Archer Securities

by Jove Belle

  She went back to work on the birthday party. A woman in that situation likely had limited resources, so she generated a few giftcards to various clothing stores, grocery stores, and gas stations. After arranging delivery, she considered her work there done.

  With an hour left of her work day, she had just enough time to verify her revenue streams were still flowing properly. Long ago, during her reckless early days of hacking, she’d run amok through several corporations, simply to prove she could bypass their safety protocols. Once she was in, she couldn’t resist doing something. That’s when she’d come up with an absolute genius bit of code she called “Housekeeping.” It siphoned small amounts from every department each day. The amounts were small enough that no department head even noticed, but combined, the total dollar amount banked was staggering.

  That’s when she’d diversified and moved her funds to the Caymans. No matter what they showed on TV, those funds were untouchable by the US government.

  Now, she was a little more discerning about how she applied her skills. She vetted the companies she targeted. They had to meet certain criteria, such as routinely engaging in unethical practices. Working for Archer, she’d stumbled across several practices that gave her pause, including such things as shifting labor forces to avoid paying benefits, falsely inflating expenses to minimize taxable income, and shifting hazardous waste to unregulated countries for disposal because it was cheaper to move than take care of it properly. With the money she gleaned, she was able to provide financial support for people who needed it.

  CHAPTER 5

  “This is how you spend your day off?” Sia nudged the stack of papers in front of Laila before flopping onto the couch next to her. “Come play with me. Desmond is off golfing with Daddy, and I’m bored.”

  Laila flipped to the next page of budget reports. Her search into the security fund had, as yet, proven fruitless. The answer had to be here. It had to be. “Busy.” She grunted her response without looking up.

  “Lai-la.” Sia said her name as a prolonged sing-song that bordered on whining.

  The numbers on the page swam in and out of focus, a sure sign she’d been staring at them for too long. She glanced at the clock. Three o’clock. “How’d you get in?”

  “You gave me a key, remember?”

  “Yes, of course, but it’s for emergencies. Are you having an emergency?”

  “Sorta. My fiancé blew me off for my father, and my favorite cousin ditched out on our regular Sunday morning brunch.”

  “Wait.” Laila shook her head. “It’s Sunday?” Surely she hadn’t been working on this for that long.

  “Oh, Laila, you didn’t.” Sia stood, took Laila by the hand, and tugged her upright. “This is an intervention. You need to put the work down.”

  Laila started to protest. So she’d lost track of a day. That wasn’t so bad. She’d lost entire weeks before when trying to find the answer to a particularly delicious puzzle. While working her first official case as a PI, she’d lost almost ten pounds because she’d forgotten to eat until she’d wrapped up.

  “No. Don’t even try. You need a break, at least long enough to get some food in you.” Sia sniffed. “And a shower and clean clothes. Damn, girl. How do you even stand yourself?”

  Laila let herself be led to the bedroom. “Come on, Sia. I promised your dad I’d sort this out. The answer is right in front of me. I know it is.”

  Sia held up her hand. “Stop. First, you shower. Then we eat. We can talk over Thai.” Sia left the room and closed the door behind her.

  Since they were kids, Sia was first on the very short list of people who could penetrate the fog that surrounded Laila when she chased something down the rabbit hole. Probably because she never tried to change Laila, and she never really pushed to understand anything either. Too many times she’d heard “I just don’t get you” from her parents before they died, from teachers, from almost-friends, from lovers. From everybody, really, except Sia. Her cousin never treated her as if she was a special project, something broken in need of repair. She simply was there. She called her on her crap and loved her no matter what. If Sia wanted her to shower and go to lunch, she could do that. Besides, Sia had promised to discuss it with her. That was always good. Her brain untangled things differently when she talked a puzzle through.

  Laila rushed through a shower, skipped blow drying her hair, and crammed a hat on her head on the way out the door.

  Sia insisted they walk to the Thai place that was about a half mile from Laila’s apartment. About halfway there, after several attempts by Sia to start the conversation, Sia finally said, “Okay, fine. Go. But you’re going to stay around long enough to talk to me about the wedding when you’re done.”

  Laila paused mid step. Shit. She was being a bad friend again. “What’s going on with the wedding?”

  “Nothing… Everything… I don’t know. Maybe nothing.” Sia pushed a hand through her hair and, for once, looked ruffled instead of smooth and polished.

  “Ummm…” Laila placed her hand on Sia’s arm and signaled for her to stop. She pulled her into a hug. Just because Laila didn’t understand the need for hugs, she definitely understood that Sia needed them. She held her, not too tight, but secure enough for Sia to know she was there. It was something she’d practiced, and she liked to think she’d gotten pretty good at it over the years. Sia snuffled into her shoulder and, after a few moments, pulled away.

  “Thanks.” Sia’s eyes were rimmed with red. “I needed that.”

  “Okay, want to tell me what’s going on?” Laila was pretty sure Sia wouldn’t have brought it up otherwise, but she was bad at subtle communication. If something wasn’t spelled out explicitly, she usually missed the message completely.

  “Yeah. But let’s order first.” Sia started toward the restaurant again.

  For the rest of their walk, Sia made light small talk. It was the kind of thing Laila sucked at, and as a general rule, she hated it. But this time she tried to participate. Clearly Sia needed something to fill the air between them. They were seated with food in front of them before she tried again.

  “So…”

  “So…nothing really. Daddy just made a point that I hadn’t thought about.” Sia screwed her face up into an expression that landed somewhere between murderous and wanting to cry.

  “What?” Laila was intrigued. Uncle Samar tended to make good points, regardless of whether the other person wanted to hear about it or not.

  “Well, Desmond and I talked about a pre-nup, of course, but I simply refuse to sign one.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, it’s like we’re admitting defeat before we even start. I hate that.”

  “I know. But it’s the only thing that makes sense.” Laila couldn’t imagine just handing someone access to all of her financial security. Emotions were flawed, and people were fickle. Sia’s inability to see that, frankly, surprised Laila.

  “I just can’t do it, Lai. I can’t.”

  “Okay, so what did Uncle Samar say about it?”

  “He thinks I’m being stubborn and foolish. I hate when he disapproves. You know how he gets. Sullen and brooding.”

  Laila hesitated to make the offer. Even though her uncle sometimes responded to Laila easier than Sia, it wasn’t without cost. Uncle Samar didn’t like the idea of them double teaming him, and it made him draw away for a time. And then there was the way Sia reacted when Laila was able to succeed where she’d failed. Overall, it made for some tense family gatherings. But, if it would help Sia, she had to do it. “I could talk to him.”

  Sia tilted her head and studied Laila, looking at her long and hard, with a contemplative expression on her face. “No. Not this time.”

  “Okay. What else can I do?” Laila would ask Max to look into Desmond, regardless of Sia’s answer. Max was able to find dirt, no matter how well it was buried.

  “Just listen when I need to vent?” Sia asked.

  Laila nodded. “I can do that.”

/>   “Thanks,” Sia said. “Now, tell me what’s going on with your investigation.”

  Laila took a bite and chewed carefully. She needed the moment to mentally reset to the new topic. “Not much at all. Everything I’ve looked at looks fine.”

  “Tell me.” Sia gestured with her fork for Laila to keep talking.

  “I’ve looked at all the outlier information, like the international security budget and practices. There’s some shitty things happening with that, but nothing that adds up to unexplained losses.”

  “What do you mean, shitty?” Sia adopted the look she got every time she didn’t like what she was being told. Like Laila, she grew up with an almost fairytale view of Archer, only she clung to it a little tighter than Laila.

  There wasn’t an easy way to say that Archer refused to pay ransoms on several employees who ultimately were executed because of it. Still, she tried to soft sell it. “Just some issues with operations overseas that resulted in on-the-job injuries.”

  “Do I want to know the details?” Sia stopped fussing with her food and pinned Laila with a probing stare.

  “No, Sia, you really don’t.” Laila wasn’t capable of letting go of things easily, but Sia had always had that skill. If someone she trusted said she didn’t want to know, she didn’t push any further. She liked to remain borderline naïve about life. Whereas Laila, no matter how painful, ugly, and messy things got, well, she just kept picking at it like a scab. She refused to leave it until every last bit was uncovered.

  Sia nodded slowly. “Okay. What else?”

  “Then I looked at the employees who have loans through the banking division. There are a lot.”

  “Why look there? People get car loans and home mortgages all the time.”

  “Agreed, but money does strange things to people. For instance, what if somebody got really far behind in their mortgage and blamed Archer? Would that person then steal from the company?”

  “I get it. What did you find?”

  “Nothing. Or rather, nothing notable. The interest rates for employees are amazing. And the few examples where an employee got behind, the company restructured the loan without adding any additional fees. There’s even a handful of cases where they forgave the loan.”

  Sia stopped mid bite. “Forgave the loan? What does that mean?”

  “Maybe I’m calling it the wrong thing. But without digging too deep, it looks like the mortgages were paid from an account called ‘Home Assistance.’”

  “Did you ask Daddy about that?”

  Laila shook her head as she shoved a forkful of noodles into her mouth. She’d been talking too much and her food was sitting there sadly neglected. “Why would I?”

  “It’s just that he’s never mentioned anything like that. ‘Home Assistance’? That’s the kind of thing he would have told us about, isn’t it?” Sia tilted her head to the side, almost as if it was a genuine question. She was right, of course; it was exactly the kind of promo-op story that Uncle Samar would have told them when they were kids. Anything that painted Archer as the hero was common dinner-table discussion.

  “Yeah, okay, I’ll ask him tomorrow.” It wasn’t really her uncle’s department, but he should know enough to find the answers for her.

  “What else have you looked at?”

  “There’s another account, ‘Housekeeping.’ Every department contributes, but there doesn’t appear to be any balance to it. I just keep staring at those records. I know the answer is there. I just need to find it.”

  “You might be right. But don’t do that thing where you get so tied up that you forget to look at everything else.”

  “When have I ever done that?”

  For the remainder of lunch, Sia teased Laila about the many, many times when she’d latched onto an idea and refused to let go.

  After, Sia dragged her across town to look at a venue for the reception. Sia drove, leaving Laila free to stare out the window and roll the facts about Archer through her mind. When they arrived, Sia slowed, but didn’t park.

  “There’s no way we can have the reception here.” Sia wrinkled her nose.

  A block over, a line of people trailed down the sidewalk and around the corner. They had the ubiquitous uniformed appearance of the homeless—eyes downcast; clothing that hung from their frames, layered and dirty, making them look more like urban scarecrows than humans; bodies hunched over, sometimes shielding their mountain of personal effects piled high in an abused shopping cart. It was clear why Sia dismissed it out of hand, but it was also troublesome.

  The line shuffled forward, and the first few people entered a building. The sign above the entryway read Open Doors. As people entered, others left, looking a little brighter for the briefest moment. Several clutched fluffy blankets to their chests, despite the heat of summer.

  “We should help,” Laila said.

  “How?”

  “I don’t know.” Laila never knew the answer to social problems such as homelessness. They were too abstract in nature. She wasn’t able to simplify it into terms that allowed her to solve for the variable. It seemed that there was no magic integer to make it all better.

  “Open Doors. Let’s look them up later. We can send them a check.” Sia stroked Laila’s arm. Somehow, she always knew when Laila was in danger of being sucked down the rabbit hole.

  “Good.” Laila nodded. She liked this solution. “Now, how many other potential venues do you have lined up?”

  It wasn’t how she’d planned to spend the day. Then again, she hadn’t even realized what day it was. She still hadn’t looked at the websites Sia had sent her about being a maid of honor, but she was pretty sure spending an afternoon looking at reception halls was a good thing to do.

  “Three more.”

  “Then we best get to it.”

  CHAPTER 6

  “Hey bee-otch! Don’t you ever leave that room?” Yvonne yelled her greeting, but Trinity still struggled to hear her over the loud calypso music blaring in the background. She held a glass filled with cloudy white liquid and topped with a stereotypical tiny umbrella. Her hair had been gelled and spiked and dyed bright pink at the tips. It was all very jarring.

  “How many piña coladas have you had?” Trinity laughed because this version of Yvonne—the one who drank a little too much and rode life close to the edge—reminded her of the way they used to be, back in high school before things like money and bills and a mom with a slipping grasp of reality pushed the fun to the side.

  “Umm…” Yvonne swung her arm out wide away from her body and stared at her glass, her brows drawn together. Liquid sloshed over the edge, and she snort laughed. Drunk Yvonne was considerably less ethereal than the sober version. Her expression brightened, and she proudly announced, “Five!”

  “Vonnie, babe, I love you, but why are you drunk dialing me?” Not that she didn’t appreciate the momentary distraction. She’d spent the morning running checks on all the code she had in place throughout Archer’s systems. It was buried pretty deep, but a good coder—especially a hacker—would be able to find it. Since she’d confirmed that Laila Hollister was in fact a private investigator brought in to research shortages at Archer, Trinity decided to take a minute to ensure it couldn’t be traced back to her. It was tedious as hell to go through keystroke logs, but necessary under the circumstances. She was about two-thirds finished.

  “I called you?” Yvonne asked, looking more at her drink than at Trinity. “Right! I called you. Adam’s cousin is here, and she wants to talk to you.” The grown up version of Yvonne rarely drank, smoked pot only on occasion, and did neither when she was responsible for a minor, making her announcement a bit perplexing.

  “She’s there?”

  “Yeah!”

  “And you’re drunk?”

  “Yeah!” Yvonne smiled stupidly and then frowned. “Oh, I see what you did there. Her mom is here, so I am not required to be a responsible adult. We’re having a barbecue, and Adam’s whole family is here, plus half the neighbor
hood too. Did you know that my neighbor three doors down is a bartender? She makes excellent drinks.”

  Trinity shook her head. “Nope. I had no idea.”

  “Anyway, do you have a minute to talk to Graciela?” Yvonne swiveled the laptop and Graciela’s face swam through the picture. When the movement stopped, she was looking at the corner. She could just make out a Bob Marley print on one wall and a collage of black and white photos on the other. Before Trinity could comment, the screen swished the other direction and came to a stop on Graciela.

  “Hi!” Graciela smiled and waved. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  So far, Trinity had only communicated with Graciela via email. This was their first face-to-cyber-face meeting. Her enthusiasm charmed Trinity.

  “No, of course not. Hi.” Trinity smiled.

  The noise of the party dimmed in the background. “I kicked Yvonne out and made her close the door. Those people are nuts,” Graciela said affectionately. Clearly, she was fond of the others even if she would rather discuss nerdy stuff than party with her family.

  “Good call. What’s up?” Trinity glanced at her clock. It was after two; no wonder she was hungry. She grabbed her lunch and spread it out on the desk. She could eat and chat with Graciela at the same time.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I tried that code sequence and it totally worked. I got an A on the project.” Graciela wiggled in her seat with excitement.

  Graciela had sent her a logarithmic equation she’d designed to catalogue her music collection. The assignment had been to create a program that allowed her to search and prioritize data across several categories. Not a particularly complicated project, but a good way to gauge the skills of the students who made it into the summer STEM program.

  “Congratulations.” Trinity smiled. “Well done.”

  “It’s too bad you don’t live here. Yvonne is awesome, but she doesn’t get this stuff. Nobody does, really.”

  Trinity had felt the same way at Graciela’s age. It had seemed as though no one understood who she was. It sucked. But then she’d found her people online, and that helped. She wasn’t the only coder in the world who wanted to use what she knew to help others. The day she’d realized that had been…everything. Suddenly, she had a community. A place where she belonged.