by Alexa Davis
"I guess you made the decision for me, then?" he grinned.
"Damn right, sailor," I nodded as I slapped the keys down on the bar then headed out the door and off to work.
On the subway, I thought about how terrified Ryan had looked the night before and how scared I'd been when he'd held my wrists as he wrestled with the enemy. I wondered if I'd made the right call letting him stay, and then I thought about how warm and comforting it had felt to let him fall asleep in my lap.
There was no doubt about it, I was attracted to Lieutenant Ryan Powell, and that attraction might be clouding my better judgment.
#
When I walked through the front doors, I knew something was wrong. There were small groups of people clustered around desks talking in hushed tones, but they scattered when the saw me. No one actually spoke to me, so I knew something big was happening.
I walked into my office and saw that someone had pulled apart my desk and left my things in haphazard piles. I shook my head as I set my things down and before I started to clean up the mess, I opened the door to Dr. Powell's office and found that whoever had rifled through my things had done an even deeper search in his office. The space looked like a small tornado had hit it overnight. Files had been removed from drawers, books had been pulled off shelves and even the awards he'd had hanging on his walls had been pulled apart. It was as if someone had been looking for something very specific and had grown frustrated when they hadn't found it.
I called downstairs and let Butch know that the office had been burglarized. He told me he'd be up to take a report, and that I wasn't to touch anything before he got there. I assured him that I would leave everything just as I'd found it, and hung up.
A few minutes later, Ruth called and said that Mr. Baines wanted to see me in his office. I wrote a note for Butch telling him where I'd gone, taped to the door and headed down the hall. Ruth waved me into Mr. Baines's office with a grim smile.
"Good morning, Miss Frost, so good of you to come," he said gesturing to a chair. "Do have a seat."
"Good morning, Mr. Baines," I said eyeing him warily as I sat down. He was wearing a dark grey suit with a crisp white dress shirt that had been pressed with in an inch of its life and a bright red tie that all combined to make him look like the world's sleaziest car sales man. Even in an expensive suit, Julian Baines looked cheap.
"Miss Frost, it has come to my attention that you have been hiding information from the company," he began as he watched to see how I would respond.
"I have no idea what you're talking about," I said truly mystified as to what he thought I could possibly be hiding.
"Oh, I'm fairly certain you do," he said as he rested his elbows on the edge of his desk and leaned forward. "Dr. Powell was working on some top secret research in the lab on seventeen, and I'm sure that you had access to the documents he worked with and that you've been hiding said documents from the company."
"Mr. Baines, I can assure you that Dr. Powell never gave me any research data from the lab nor did he ask me to handle any top secret documents," I said suddenly wondering what Baines was after. I hadn't had access to any of Dr. Powell's research and he'd never involved me in anything beyond his general correspondence regarding funding and grants or business related to TriCorp. "Why don't you talk with the lab assistants? Certainly they would know what he had been doing and where he kept his information."
"Ah, playing coy, I see," he said leaning back as he ran his fingers through his hair. "Well, this isn't going to help you at all."
"I'm not doing anything wrong!" I protested. "I'm an office assistant who is trying to clean up the last of the paperwork for my boss, who is dead."
"Miss Frost, don't get emotional with me," he said in a bored tone. "It's tedious. What I need from you are all of the files that Alan gave you in the past six months."
"They are all on the hard drive on my computer, and obviously someone has hacked into that and recovered them," I said in a frustrated tone. I had no idea what he thought I had, but the fact that he was insinuating that I did, made me wonder whether I had something somewhere that I didn't know about.
"That computer is company property so you have no right to be irritated about the company recovering data from it," he snapped. His fingers were drumming a rhythm on his desk and it was obvious that he was expecting me to break down and confess.
"I'm not irritated," I replied calmly. This seemed to irritate him and he increased the tempo of his finger tapping. "I simply don't know what you're talking about or what you want, Mr. Baines."
"So, you're playing hardball with me, are you?" he said narrowing his eyes. He started at me for a few seconds and then said, "Miss Frost, your services are no longer required. You will pack up your things and be out of Dr. Powell's office within the hour."
"What?" I said stunned that he'd decided to fire me on the spot. "I didn't do anything! Why are you firing me?"
"I'm not firing you at all," he said with a smile that did not reach his cold eyes. "Your position has been eliminated due to the death of your boss. Therefore, your services are no longer needed. I will have HR prepare your severance package and you will be escorted out of the building."
"Dr. Powell would not have approved of this," I said shaking my head.
"Well, Dr. Powell is not here anymore, is he?" Baines replied bitterly. "Please go to your office and collect your things, and do not take any company property off the premises."
"I wouldn't dream of it," I said sarcastically.
"Sarcasm, though probably satisfying, will not help you in this case, Miss Frost," he warned. "I'd be careful about what you do during the next hour."
"This is completely unfair," I said as I got up and headed for the door.
"Yes, well, life is not fair, Miss Frost," he said as he dismissed me.
I walked back to my office and looked around. There was nothing here I wanted, but something was nagging at me. I sat down at my computer and opened my email account. The inbox had two new messages, so I clicked on it and found one from a colleague of Dr. Powell's and one from Dr. Powell himself.
I shook my head to make sure I wasn't imagining it, and then doubled clicked to open it. It was addressed to me and there was a file attached. The message read:
Miss Frost,
If you're reading this, it means something has gone wrong with the research and I am not there to tell you this in person. This message was released because I haven't signed into the server in 72-hours and I've set up a series of files that will be released at random intervals until the time that I do return or until the last file has been released. The files I will be sending you contain all of the data that has been generated as I've conducted research on SAI 1. I would like you to store it in a safe place so that when I return, I will be able to continue my research. I can't tell you any more than this right now and I would ask that you not read through the data, but instead find a safe place to store it and wait for me to return.
This information is strictly confidential and should not be shared with anyone at TriCorp under any circumstances. Not anyone. I am counting on you to do what you've always done for me; the best job possible.
Regards,
Dr. Alan Powell
I stared at my screen feeling like I'd seen a ghost, and in a way, I had. I quickly realized that I was going to have to find a way to get this email off the server and put it somewhere safe. Not only that, but I was going to have to find a way to divert my email to a new account so that I could receive the rest of Dr. Powell's messages. He hadn't counted on me getting fired so soon after his death.
I looked up at the clock and realized I didn't have much time before Butch would be coming to escort me out of the building. There was no way I could write enough code to shift my account off the server to another location, so I looked at the email program and began quickly coding a bug that would allow me to sneak past the company's firewall from my laptop and access the data. If I could install the bug now, then I cou
ld get the information from Dr. Powell as I worked on writing code that would let me shift everything completely off the server later. The only danger was if the bug was found before I could finish writing and installing the code. If that happened, then access would be completely cut off and I'd have to find another way to enter the system. I told myself not to create problems before they happened and got to work setting up the bug.
I finished writing the tiny little program and installing it just as the hands on the clock told me it was time to get going. I pulled my laptop out of my bag, opened the case and logged into my TriCorp account using the dummy account I'd set up on the desktop. The bug had worked and I was able to sneak past the company's security walls to get into the server. I quickly downloaded the first email onto my laptop and then snapped the case shut. I didn't want anyone to see me working on my laptop and raise suspicion about what I was doing.
I deleted the email from the desktop computer and logged out of the company's website for the last time before I pulled all of my personal effects from the desk and shoved them in the box that Ruth had given me on the way out of Mr. Baines's office. I double checked Dr. Powell's office and noticed that his copy of The Art of War was lying in the middle of the floor. I picked it up and tossed it in my box uncertain why, but feeling like it was important.
Then I returned to my desk, picked up my things and took one last look around the office that had been my professional home for the past six years. It was a terrible way to leave, but what other choice did I have?
"You ready, Echo?" Butch said quietly. I simply nodded as I tried hard not to let the tears fall. "It's okay, kiddo. You'll be fine. I just know it."
"Thanks, Butch," I said as I swallowed hard and waited for the elevator doors to open. Once on the ground floor, I set the box down and gave Butch a hug before heading out to hail a cab.
Something at TriCorp was very wrong, and I needed to find Ryan and ask him about it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Ryan
I hopped the subway up to 42nd and Lexington and arrived thirty minute early for my appointment, so I walked down 42nd and found a small hardware store where I had a set of keys made from the ones that Echo had given me. I marveled at her willingness to share space with me given the fact that I'd come close to really hurting her in my sleep. I knew it wasn't my fault, but the nightmares scared me. Maybe she was right, and maybe I needed to talk to someone.
I paid for the keys and walked back over to the lawyer's office. I took the elevator up to the thirtieth floor and got out in front of a huge glass wall that had Gates, Weller and Markham, LLC. etched in it. I told the secretary who I was and watched her precisely sculpted eyebrow go up as she said, "I didn't know Dr. Powell had a son!"
"I'm the black sheep of the family," I winked as I wondered why this news was surprising to her.
"I see," she chuckled. "I'll tell Mr. Weller that you're here, Mr. Powell."
A little while later, another impeccably dressed young woman came out into the waiting area and called my name. She led me back to a large conference room that looked out over Grand Central Station and the Met Life Building. I politely refused her offer of coffee or tea, and sat down at the table.
My phone vibrated in my pocket and when I pulled it out, I found a message from Echo:
Got fired. On my way back to the apartment. Something strange going on. Meet me ASAP.
I started to reply when Jack Weller entered the room and said in a booming voice, "Well, I'll be damned! If it isn't Ryan Powell!"
He held out his hand and pumped mine up and down as he repeated how surprised was to see me. I had no idea what he was talking about, but I smiled and played along. My SEAL training had taught me that at least half the game was simply looking like I belonged.
"I'm so sorry about your father," Weller said looking genuinely sad. "It's a tragedy to lose someone so brilliant and productive."
"Yes, it most certainly is," I said watching him closely. He was dressed in a way that looked vaguely familiar. He was wearing an expensive tailor made suit, large gold rings on several fingers, and his slicked back hair reminded me of the Sopranos.
"And your father, of course," he quickly added.
"Of course," I replied.
"So, how can I help you, Ryan?" Weller asked. He'd come in with a stack of papers that he'd set down and pushed to the side when he'd first come in, but now was inching them closer as he waited for me to tell him what I needed.
"For starters, I'm concerned about where my father's body is," I said.
"Where is it?" he asked.
"That's just it, I have no idea," I replied as I felt my phone vibrate again. I had the urge to pull it out and check to see if Echo had sent me information that I could use, but instead I waited for Weller to give me an answer.
"I believe he's been transferred to the Blake and Sons Funeral Home in SoHo, per the wishes of your stepmother," he said pulling a sheet out of the stack and looking at it. "Yes, here it is."
"He didn't want a funeral," I said.
"Mrs. Powell said that she'd decided to have Blake and Sons handle the cremation," he said as he quickly scanned the sheet and pushed it across the table for me to see. It indicated that my father's body was to be delivered today and cremated tomorrow. The bottom of the sheet had been signed by the person named as the executor, but I couldn't read the signature.
"Who is this?" I asked pointing to the signed line.
"That's the executor your father named in his will," Weller said.
"And who is it?" I asked.
"His business partner, Julian Baines," Weller said after consulting another sheet in the stack.
"Wait, what?" I said doing a double take as I looked more closely at the cremation order. It looked like it had been signed and dated the day my father died. "Julian Baines is my father's executor not me or Eva?"
"It seems that your father appointed him in 1983 and never altered his will," Weller said as he pushed forward more documents.
"This isn't right," I said looking at the signatures on the sheets in front of me. "He could not have appointed Julian to take care of his personal business. That doesn't make sense."
"It makes more sense than you might think, Ryan," he said. The way he spoke to me like I was a child was starting to get on my nerves. "Often times people will appoint business partners or associates to be executors of a will because they are close enough to the deceased to look out for their interests, but they aren't grieving the way that family members often do. It's often easier for them to make decisions that are too painful for the family to make."
"But my father knew I would take care of things for him," I murmured as I studied the papers in front of me. "This doesn't make sense."
"I think your father knew that it was possible that you might not be around to take care of this, Ryan," he said gently.
"Goddamnit, don't talk to me like I'm a child!" I shouted. "My father chose his business partner over me to ensure that his affairs were taken care of, that's the bottom line. So what do I need to do?"
"There's nothing for you to do right now," he said as he looked over a checklist of things that needed to be done. "Your father's will is in probate until a judge can verify that it's authentic and that the assets are, indeed, his."
"If you have to verify authenticity, then why is Julian allowed to function as executor?" I asked. Suddenly I wondered what Weller's investment in this was.
"Your father and Mr. Baines signed the paperwork naming Baines as executor separate from the will," he said. "That's not in question, only the will itself."
"I see," I said. This all sounded fishy to me, and with the foreclosure on the apartment, I wondered what was going on. "Then I need to check with Mr. Baines about my father's body?"
"Yes, exactly!" Weller cheered as if excited that I had grasped a difficult concept.
"What about his accounts? How is Eva going to live, if she has no money?" I said avoiding mentioning the fact that I had
no place to live.
"Mrs. Powell has been well taken care of," Weller said. "I assure you that she will not want for anything while the will is being moved through the probate system."
"Very well," I said. "Is there anything else I need to know about my father's will? I don't want any surprises."
"Well, I'm not sure how to tell you this, Mr. Powell," he said looking nervously at the sheet in his hand. "But you've been disinherited."
"What?" I was stunned by this news.
"Your father eliminated you from his will when he married Mrs. Powell, it seems," he said as he pushed another paper toward me. I looked at it and immediately knew something was fishy, but I said nothing.
"I see," I nodded. "Well, I guess those are the breaks, aren't they, Mr. Weller?"
The surprised look on Weller's face was worth the struggle to keep my emotions in check. I wanted to throttle the guy and make him tell me what was really going on, but I knew that this was something larger and that if I played my hand now, I'd never get the information I needed to make it right.
"Well, win some lose some, right, Mr. Weller?" I shrugged. "I guess I'm going to have to check in with Eva and see what I can do to get something from her."
"That sounds like a solid plan," Weller nodded looking relieved that I wasn't going to push the issue. "If there's any way I can help you, please don't hesitate to let me know."
"Oh, I won't," I said as I shook his hand and held his gaze. "I definitely won't."
As I left the office, I thought about how I was going to deal with the problem of my father's will. None of this was adding up, but I didn't have enough pieces to put the whole puzzle together. As I stepped off of the elevator and headed across the lobby, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I stepped out into the warm afternoon sunshine and checked it. There were four messages. The first one said "Meet me downstairs at Nemo's" and the other three read: "Come home now. Urgent."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Echo
I took a cab back to my apartment before I remembered that I'd given Ryan my keys. I texted him from the cab and told him that I'd gotten fired and was headed home. Aside from the fact that I had no job, I was glad that I'd gotten out of there. In the three days since Dr. Powell's death, it had become obvious to me that the only reason I enjoyed working at TriCorp was because he was my boss.