 1993. Nolan’s last major league appearance. With the Texas Rangers. His full name is Lynn Nolan Ryan, Jr., and his nickname is The Ryan Express.”
She hadn’t heard a door open or close. That deep voice, that drawl. It was him minus the Stetson and the leather jacket. Abernathy. Cowboy Abe. Also known as A.C. Reid, apparently. The man had a very nice head of wavy, chestnut-colored hair, but that was beside the point.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Lewis.”
Caty’s eyes flew open, and she locked gazes with him. Now it was Miss Lewis, was it? Suddenly light-headed, she fought to retain her shaky composure. “You were there, I suppose? In the stadium that day in 1993?”
He nodded. “I was. Should I be uncomfortable you seem to know me so well?”
“I don’t really know you at all, Mr. Reid. I only know that you’re from Dallas, so it was more an educated guess that you might have been in attendance.” She nodded over her shoulder. “Am I to assume the glove in your case, the one in the spotlight, is also signed by The Ryan Express?”
“No. In fact, that particular glove was signed by The Great Bambino.”
Caty stared. Babe Ruth? Wow. She wanted to run over and take another look but stayed rooted to his expensive Persian carpet. “The Sultan of Swat?”
Running a hand over his chin, he smiled. She’d obviously surprised him with her question, but he shouldn’t do that. His smile was much too disarming. “Yes, also known as The Big Barn.”
Was this all a game to him? Okay, then. She’d play along. “Jack Dunn’s baby.” She could tell she had him on that nickname. “You just can’t beat the person who never gives up,” she quoted. “Can you?” How on earth she remembered a quote from a long-dead baseball player, legend or not, she’d never know. Especially after the afternoon she’d had.
You’re weird, that’s how. Living in a house overflowing with testosterone—especially after her much older sisters left home—had made an impact on a tomboyish girl with a brain for numbers.
“I get the feeling you have dogged persistence. That’s an admirable quality, especially in my chief accountant for the Reidco division.” He paused a moment. Dare she hope he wouldn’t be able to come up with another quote? “Every strike brings me closer to the next home run.”
Caty avoided those brown eyes while she searched her mind to pull out one last quote. “Never let the fear of striking out get in your way.” Ah, thank you Jesus! She might be nervous, but it was a good sign that her brain was still functioning.
“I think I’ve met my match.” His statement was accompanied by a deferential nod.
How should she respond to that? “I trust your wife shares your love of the sport.” Maybe that was out of line, but she needed to say something. Make him aware she honored the vows of marriage even if he didn’t. Then again, he probably only meant those words in terms of baseball trivia.
Mr. Reid remained silent but the muscles in his cheeks visibly tightened.
Caty crossed her arms but then lowered them to her sides. “Is your first name really Abernathy?”
“Yes, but I prefer to be called by my middle name—Caleb. You obviously know your baseball, and you have an eagle eye over the Reidco accounts. I’m impressed.”
“It’s my job to pay attention. Your trusted associate is either thorough or else you were somehow privy to our earlier conversation.” Had the other man told him of their discussion? Or were cameras or recorders installed in the office? Talk about invasion of privacy.
His eyes narrowed. “I don’t spy, but I do have faithful, loyal employees.”
“I’d say so. So loyal that one of them was willing to impersonate you?” Caty bristled and tried to tamp down her increasing irritation. It wasn’t working. “With all due respect, what was the point of that exercise in futility? Was it some kind of test?” She tried to keep her tone from sounding accusatory but failed miserably. If she was going to be fired, she might as well go out in style.
This is your boss. Act respectful.
“Caty, it wasn’t my doing, I assure you.”
“As the CEO and founder of Belac, I should think others do your bidding, not the other way around.” She lowered her gaze. “Not that it’s any of my concern.”
“I have a security team. They make recommendations and advise when there are potential risks. I wasn’t testing you, and it was never my intention to deceive you.”
Caleb’s lips
thinned, and he either couldn’t—or wouldn’t—tell her more.
Still, his words mollified her somewhat. “Should I be uncomfortable that you had the unfair advantage and knew who I was when we met outside?”
Don’t make premature judgments.
“I didn’t know you were…well, you…until you said your name was Catherine, and then you mentioned the Caty nickname. I’m also aware your middle name is Grace. I checked when I came back to the office.”
Caty’s breath caught. “Why would you do that?”
“Because you intrigue me, Catherine Grace Lewis. It’s as simple—or as complicated—as that. I’ve appreciated your work for Reidco. Your activities in Dallas and then in the Lubbock community the past two years have only enhanced that opinion.”
“Excuse me?” Had he investigated her? How could invading her privacy be allowed? She’d heard how some employers checked into their employees’ after-hours activities but never would she have believed anyone at Belac or Reidco would actually do such a thing.
“I read a newspaper article about your work with the wives and girlfriends of the prisoners incarcerated at the John Montford Unit,” he said. “How you’ve helped clothe them, find them employment and childcare, and provided them with Bibles. The Montford Mission, isn’t that what you call it?”
“That’s right, Mr. Reid. I’m a firm believer in following the Lord’s nudge when a need in the community is made known.” In her family, helping others was practically in her DNA. Caty’s initial anger faded after it finally sunk into her muddled brain that he’d actually paid her a compliment.
“It’s Caleb.” His eyes glimmered with appreciation. “I’m aware a large majority of the men at Montford will never be released because of medical conditions or mental illness. You’re providing a vital ministry, and I’m sure you’re giving those women the kind of comfort and assistance that only another woman can.”