Soul Suites

by Hulden Morse

  Without warning, a deafening explosion shook the building, nearly removing Charles from the top bunk and sending both guards to their knees. Displaced dust sprinkled down from the ceiling, and frantic shouts echoed from the hallway beyond the door. All three men looked at each other, panic in their eyes, and the CEO wondered if his time of death had just been moved forward.

  Chapter 52

  “Who the fuck do you think you are?” the director yelled as a badge-wielding crowd forced its way into his office. “Hey! Get out of here!”

  The man became even more irate when he saw Hamilton and Pinner push their way into the large office, looking around the room as if the answer to their burning questions would be written on the cream-colored walls.

  “Is this your doing?” he yelled at the assistant. “You brought them here? The hell are you getting at?”

  “Mr. Moreau,” Bob Seeker said professionally, “we are from the IRS. I’m afraid we’re going to require access to your files.” The man calmly stalked over to Salvador Moreau’s desk. He noticed a stack of business cards that read “Salvador Moreau, Director, Reaching Dreams of Chicago.” They were so perfectly stacked, perfectly prepared to be given to any potential business contacts. It reminded Seeker that a clean, trustworthy exterior with a respected label did not necessarily represent the nature of the interior. That man held a high position in one of the nation’s formerly most trusted nonprofits, and now his office was being raided for incriminating evidence.

  “You have no right to do this!” Moreau yelled, leaving the large, leather chair at his desk and confronting the IRS agent face to face.

  “My good sir,” Seeker chuckled, “of course we do.”

  The director was then handed a piece of paper that Hamilton knew to be the search warrant they had recently obtained. Moreau stared at it, defeated, and then lightly placed it on his desk.

  “Fine,” he said angrily. “Search away. But I have no idea what you’re looking for. The media is insane. We have nothing to do with any disappearances.”

  “Salvador,” Hamilton said, stepping forward toward a man in which she had placed her trust. “We know about the donations you’ve been receiving.”

  “So what? We’re allowed to receive our own funding. Charles enacted—”

  “We also know about PIC DC,” she said somberly, as if it pained her to admit that the group had been conducting operations underneath the careful watch of headquarters.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Moreau said, staring at the group of people in confusion. “What the hell is PIC DC?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out, you compulsive whiner,” Seeker chimed in. He started directing agents to search through the filing cabinets within the office, while the director stared at him in shock, acting like someone had just slapped him in the face. Some officials left the room to investigate the other offices within the building, wasting no time dismantling the calm and order of the district.

  Moreau watched the men and women tear through drawer after drawer, folder after folder, file after file, neatly placing things in designated piles. He was impressed by the orderly nature of the search, especially by the swiftness with which they worked, yet he was confident that the IRS would not find anything of interest. There was nothing there for them to see. They were wasting their time and his time, which was much better spent trying to rescue the floundering company.

  Hamilton pulled the Audit Manager aside, while Pinner spoke with the director, attempting to keep him distracted and out of the way of everyone conducting the search.

  “Every district has a few servers used for storage in the building,” the assistant said. “They’re typically used for securely storing and backing up patient files. I think those may be a good place to start.”

  “Alright,” Seeker said, “get me access to them. Let’s give Chicago a thorough cavity search.”

  “We should be able to reach them through any computer hooked up to the network. I just need a username and password that has access. Mine won’t work here.”

  “I’ll get the credentials.” He then hurried out of the room to complete the task.

  In a corner of the office, away from the action, Pinner leaned in close to Moreau and said, “Why are you being so defensive?”

  “Wouldn’t you be?” he threw back at the CFO.

  “No. I wouldn’t. If I have nothing to hide, then I’m going to let people search through my stuff. Sooner they’re done, the sooner I’m proven innocent. In fact, that’s exactly what happened at headquarters.”

  “Look, there’s nothing here for them to find,” Moreau said sincerely. “I’m just beyond frustrated with all these interruptions. You all did an audit, I already had the IRS here, I’ve been contacted by the Attorney General’s office, and now the IRS is back! This district is going down. Quickly. And I’m trying to save it. Just sick of my time being wasted by these fruitless searches.”

  Pinner nodded her head in understanding. “I get it. I do. We’re trying to save the entire company right now, and I know that Chicago is in a bad state. But we’ve got some serious questions that need answering.”

  “Like what? Why we’re receiving millions of dollars from other companies?”

  “Um, yeah. That’s a big one,” Pinner said, unsure why the director would choose to bring that up.

  “I know it looks bad. We know it looks bad. But we genuinely use that money to help the Residents.”

  “Oh yeah? And how the hell are you doing that?”

  “We send them to other cities.”

  Pinner stared at him in confusion. “You do what?”

  “Why do you think our stats are some of the best? This is something that we and the surrounding districts are trying out.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Moreau sighed impatiently. “Instead of just rehabilitating homeless people and trying to find a job for them in the city, we reach out to other cities, places that don’t have an RD office, and we can place the Graduates there. It gives the Residents more opportunity to get a job.”

  “And that’s why—”

  “Yes. That’s why the number of decreasing homeless people does not match the number of people being put back into society. You were only looking at Chicago, not other cities.”

  “And what does all that funding have to do with this tactic?”

  “Advertisement. You know how much marketing costs. We need to advertise these people to get them in places. It takes a lot sometimes.”

  Pinner leaned in close to the director and whispered in his ear, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell us this before?”

  “Because,” Moreau responded hesitantly, “we weren’t sure if this was a good long-term solution. If it failed, we didn’t want others to try it. We wanted to make sure it worked before we alerted the other districts.”

  The CFO looked at him with incredulity, not sure if she should trust what he was saying.

  “You know that’s not how business works. You’re still a part of this company. We need to know what’s going on. That money was not reflected on reports. It was being hidden. Those people going to other cities aren’t being monitored. There’s no information on them. This looks really—”

  “I know. I know,” he interrupted her. “I know how it looks. We were afraid that if headquarters found out we were getting that much money, you would repeal the rule that allowed us to receive private funding.”

  “Bullshit,” she said angrily. “That makes no goddamn sense.”

  “I don’t appreciate that tone, Sandra.”

  “Well, I don’t appreciate your—”

  “Pinner! Come here a second!” Hamilton called from the hallway.

  The CFO glared at Salvador Moreau, staring down a man in which she had lost all trust. His story about sending Graduates to other cities may be true (and
in actuality was not a bad idea), but it did not explain all the questions they had. There were so many red flags within that district that a simple explanation like the one he had given would not relieve anyone from a hook set so deep in their blabbing mouths.

  She hurried into the hallway to find Hamilton motioning for her to enter another office. She followed the woman into a small room that had six servers in it, attached to two monitors and a plethora of wires that Pinner did not pretend to understand. Inside the room was Hamilton, Seeker, another IRS agent, the IT director for the Chicago district, and the accountant for the district. She nodded to them all as she entered the room and then looked to Seeker for direction.

  “We want you to look at something,” the Audit Manager said. “Some financial reports that were sent to headquarters. Confirm that these are the reports you received.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As Pinner sat down, intensely staring at the screen, Hamilton looked to the district accountant. The man seemed nervous, incredibly nervous. His leg quivered, and he continually wiped his palms on his suit pants. She then noticed the watch on his wrist. It looked expensive: something that the CEO of a large corporation may happily purchase, but not the accountant for a nonprofit. She knew how much the man made (or was supposed to make), and while that did not necessarily represent his financial status, it gave her an inkling of whether it was likely he could afford a watch like that. Sure, it could be fake, or maybe it was not as expensive as it looked, or maybe it was a gift, but Hamilton was familiar with watches. She associated with enough wealthy investors to know what was worth a couple hundred dollars and what was worth a couple thousand dollars. She guessed that such a watch fell into the latter group. Quite a gift, if it was one.

  The CFO suddenly sat back in her chair and looked at the computers, her eyebrows raised. She peered at the back of the monitor and then studied the exterior of the units in the room. Everyone watched her analyze every black box and large, thin screen before Seeker walked over and placed his hand on the back of her chair.

  “Hey! The screens right there. What are you looking for?” he said.

  “These… these aren’t the computers I bought,” Pinner said with worry in her voice. “These are different.”

  The accountant then came forward and said, “I can assure you they are the same. Same computers we have always had. Same ones you got the other districts.”

  “No. These are different.”

  “What does it matter?” Hamilton said.

  “Well,” Pinner started, “I approved a purchase for a bulk order of computers for all the districts. Remember? A couple years ago everyone got new ones. Part of our efforts to upgrade our entire electronic system.”

  “Sandra, these look the same to me,” she said.

  “No. Part of the deal I made with Dell was that they would put our logo on the units and the monitors. It was a custom order for us ‘cause we got so many. These don’t have the logos.”

  Everyone looked accusingly at the accountant, who stood there with his mouth open, fighting to find something to say.

  “Well, some were replaced a while ago. Not recently. But so what? We’re allowed to get new computers. Nothing wrong with that.”

  “The computers I got weren’t old. You don’t replace them after one or two years.”

  Seeker turned to Pinner and Hamilton, his eyes wild with excitement, and ordered them to call the other districts under Reaching Dreams. He needed to know who still had the computers with the logos and who had replaced them within the last few years. The two men from the IRS began to make phone calls as well, the four of them making their way down the list of districts as the accountant watched them work. The IT director seemed confused with the entire situation and stayed out of everyone’s way, backing into a corner to make himself seem as small as possible in a room full of hungry predators.

  Each person noted on the list whether an office had computers with the Reaching Dreams logo or not, ensuring that the receptionist for the building checked the units personally so as to avoid any issues with deceitful directors. After several minutes, they stared at the list before them with little surprise.

  “Five districts. And we all know which five they are.”

  “Shit.”

  “What does this mean?”

  Seeker turned to the accountant, stepping uncomfortably close to the man, and staring him down.

  “Where are the old computers?” he asked firmly.

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Yes, you do. Where the hell are they?” Seeker repeated with more energy.

  “Please. I don’t know. I can’t help you.”

  Just then, Salvador Moreau walked into the tiny room and motioned for Hamilton to follow him. The Audit Manager caught the director before he could exit.

  “You got new computers!” Seeker yelled at the man.

  “What? Huh?”

  “Where the fuck are they?”

  “Why does it matter?” the startled man said with a slight stutter in his speech.

  “Electronic data is like herpes. It’s extremely difficult to completely erase,” Seeker began. “There’ll always be traces. The only sure way is to dispose of the entire system.”

  “What?” Moreau said, cocking his head to one side in genuine confusion.

  “Herpes! You can’t completely get rid of it so you disposed of the entire computer.”

  “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Or in your case, maybe it seemed smarter to continue your illegal activities—”

  “What?”

  “—on the same, tainted computers you had and just get entirely new, untainted computers for this office. Sound right? Am I close?”

  Moreau turned pale. He leaned against the doorframe. Hamilton watched the powerful man’s courage and control rapidly slip away. She remembered the first time they had met over five years prior, just after he had been trusted to run the notoriously difficult Chicago district. He had been pleasant enough, incredibly driven, a bit cold, but someone she felt was wholly trustworthy.

  That initial interaction played through her mind over and over like a skipping record, reminding her what Moreau had said years ago, a stark contrast to the broken man nearly falling to the ground before her eyes as Seeker screamed at him for information. All that time ago, the new director had seemed proud to meet Paula Hamilton, understanding that she was an important member to the company and an individual to whom he should give respect. During that first meeting, Moreau had outlined his plans for Chicago and showed nothing but confidence in his ability to make it the greatest district in the entire organization. She had been skeptical. Even Charles had been skeptical. But they had empowered the bold director to move forward with his plans in order to help as many people as he could.

  That was when Hamilton had asked him about his motives for working with Reaching Dreams. Even now, she felt that his answer was beautiful. It had outlined how they wanted the homeless population to be treated by their company and viewed by the public.

  He had said, “Every person has a purpose in this world. Those who have fallen down, those who have found themselves without a home, have so much to give to society. We need to support these people so they can show the world what amazing things lie within their minds and their hearts.”

  Hamilton replayed those words in her head, analyzing their meaning, wondering if Moreau ever believed what he had said.

  Chapter 53

  The alarm continued to pierce the silence after the blast. Blaring sirens seeped into the tiny spaces any way they could, causing the three men inside room 42 to stare wildly at each other.

  “What’s happening?” Charles cried out as he clambered down the ladder to be on solid ground.

  “I have no idea!” one of the guards yelled, peering out the window in the door as employees rushed down the hall toward th
e epicenter of the explosion.

  Men and women with frightened faces darted frantically past the rooms as if they knew where to go but had not yet discovered what to do about the emergency. Those people were headed into certain danger with nothing backing them except gut instinct that something needed to be done and they were the ones to do it. They saw no signs of immediate damage except crooked paintings and the occasional broken vase after it had toppled off a table, though the booming siren and red, flashing lights escaping from the trial rooms gave them some inclination that this was no drill.

  The guard looking into the hallway said, “What the hell is—”

  Another explosion jolted the foundation of the facility, shaking the walls with so much force that Charles was surprised to find them devoid of cracks. The floor continued to tremble slightly as if something were moving or collapsing beneath their feet, causing the three men to stare at the ground in wait: waiting for it to fall away and drop their bodies into a dark void, or waiting for it to shift suddenly and form a large fissure into which a table and chairs—or people—could become trapped.

  “I’m going outside!” the guard by the door called over the alarm. “Stay here with Pearson!”

  The man unlocked the door from the inside and then disappeared through the opening, slamming it behind him and throwing the deadbolt once more. The remaining guard quickly peeked out the window and then leaned against the wall, staring at the subject in concern.

  “This ever happen before?” Charles said loudly.

  “Never.”

  “Well, what do we do?”

  “We?” the man said rudely. “We don’t do anything. You sit here, and this will all get resolved.”

  Quickly and unexpectedly, the lights in the building failed, propelling the entire facility into an eerie darkness. The alarm did not cease its warning. The rooms and halls sat in inky blackness, throwing a veil over the rampant actions of the employees. Flashlights were found, and soon the only source of light was scarce, thin beams that illuminated anything in their direct path and nothing else, providing little comfort for the first responders. However, Charles was stuck in a worse predicament.