Taking Stock

by C J West

  Marty couldn’t take more. “Where’s this going?” he said finally.

  “Brad Foster wasn’t alone. He took the money from customer accounts and he went to Italy to withdraw it, but someone was helping him connect the dots in between.”

  Marty leaned forward and spoke in a hushed tone as if he believed his own boardroom could be bugged. “You think someone else inside the company was involved?”

  “Absolutely,” Pete said without hesitation. A bold statement Sarah couldn’t have made herself.

  The words slapped Marty. Not only was his brother-in-law stealing from his family, but another of his trusted employees was in on it, too. “Who?” Marty’s pained face suggested he’d rather not know.

  “We’re working on that. He needed help covering up customer complaints. That help could have come from client services, IT or internal audit. We’ll start there and work out through Brad’s contacts.”

  “Are you talking rank-and-file or leadership?”

  “Both. At least one of them would be high up in the firm.”

  “What about the gun in Erica Fletcher’s office? Was she in on it?”

  “Definitely not. I saw the police video and he was trying to kill her. I have no doubt the gun was planted.”

  “What about the money? Was that planted, too?”

  “I believe it was.”

  Marty looked at Pete like he was insane, but Pete explained that the thieves had taken two hundred million dollars without a trace. They were too smart to leave ten million in a checking account. Ten million is a lot of money, enough to be persuasive, but not too costly. Deposited in an account with just two transactions, Erica might never have known it existed.

  “So what now? I can’t leave a criminal walking the halls and I can’t do anything without tipping them off.”

  “We’ll start with Brad’s phone records. With your leave, we’ll track every call made from his office, the security room and the computer room.”

  “Certainly.”

  “We didn’t mention Brad’s apartment,” Sarah offered.

  “What about it?” Marty asked.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. They pulled up the carpets, pried the covers off the appliances, they even emptied the food containers. It was incredible. Someone was very worried about what Brad might have left behind and they made sure we weren’t going to find anything.”

  Marty nodded and stared down at the table a moment. He was convinced this time. After a long pause he lifted his head toward Pete. “I’ll get you whatever you need here at the firm. Anything you need.”

  “Confidentiality is critical,” Pete said.

  “Understood. Not a word except to our V.P. of human resources and our V.P. of internal audit.”

  Sarah didn’t want to give Herman another chance to change Marty’s mind. She wanted to object, but indicting her boss without evidence was career suicide. Pete objected for her and Marty agreed to leave them out of the loop for the time being.

  Marty dismissed them, staying in his chair until they’d gone.

  Outside, Sarah congratulated Pete on incredible progress in the last day. He’d taken Erica’s list of suspicious transactions, traced it back two years and followed the money all the way to Italy.

  She wanted to tell Stan she’d been wrong about him, but she knew where that would lead. They’d be having dinner every Friday for the next two months. That was enough.

  They hustled off to get started on Brad’s phone records.

  Chapter Sixty-two

  Erica imagined a dozen uniformed men storming Gregg’s apartment and finding him bound to a chair, his captors fleeing down the fire escape, guns blazing. She strained to hear the other half of Jan’s conversation with the police captain. When Jan reassured him that this wasn’t a prank, Erica was terrified. She’d called Gregg’s apartment and someone there was hurting him. She hadn’t made a mistake. She hadn’t imagined it. The police arrived ten minutes later. Why hadn’t they found him?

  Jan ended her conversation with an apology, hung up and told Erica they’d found nothing. The apartment was clean and neat. No one was home. No sign of a struggle. Erica was going to have to pay for the damaged door.

  They must have gone to the wrong address. The men couldn’t have gotten Gregg out that fast. How could she help him if they had?

  When Erica’s cell phone rang moments after the police called, the coincidence escaped her. She answered expecting Sarah, but was greeted by a dreadfully anguished howl. The tortured voice was quickly replaced by a hostile one, yelling in her ear. “Weren’t my instructions clear? I said no cops. I meant no cops. A minute ago four men in blue busted their way into Greggie Boy’s apartment. Good thing we weren’t there. Someone could’ve gotten hurt and Lover Boy is first in line.”

  They were near enough to see the activity on the street, probably within a block of Gregg’s apartment, but she couldn’t call the police again. They might not go back. If they did and this maniac saw them, he might kill Gregg and take off.

  “Listen carefully this time,” he said. “Go to your apartment. There’s a checkbook taped under the middle desk drawer. Get it and go to the Bank of America on Dartmouth Street. I’ll meet you there.”

  “I don’t have a checkbook under the desk.”

  “It’s there and it’s got quite a balance.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Listen. Go home. Get the checkbook. Go to the bank. Now!”

  What was he talking about? If the checkbook was there, he could get it himself. Would she be incriminating herself by going to the bank? Was this Brad’s last ditch effort to blame her? It was obviously a setup. They wanted her not the checkbook, but what choice did she have?

  Before the man hung up, he rattled off a string of warnings. They had Gregg and they’d be watching. If she asked for help from the police or anyone in the bank, Gregg would get a bullet to the temple.

  She put the phone down and took two steps toward the door.

  Jan jumped up to block her, but Erica pushed past and left her open-mouthed on the steps. She couldn’t risk another call to the police. Motoring back into the city, moving steadily deeper into the caller’s trap, there was no question that this was the right thing to do. A year ago she never would have imagined risking her life for a man, but Gregg had awakened something in her that went beyond compassion; something she’d never known.

  This is what her mother had done for her. She could have left her father anytime, but getting away with Erica proved difficult. She had sacrificed so much and Erica had been less than appreciative. As a child, Erica had belittled her mother’s efforts to provide for them. She realized now that there had been plenty for one. Caring for Erica had complicated her mother’s life from the day she was conceived.

  She shook off her embarrassment as she parked and walked up the stairs to her apartment. She had to pull herself together by the time she reached the bank. They’d call her and tell her what to do then. She needed to be thinking clearly. These people had planned this through. They’d be leading her into a situation she was never expected to survive. No doubt they’d underestimated her, but she’d need a miracle to get Gregg out unharmed.

  The old door pushed in, sticky as always. The apartment was dark and quiet. Most of the neighbors were at work. Weeks ago at this hour, Melanie would have been chopping vegetables to the sounds of some band Erica had never heard of. She missed her. The bond between them had been financial at first; a way for Erica to help someone who needed a boost. Melanie had her degree now and Erica would probably never see her again.

  She kneeled in front of the desk and patted the underside of the drawer. The bulge was about where she expected. She ripped down the large envelope and found a brand new plastic case inside. She fanned the crisp pages. Nowhere had it been written on.

  The hair suddenly straightened on the back of her neck. Her shoulders stiffened and she had the conflicting urges to scream and to hide.
Her body sensed an invisible danger. The urge to turn around proved irresistible and as she did the man on the other side of the counter slowly came into view.

  He hadn’t made a sound, yet here he was in the middle of the apartment with a gun trained on her. The muzzle looked oddly thick and as he side-stepped the counter, she saw the silencer. The man could shoot her and leave her here to die and no one would be the wiser.

  “Finally obeying orders I see,” he sneered.

  It was the voice from the phone.

  She gave a faint grunt as he approached. He didn’t look like a thug. He was big enough. A good five inches taller and about a hundred pounds heavier than her, but his fair skin and wispy hair gave him a delicate appearance. He told her to stand up. The calm depth of his voice was more menacing than if he’d barked the command.

  “This withdrawal’s the only thing standing between me and payday. If I were you, I wouldn’t do anything to screw it up.”

  His focus on the blue checkbook belied the fact that he’d done nothing to hide his identity. If he planned to let her and Gregg go free, he wouldn’t have allowed such a clear view of his face. If he wanted the checkbook he could have taken it and gone. He might want the money, but he wanted her more.

  He ordered her hands on the desk, feet spread apart.

  She complied, put the checkbook on the desk and felt the silencer press against her temple.

  “Let’s not get silly. I can easily find another dark-haired chick to carry your license into the bank.”

  They both knew she’d never been to this bank. She wasn’t sure if she dipped her head and signaled submission or if he knew she’d realized the position she was in, but then she felt his belly press into her back and his free hand brushing over her ribs. If she’d thought to bring a weapon, his groping would have uncovered it. He lingered pleasurably over his work probing every inch of flesh. When he was done he took a step back and she turned to face him though she couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “So far, so good. Keep it up and you’ll live.”

  She was convinced he intended to get his money and kill them both. There was too much at stake. The whole scam was too well planned to leave behind someone who could identify him.

  Standing there with the gun aimed at her chest he gave her a new set of orders. “Before we go you need to remember a few things. If we drive into a bunch of police at the bank, Lover Boy’s going to buy it within a half hour. You’ll never pin anything on me because I didn’t get involved until today.”

  She could tell he was lying, but it didn’t matter. She had no idea who he was and no way to connect him to Brad or BFS. An investigation might turn up a link, but that wasn’t a chance she could take. She couldn’t risk Gregg’s life, not even for her own. This man would lead her to him. Her chances would be slim, but it was the only hope for both of them to survive.

  “We have people in the bank,” he continued. “Don’t talk to the guards. Don’t use the phone. Don’t pass any notes. Collect a cashier’s check for the total amount. Make it payable to cash and get out of there.

  “If you keep me waiting too long, I’ll drive away and it’s over. You’ll never see him again. Not alive anyway.”

  Chapter Sixty-three

  The steering wheel brought a feeling of control in spite of her predicament. The four-block drive offered little hope of surprising him by either crashing or flipping the car. He wasn’t buckled, but she couldn’t manage more than fifteen miles per hour in the heavy traffic around Copley Square. The man rode behind her in the center of the back seat, the gun balanced low on his knee, aimed at her ribcage. Any shot would rip through her torso. There was no way to escape the line of fire on the way out the door. Years of karate had honed her reflexes, but she couldn’t see him behind her. Snatching the gun without being shot smacked of impossibility.

  They approached the bank on Dartmouth Street. Once inside she could find safety with a guard or call the police for help, but he knew she wouldn’t abandon Gregg. That’s why he was going to send her in alone.

  “A simple withdrawal. Nothing more,” he said as she exited the car.

  She crossed the wide sidewalk through a stream of harried commuters.

  Most faces in the bank seemed oblivious to her presence. A decent-looking guy in a golf shirt watched her fill out her withdrawal form. She lined up several positions behind him and waited. Half the people in line talked into cell phones or listened to an iPod. The other half gazed absently around the marble room. The scrawny guard in the corner wouldn’t last fifteen seconds with the guy out in the car.

  People filtered up to the tellers, completed their business and headed home. The man in the golf shirt gave a long glance in her direction before pushing through the revolving doors and out into the street.

  No one else paid her much attention. There probably wasn’t an accomplice in the bank, but she couldn’t be sure. With the man in the car outside there was nothing she could do anyway. If she waited for help to arrive, he’d know something was wrong. If someone followed her out, it would be obvious with the car parked so close to the door. There was no way to help Gregg without getting back in that car and letting the thug lead her to him.

  The teller called ‘next’ three times before Erica made her way down the row. After reading the withdrawal slip the young woman shot a look at Erica and left her station. She offered no explanation, but returned quickly with a somewhat older man in a dark blue suit. He scrutinized the forms, tapped on the computer screen and spent a good while comparing Erica’s face to the photo on her driver’s license.

  Finally convinced, he asked how she’d like the money. He grimaced at her instructions, but stood back as the teller tapped a few commands on the computer and printed the check. After nodding through several warnings about the nature of her check, Erica declined their offer of an escort, thanked them and pushed through the revolving doors.

  Unsympathetic faces rushed past, blocking her progress at every step across the wide courtyard. Halfway through the crowd, she spotted the car, but sunlight gleamed off the windows and hid the man she’d driven here. When she approached, the rear door opened. A different man sat in back, thinner and angrier than the man from her apartment. He had a quickness in the way he motioned her into the seat next to him.

  She slid in.

  The heavier, wispy-haired man started the car and pulled away. The door locks clicked. She tugged the handle instinctively, but the child locks kept her trapped in for the ride facing the muzzle of another silenced handgun. Strange they hadn’t asked for the check.

  The guy watching her wasn’t as careful as the driver. He held the gun within reach and he twitched so nervously he was sure to be easily distracted. The driver flowed along with traffic, obeying the lights and being sure not to draw any attention. Erica eyed the driver next to them at a red light. She thought about mouthing a message through the window, but changed her mind when she felt the muzzle press into her knee cap. She kept her eyes forward for the rest of the ride across town.

  Jan was miles away in Brookline; the guard at the bank a faint memory. Erica was on her own, scanning the men for hints of where they’d come from and what connected them together. The guy in back had a military style buzz cut. Brad would never have survived the army, though someone else in the group might have.

  The car turned off Kneeland Street into the leather district and pulled up to a heavy garage door set into a windowless brick wall. The driver got out, opened the door and drove into a loading dock sized for a single vehicle. The man in the back seat held her there until the car was turned off and the garage door was lowered and securely locked behind them. The wispy haired man opened Erica’s door and ushered her out and up the stairs.

  He locked the car and pocketed Erica’s keys.

  Gregg would be somewhere inside.

  She had visions of them both lying together heavily bound with the building ablaze around them. No one would be in the old warehouse to hear their screams. Th
ey’d die together in agony.

  The man from her apartment trotted ahead, off the loading platform and through a door at the back. The twitchy guy led her in the same direction, one hand gripping firmly above her elbow, the other leveling the gun on her midsection.

  Chapter Sixty-four

  The door opened into a metal framed stairwell with poured concrete steps. Erica descended as carefully in her sneakers as she would in three inch heels, slowing the skinny guy behind her. By the time she stepped through the door into the room below, the bigger guy was nearly across the room and about to turn the corner out of sight. The musty basement was one huge storage room divided by thirty rows of shelves that ran toward the far wall. The lighting was dim enough so she could hide if she could break free.

  The skinny guy knew what she was thinking. He kept his distance, the gun trained on her from behind. He prodded her straight ahead into an aisle where the packed shelves hemmed her in. If she ran, she could only go straight ahead and he was ready to put a bullet in her back if she did.

  She negotiated the clutter under the single row of lights, watching the stacks for a break big enough to dive through. Unfortunately, every available space was filled with white boxes labeled with names and dates, possibly case files from a law firm. Filled with paper, the thick file boxes would stop a bullet. If she could get a shelf between them, she’d be safe long enough to figure out what to do next. Getting free was the problem. There was nowhere to turn and the shelves were too high to climb over.

  A dim light glowed at the far end of the room where the wispy haired guy had gone. The guy behind her stepped up close as they reached the corner and grabbed her arm as they turned. The gun jabbed into her ribs as a reminder not to run, then floated behind her spine out of sight. They passed a dozen long narrow aisles off to the right. Every six feet a new chance to bolt, but every shelf was packed and every aisle too long for her to sprint through before being shot.