Chasing Frost (West Side Series)

by Isabel Jolie

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” I rise, showing him I’m taking his hint and leaving his office.

  He doesn’t turn away from his monitor. “No. I’ve got meetings for some other clients down in Miami. Maybe Chicago later in the week. I should be back in the office on Friday.”

  I pause in the doorway. “You still thinking you’ll make the wedding?”

  “Yeah. Wheels in the air three p.m. Friday, so we’ll need to leave the office by two.”

  I want to ask him more, but he’s lost in the monitor. I have Anna’s contact information, so I’ll reach out to her.

  When I get home, I pull out my FBI issued cell and text Hopkins.

  Me: Maitlin digging into reports. Acting like he’s discovering. Not acting like he’s guilty.

  Within seconds, Hopkins responds.

  Hopkins: Think he’s on to you? Could he be playing you?

  His serious countenance comes to mind. All the pencils and the crazed hair.

  Me: Unless he’s a trained actor, no.

  Hopkins: Be careful. Sound tape of Michell’s and Tom’s office from this morning is mostly inaudible. Tom berated Mitchell. Our interpretation is the anger was over you being at the club. Also possible Mitchell told Tom you’re FBI. There’s disagreement on the team on this point, but be careful. If you’re right, and it’s not Maitlin, any other suspects?

  Me: Garrick Carlson. That’s who Maitlin suspects. But Maitlin’s comments hinted he thinks others are involved. Was wearing a wire. You can listen to the conversation. 8 p.m. in Maitlin’s office.

  Hopkins: Walters only wants to know who’s responsible. Once we know that, we pull you. Cooper Grayson found the bugs in his office. He’s BAU, but knows he’s being monitored.

  Cooper Grayson is the head of the Chicago Real Estate Development Group. That’s not the account Maitlin’s concerned about right now, nor the account that has piqued the SEC’s interest. But the charity’s purchases of property at highly inflated prices from Grayson’s company all around Chicago are partially responsible for kicking off the investigation into McLoughlin. If these guys really are as integrated as we believe, then they know the pressure’s on. And if Mitchell’s in on it, then they all know I’m FBI.

  Which means Maitlin could be playing me. Garrick could be the patsy. I haven’t made any progress, because I still have no evidence.

  I switch over to the notes app on my phone and tap the keys.

  Maitlin in on it? Gut says no. Mitchell in on it? Gut says yes. To do: Spend more time with Garrick.

  Fifteen

  Chase

  By the time Friday morning comes, I’m exhausted. I’ve spent the last three days in planes, conference rooms, client lunches and dinners, and even two rounds of golf. It would have been a normal week. Fun, even. I like business trips. But I spent my nights poring over numbers, reverting to my originals and the numbers in our portal.

  There is absolutely no question. Garrick Carlson is manipulating and, in some cases, outright forging numbers. By my estimation, revenues to-date are off to the tune of $25 million. I’ve been wracking my brain, and I don’t believe I’ve ever introduced him to either of the owners of South Fork Research. I could swear I remember John Fischer in my office and zero flashes of recognition between the two. Does that mean it could be Eileen Becker, Fischer’s partner, asking him to inflate revenues? Possibly. Or maybe someone in the company I don’t know.

  Eileen Becker never travels. She has young kids and seems to have an agreement she primarily works from the office. The only time I’ve ever spent time with her was in Chicago, in meetings or lunches at the South Fork office building. But it’s not my job to try to figure out who is paying Carlson to commit fraud.

  The point is, BB&E has a big problem. I’ve pulled everything together to take Mitchell through it. When I think about the fallout from this…shit. I hate it for the man. Sometimes it sucks to be at the top.

  We’ll probably lose South Fork Research as a client, even if they’ve been paying Garrick to make the changes. Maybe we can work together to keep the issues private. It’s not unheard of for a deal to fall through during due diligence. For BB&E’s sake, I hope we can keep it out of the press.

  “Morning, Mr. Traveling Man.” Rhonda’s smiling, holding out my cup of joe. My expression must be crap, because hers changes to concern. She follows me into my office.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Rhonda’s my confidante at the office for all things. But not this.

  “Long week.” I pull out my laptop and plug it in on my desk. “Did you get me in to meet with Mitchell and Bennett?”

  “One today. It’s only Evan Mitchell, and you have fifteen minutes.”

  “That works.” Once he hears what I’ve discovered, he’ll clear whatever he has at 1:15 and probably bring Tom Bennett in.

  “I hope it’s really an emergency. You know how Karen can be. She pushed hard but finally caved.”

  I shrug. His assistant can be a bit of a pit bull.

  “Did you lose an account?” She’s timid and sympathetic. It wouldn’t matter if I screwed up all my accounts; Rhonda would still have my back.

  I shake my head and focus on the laptop, willing her to go away. I’m sick to my stomach from this mess. The potential fallout from this scandal could rock so many lives. I’ve come to care about the employees here. So many good people. And it all happened under my watch.

  “Wait.” She points at me in alarm. “You’re not wearing a t-shirt. You’re in a pressed Oxford. What’s going on? Are you resigning?”

  “Rhonda. Chill. I’m leaving the office early today to head to my friend’s wedding, remember? We land and head straight to a rehearsal dinner. I didn’t know if I’d have time to change.” That’s part of the reason. If I’m honest, the shit hitting the fan today did make every single fun t-shirt feel wrong.

  “That’s right.” She relaxes into one of my chairs. “Sydney mentioned the wedding.”

  She has this gleeful smirk on her face. I smile for probably the first time since Monday.

  “Care to share anything?” She’s so high school, it cracks me up.

  “Ask me after the weekend.” I know damn well that’s not going to satisfy her, but it’s really all I’ve got. I haven’t had much time to think about what’s going on with Sydney. Her words say she’s just going as friends, that she liked my friends, and I’m not naive. I mean, who wouldn’t want to take a free ride in a private jet? But, that kiss…

  As if our conversation conjured her up, Sexy Sydney taps my doorframe.

  “Morning, guys.” She acknowledges Rhonda with a smile then turns to me. “How was your trip?”

  “Good. Normal trip.”

  Rhonda pipes in. “Oh, you know. Golf, lunches, dinners.” She’s teasing, and I play along. She’s not wrong. That pretty much summarizes my normal and may be part of the reason I’ve kept this job. I enjoy it. Thought I was good at it.

  Rhonda glances between the two of us, smirks, and stands. “I’ll let you two catch up.” She’s almost to the door when she adds, “Garrick Carlson’s still out sick.”

  That news does not surprise me. It’s better that way. It’ll give Evan time to meet with the executive team and determine how to proceed. My guess is HR will get involved, and he’ll be escorted out but told there’ll be an investigation into potential criminal wrongdoing. I don’t really know, though. It’s not like I’ve ever been involved in anything like this.

  Sydney sits down in the chair. She sits upright with her legs crossed, the picture of professionalism. All business.

  “Is the plan to still leave at two?”

  “Yes.” She’s dressed in a black dress pantsuit, but the silk top she’s wearing is fire engine red. I’m sensing that singular dash of color is her way of dressing for the rehearsal dinner, crossing business wear to evening wear.

  “Should I meet you in the lobby? You know, so people don’t think anything?”

  “If you’d like. I don’t t
hink it matters. We don’t have a non-fraternization policy at BB&E.” And I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be employed here, but no need to go into those details.

  “I know. I checked.” I could be wrong, but I think her cheeks get pinker. “It’s just, wouldn’t you rather people didn’t talk?”

  “Sure thing.” And now, I am smiling. Because she’s thinking the same thing I am. This weekend, there’s a chance we’ll be giving them something to talk about. Today is going to suck balls, but this weekend may more than make up for it.

  “Did you end up finding anything more on the reports you were looking into? I have time this morning if you want to go over it. I did go into South Fork Research, but I didn’t find anything.”

  Based on what’s in the portal, she wouldn’t. I study her for a moment. I could bring her in, but there’s no reason. I need to take this to the top boss and let him decide how to handle it. Sydney’s new, and there’s no reason to involve her in what will be a total shitstorm, unless Mitchell decides he’s putting her on this.

  “No, it’s all good.” I rap my knuckle on the desk, my cue it’s time to get to work. “I’ve got a ton to do today. I’ll meet you down in the lobby at two?”

  Her face contorts. She gets up to leave, but before she heads down the hall, she tosses one last glance over her shoulder. Her dark, shiny bob swings as she does so. She looks almost sad.

  The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach returns. That sad look reminds me of my ex. Always sad if I couldn’t talk longer. Always wanting to spend more time together. Never understanding if I needed gym time or time to work on some of my projects. But nah, there’s no way Sydney’s another Angela. She’s too independent. She’s probably thinking about me a fraction of the time I’m thinking about her. That whole following thing…I’ve just got to forget about it.

  I get to work, going through emails, responding to clients, and working with my team. The hours fly by, and before I know it, it’s time to gather my folders and meet with the big boss to upend his world. Karen sits outside Evan’s office. His door is closed, and she asks me to wait a moment.

  Tom Bennett, our CEO, opens his office door. “Maitlin.” Two men I don’t know exit his office, and as they’re shaking hands, three additional men come down the hall and enter. It seems his assistant wasn’t lying when she said he had back to back meetings today.

  There’s a stillness to this end of the floor that’s unnerving. On my floor, across from my office, there are rows of open cubicles, and at any given moment there’s a hum of activity, voices on phones, clicking keys on computers, sometimes you can hear the machine whir of the printer from down the hall. Up here on the executive floor, Karen sits in front of the executive offices by herself. A guard protecting the men who live behind closed doors. She swallows, and I can hear it.

  Evan’s thick wooden door opens, and music drifts through the empty space. If I was up here day in and day out with this level of reserve, I’d pump some music, too.

  “Maitlin, come on in.”

  Evan’s office boasts a solid wood desk slightly bigger than mine. The office has both a sitting area with a sofa, two club chairs, and a coffee table, and a small round table with four chairs. There’s a great view of the city, and on a back shelf, there’s one photo of his wife and kids. It’s the same photo from a Christmas card he sent out a couple of years ago.

  I automatically head to the round table so I can spread out my files and open my laptop to show him what I’ve got.

  “Karen said you’ve got something important to share.”

  The music pumps. I don’t know what he’s listening to. It’s got a heavy base and some crazy sounds as if he’s got a bad connection and there’s static mixed in. It’s the low pounding base that’s going to drive me nuts.

  “I do. Do you mind if we turn down the music?” I glance for the source and see a small handheld radio with an antenna. Ah, that’s why he’s got static. “Dude, you know, there are way better options for music. If a device has an antenna, you shouldn’t be using it.”

  Evan glances over at his vintage equipment. “It serves its purpose.”

  “I’ve found something very disturbing. You’re going to want to turn the music off.” I open my folder and gesture to the chair at his small table.

  He shoves his hands in his pockets. He glances at the report I’ve laid out, but he’s too far away to see it.

  “Let’s go up to the roof. I need some fresh air.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. Simply turns and strides out of his office. As I’m gathering my folders and laptop, I hear him tell Karen we’ll be up on the roof.

  I catch up to him as he’s approaching the red stairwell door.

  “Karen said you only have fifteen minutes?”

  “She was giving me time to eat. It’s fine.”

  He opens the door and holds it for me to pass. The floor and stairs are smooth concrete. I’ve never been up to the roof, but I know some of the smokers like to come up here on smoke breaks.

  Evan passes me and ascends the steps. He reaches the top and pushes open the door. The stairwell fills with the sound of machines whirring. He holds the door for me, and I step out onto the roof. The view is stunning. Looking out, to the east you can see Jersey City, and to the north, the Empire State Building. We’re surrounded by skyscrapers of varying heights. I’d bet at night the view is spectacular.

  There’s a low wall around the perimeter, with a wide, flat lip. Evan heads directly to the north side, away from the rooftop entrance. I circle, surveying the entire roof. We’re the only two up here right now. Without all the walls and hallways of the lower floors, the space feels smaller than you’d think it would be.

  “So, what’ve you got?” Evan leans his back against the wall, which is about chest high.

  I have my folders and well-thought-out presentation, or explanation, pressed to my chest. Fuck it. I’ll get to it when he asks for the details.

  “Garrick Carlson has been manipulating data. Revenue and profit from both this year and last year have been falsely inflated. My guess is someone from South Fork Research must be paying him. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

  “You don’t know who?”

  “No. But I expect that would come out with a police investigation.”

  His dark, bushy eyebrows push so close together the man almost has a unibrow.

  “Have you contacted the authorities?”

  “No. Of course not. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

  He places both hands on the edge of the wall, his back to me. There’s a stainless-steel plate that runs along the edge, and he grips it.

  “Is that the only account?”

  “I haven’t gotten into his other accounts yet. But after a cursory review, I’d say he’s falsely inflated the revenue on Chicago Real Estate Group, Medical Supply, and Biohazard Waste. His only other account is a pro bono account, and I’ll look into that next week.”

  Evan stares across the city, his back to me. He’s a good foot taller than I am, with wide shoulders. In his dark suit, he’s formidable. Apparently, back in the day, he was an avid lacrosse player. Soccer, that was my sport. But I’ve always thought it wouldn’t be pleasant to see Evan crossing the field gunning toward you in soccer, lacrosse—any sport, really.

  “Garrick is out sick today. Who do you want me to loop in? Human resources? Tom? Someone from legal?”

  “Does Sydney know what you’ve found?”

  I shake my head as he examines me. I get the sense he doesn’t believe me.

  “No. I didn’t tell her. I wanted to tell you first. I can bring her in next. If you want, I can have her double-check my findings.”

  His eyes form chestnut slivers as he squints.

  “You guys are close?” he asks.

  “Close? I mean, you asked me to get her settled.”

  “And you’re taking her to a wedding this weekend. And she was out with you last weekend. How settled did you get her?”
<
br />   I take a step back, defensive anger rising. Confusion, too. What the fuck does it matter? And how is that his business? The guy who fucks other random women when his wife is home with his kids.

  “It’s all been kosher.”

  “You bang her?”

  “We’ve got a huge PR issue, and your concern is where I’m putting my dick?”

  He takes one step forward. “Yes or no? Are you fucking her or not?”

  I take one step back for space. Then it clicks. “Wait? Are you fucking her? Is that what this is about? That’s the reason she got the job, and maybe she’s tired of being one of your many fuckbuddies, so you’re jealous?”

  His hand balls into a fist as he grinds his teeth, peering over the city. I can’t fucking believe it. Mitchell and Sydney. The thought curls my stomach, but I push it back. Folks’ jobs, their livelihoods, are at stake.

  “No matter what’s going on with the two of you, you need to get your head in the game. South Fork has been in the press a lot since the acquisition was announced.” Does he not realize this? I barrel on. “Due diligence is coming. The stock price of the company buying them has shot up. That purchase can’t happen. There are potentially so many levels of fraud here. That’s where your head needs to be.”

  Those beady eyes glower at me, and, based on his angry countenance, I halfway expect a balled fist is going to collide with my face. I stand tall, ready. Then he exhales, and a transformation occurs. His shoulders round, and he loses half a foot in height. He turns and grips the wall again.

  “You’re right. You’re right.” He rests his arms on the wall. “So, how’d you catch it?”

  “I keep printouts of all the original files. Garrick did a good job of covering it all up. But if you go back far enough, four, five, six years back, his sloppiness shows. He changed figures that don’t even match tax filings. You know, it’s very likely Garrick isn’t the only one who’s complicit. How you handle this is going to be the difference between being an Arthur Anderson or being a Price Waterhouse.”