"See? Already, it's looking better," I said, when we took a break for lunch, standing up and stretching our sore legs.
"It's just an illusion - we're not really making a lot of progress," he countered, but he still sounded satisfied, not annoyed with how little had been removed from the study.
Indeed, I did think that the mess of papers looked a bit better. Rob ran out and brought back some delicious paper-wrapped deli sandwiches, which we wolfed down with some of his grandmother's sparkling water. Afterwards, however, we returned back to the study, Rob reading as I organized alongside him.
By the second day, I'd started reading through some of the papers as I filed them, and I was noticing a name that popped up a lot. "So, who's this Chad Cartmann guy?" I asked Rob as we sat side by side, shuffling papers around.
He paused, lowering the heavy document that he'd been holding close to his face so that he could read the fine print. "Chad is my boss, the head of Cartmann Securities," he answered. "He's the one who founded the trading group, about a decade ago."
"Oh." I frowned. "So I guess that it makes sense for his name to be on everything."
"Well, yes and no." Rob tossed his current document aside and rubbed his eyes. "On one hand, yes, it makes sense for his name to be on everything. But at the same time, it's crazy that this could have happened under his nose and he wouldn't have known anything about it. Given that the trading group is so small, just about everything goes in front of him for inspection."
It took a moment to click for me. "So he could be responsible himself, you're saying?"
"Maybe. It seems like it would be obvious, but maybe he pulled the whole insider trading thing for his own benefit. Or maybe he had some other reason, something that I don't know about Cartmann Securities." Rob groaned. "Or maybe he's not responsible at all, and I'm barking up the wrong tree."
"More reading?" I asked after a minute.
He nodded. "Yup. More reading."
I looked over at Rob's drawn face, the dark circles under his eyes. "I'll go get another pot of coffee brewing for you."
"Thanks, April," he said, and he really did sound grateful. For a moment, as I left the room, I thought that I caught him looking after me.
By that afternoon, however, Rob was up on his feet, pacing back and forth. "I can't just sit there and read documents any longer," he insisted, moving in a small circle in the little pathway that he'd cleared in the papers covering the floor. "Besides, if this was because of something that Cartmann himself did, there won't be records in here."
"Why not?" I asked.
"He's too smart to leave a trail like that. If he's got any sort of illegal dealings or shady activities going on, he's going to keep the papers tracking that stuff in his own house, somewhere he can check on it whenever he wants, where he knows that no one else can get their hands on it."
I nodded. It made sense. "So what, back in his apartment in Manhattan, or wherever he lives?"
Rob started to nod, but then frowned and changed the motion to a negative head shake. "Actually, no," he said, sounding slightly surprised, as if he'd forgotten something until now. "I was over at his apartment just a few weeks ago, and there's nowhere there for him to stow papers. He always bragged about how it was just his hookup and bachelor pad in the city, anyway. He said that he kept everything he really cared about at his house..."
Rob trailed off, looking up and staring off into the distance. I tried to follow his gaze, but gave up when it became apparent that he was seeing through the wall, off into his own mind's eye.
"What?" I asked. "What about his house?"
"It's right over there," he replied back, jerking his thumb over his shoulder, still gazing off into nothingness.
I started. That wasn't the answer I'd been expecting! "What, like up in the Hamptons? Right near us?"
Rob nodded. "Just next door, in fact. He's even squabbled with my grandmother over who owns the beach near our house."
I thought back to our previous conversation. "He really lives next door? You didn't think that this was important?"
"I didn't consider that he might be involved before now. And I haven't visited. I know it's right next door, but..."
"But you've never seen inside it," I finished for him, taking a guess at the rest of the answer.
Again, Rob confirmed my words with a nod. "He's always inviting people over for parties at his apartment in Manhattan, but he's never opened up his house up here," he said, still frowning. "We even did a retreat up to the Hamptons one year, and he made sure to point his house out to us - that's how I know it's next door - but he didn't let any of us inside it, and insisted that all the parties and such had to stay at the hotel."
"Seems suspicious?" I offered.
"Very suspicious," Rob agreed.
"Well, why don't we go take a look around?"
This seemed like the next logical step to me, but Rob raised his eyebrows at me. "Excuse me?" he asked, sounding as though I'd just suggested that we steal from his grandmother.
"Well, if he's down in the city, running his company and trying to keep his name out of the news, his house is probably deserted up here," I pointed out. "And it's already late afternoon. If we take a break, grab some dinner, and then head over, the sun should be down, and we can sneak around. We could even just walk over! You think that he's got security up here?"
Why was Rob still looking at me like I'd sprouted a second head?
"What?" I asked him, tempted to snap my fingers in front of his face.
"You want to break into my boss's house?" he asked, still sounding stunned.
"Well, I want to get answers to help you! And if those answers aren't going to be in all of this," and I swept my arms around to take in the expanse of cluttered, paper-filled office, "then we should go to wherever those answers are!"
"So you're willing to risk being caught by the police, maybe getting arrested for breaking and entering?"
Was there a little hint of a smile around the edges of Rob's lips, or was I just imagining things? He couldn't be finding this situation funny, could he?
"No one really has much street cred at Grit until they've been arrested at least once," I said, hoping that my nonchalant tone hid the fact that I'd never actually been arrested, and that I'd probably pee my pants if a cop yelled at me and pointed a gun at me. "If I get arrested chasing after a story, well, that's just something for me to brag about to my boss and coworkers when I get out."
Rob lowered his head, shaking it back and forth, and now there was definitely a smile on his face. "You've got some hidden depth to you, April," he said, looking back up at me and smiling at me. "This isn't an aspect I expected to see from you."
"You like it?" I shot back, grinning.
"Maybe. But don't let it go to your head. We still might get caught."
Oh my god, were the two of us flirting? Over the last few days, Rob's initially cold attitude towards me had definitely softened and thawed, as he realized that I really was sticking around, that I wasn't going to bail on him and leave him to try and solve his problems alone. But although he'd been friendly, he never really crossed that line into flirting.
At least, not before now.
"I'd better go look through the clothes I brought," I exclaimed after another minute of grinning at the man, probably looking like an idiot.
"Why?"
"Well, I need something black, for sneaking around, don't I?" I asked, rolling my eyes at having to give such an obvious answer.
This time, Rob nearly choked as he held a hand up to his mouth to catch the laughter. "What, you're going to dress up all in black? Maybe pull a stocking over your head? Or one of those ski masks with the holes cut out for your eyes?" he managed to get out between bouts of... why, those were full-out giggles!
I glared back at him, crossing my arms across my chest. "Of course! What were you going to wear? Camo? Or were you going to try and sneak in while wearing bright orange, maybe something that lights up?"
&
nbsp; Rob just shook his head. "No, that's not how we're going to go about trying this. I have an idea, and we're going to make the smart move here. But we ought to go upstairs and get ready now."
I glanced out the hallway, down at the windows to the house. "The sun's still up."
"Yes, I know," he replied. "That's a part of my plan. Now, go upstairs and find something that looks casual but elegant."
"Um..." I mentally flipped through my limited wardrobe, not finding anything that seemed to fit this paradoxical description.
He rolled his eyes. "Something that looks like you'd wear it to an outdoor meal at a four-star restaurant around here. Dressy but lighter. Does that help?"
"Yes, but why-"
"Trust me. I'll explain once you're dressed." Rob looked down at his watch. "Now hurry, we don't have a lot of time until the sun goes down. The plan gets a bit tougher to explain if we try it in the dark."
I still had no idea what he was thinking of attempting, but I decided to defer to him. After all, it wasn't like I had much, or any, experience at sneaking into other people's houses. I nodded, and headed upstairs to go get dressed.
Three outfits later, I came downstairs, still not totally set on what I'd chosen. "I'm not sure if this is quite what you were imagining," I began, but my sentence died away as I looked down at Rob, standing at the foot of the stairs and tapping his foot as he waited for me.
Rob looked... amazing.
He'd put on a light blue blazer over a plum shirt and a pair of khakis. On anyone else, the ensemble would have looked ridiculous, like a rejected Vineyard Vines mannequin, but Rob wore the clothes with effortless confidence, filling them out and appearing cool and collected, ready to step out into his private box at the Kentucky Derby.
"Wow," I managed.
Rob ran his eyes over the outfit I'd finally chosen, nodding in approval. "That will work," was all that he said, but his eyes seemed to linger for a moment on the neckline of my loose, gauzy silk blouse, paired with dark, solid color pants and a chunky, gold-and-amber necklace (which, although I'd never tell Rob, had come from a discount department store, on the clearance rack). He certainly wasn't checking me out.
Was he?
"Great. Will you explain the plan, now?"
He just grinned. "Just come with me, and follow my lead."
Chapter Thirteen
*
Hook growled, slumping down lower in the driver's seat of his rental car. In the last couple of days, the originally pristine car interior had been all but hidden under a layer of fast food paper bags, cellophane snack food wrappers, crumpled receipts, and other bits of detritus. Occasionally, when the crap got in the way, Hook would roll down the window and chuck some of it out, but it always seemed to build back up as fast as he could get rid of it.
His annoyance, however, was at the fact that either Cartmann had sent him on a false trail, or this Rob Hendricks guy was much better at hiding out than he'd expected from a typical Wall Street stuck-up asshole.
A search of the internet turned up a hit for a house belonging to Diana Hendricks, who he guessed was Rob's parent or grandparent. He'd gone by the house and checked it out, but the old woman who answered the door a couple of days ago had told him that she hadn't seen her grandson in months. He'd poked around the back after she sent him away, but he only saw a little two-seater Miata - definitely not the kind of thing a big macho hotshot would ever drive.
The only small upside was that Diana Hendricks' house turned out to be just one street over from Cartmann's big mansion. Hook found an inconspicuous spot at the end of the street to camp out where he could watch Cartmann's mansion, occasionally pulling out his binoculars to peek through the windows of the neighbors' houses as a distraction. He still wasn't sure if he believed Cartmann in telling him that this whole thing was due to Hendricks. He read the stories in the papers, most of which already had decided that Hendricks had to be guilty, but Hook found it rather suspicious that Hendricks was able to pull all of this off without Cartmann catching on.
But Cartmann was still down in Manhattan, and Hendricks was a ghost. Hook growled to himself. If he could get his hands on someone, it would be easy to make them talk.
He just needed a target.
This was why he hated financial deals, and trying to catch the perpetrators. He'd much rather deal with missing cocaine, or other drugs. Those would always be physically sitting around somewhere, not floating around in the air as little bits of electronic data.
Maybe he ought to cruise by that old lady's little house again. It didn't look like the sort of place that a stuck-up Wall Street new money jerk would buy for himself, but maybe that was how Hendricks was keeping such a low profile-
Something caught Hook's eye, and he straightened up in his seat. There was a new car coming down the street, moving slowly like its driver was looking at the numbers on the houses. Hook's eyes ran over the powerful lines of the black Dodge Challenger. That was a nice car, he admitted to himself. Its engine barely made any noise as it cruised down this residential street, but he didn't doubt that the thing would roar like a caged animal when its driver took it out onto the open road.
The Challenger moved along until it reached the entrance to Cartmann's long driveway, leading up to the house - although the thing was more like an estate, Hook thought sourly to himself. Far more house than any man really needed. When he first saw the opulence of the place, he'd been half tempted to chuck a firebomb in through one of the massive bay windows and burn the thing down to the ground.
Now, he fumbled for his binoculars as he watched this new car pull slowly up to the front. Was this Cartmann, deciding to come up and visit his house for the evening? The powerful muscle car didn't match with Hook's brief impression of the foul-mouthed, showy trader, but maybe the man had hidden depths.
But instead of Cartmann, a younger man emerged from the driver's side of the door, moving around to help out a young woman. Both of them were dressed in the sort of casually dressy outfits that Hook had seen nonstop since arriving up in this WASP nest. The man's face looked familiar, and Hook tuned his binoculars in on it.
Yes, no doubt about it. The man helping his lady out of the car was none other than Rob Hendricks, the ghost that Hook had been seeking!
Hook lowered his binoculars with a grin, glad that he finally had a target - but then paused as he started to reach for the door handle. A new and disquieting thought had entered his head.
What was Hendricks doing here, at Cartmann's house? If Cartmann had really cut off all lines of communication with his former employee - which was the impression Hook gained from the papers, and his little chat with Chad - then he wouldn't want to see the man show up at his doorstep.
Yet Rob and his date had pulled up in broad daylight, looking like they belonged at the place! Even as Hook watched, grabbing again for the binoculars, Rob strode right up to the front door, knocked, and said something to the elderly caretaker who opened it a minute later!
This whole thing smelled of collusion. That suggested that someone had lied to Hook - and if that was the case, he was going to make sure that he punished those liars accordingly.
But right now, Hendricks was his target, and he had the man in his sights. Stealthily, Hook opened the door to his rental car and stepped out, ignoring the paper coffee cup that tumbled out the side of the door and landed in the gutter.
Hendricks and his lady had disappeared into the house. Hook crept along the side of the mansion; he'd already scouted out the building, and knew that a couple of the big bay windows would give him a good view of the interior.
In addition, the latch on one of those windows was loose. Hook had further loosened it the previous night, wedging a screwdriver into the crack between window and sill and wriggling it around until the latch barely even engaged any longer. It was sloppy work, and a police search would find it quickly, but Hook didn't really care about subtlety. He just needed a way in.
Standing in the bushes at that big bay
window, Hook leaned in, watching to see what Hendricks might be attempting to do in his former boss's house.
#
"Oh my god," I whispered to Rob, as we moved in past the elderly man who held the door to Cartmann's sprawling mansion open for us. "How did you do that?"
"I was fairly certain that news hadn't spread up here about all the details yet," Rob whispered back to me, talking out of the corner of his mouth, as if the old man would somehow manage to read his lips. "That caretaker probably knows that I don't work with Cartmann Securities any longer, but my story still sounds reasonable."
And indeed, it had sounded reasonable. I'd been gripping the leather of the passenger seat in Rob's car as we boldly drove right up to the front door of the mansion, but Rob just smiled and moved as if he owned the place. He'd helped me out of the car and then strode right up to the front door, pushing the buzzer and waiting as if he was expected.
"Rob Hendricks," he'd said to the old man who opened the door after a minute. "I believe you have something for me?"
Of course, the man had no idea what Rob was talking about (just like how I felt). Rob insisted that he'd been sent here to pick up his final paperwork, and that Cartmann told him explicitly that it was around somewhere. After a minute of arguing pointlessly with the old man, Rob groaned and asked if we could step inside.
In our fairly classy getup, we looked like we belonged there - and when Rob pulled out one of his business cards, proving that he did indeed work at Cartmann Securities, at least until recently, the old man folded. He stepped aside and let us into the mansion of Rob's former boss.
"Are you sure that he didn't call about something, or that there wasn't a package here with my name on it?" Rob asked the man again now, as I looked around the interior of the mansion and tried not to let my mouth hang open.
When Chad Cartmann hired a designer to decorate the interior of his mansion, he must have told the man "Gold, and lots of it." Just about every possible surface seemed to be covered in gold leaf. The doorknobs were gold, the floor was inlaid with gold tiles in a complex pattern in between interlocking squares of dark and exotic woods, and even the ceiling was covered in stamped gold panels. I suspected that these, at least, were probably made of brass, but they still added to the illusion that I had stepped through a door into the interior of Fort Knox, or maybe inside a massive gold bar.
Bad Boy of Wall Street: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance Page 8