“What can you do in week?”
“Come up with a random selection.” She pulled down the first box, popped it open, and took out a handful of large yellow envelopes. “I did this in college. It’s like taking a survey. The margin of error should be less than five percent.”
“OK. Do it. Maybe it’ll help keep me out of prison.”
She turned sharply toward him. “You’re not kidding.”
“I’m not the one going to jail over this.”
Nick returned his focus to his keyboard. An airline boarding pass rolled out of the printer under his desk. He folded it quickly and tucked it in his pocket and looked back at Steely. “I’m going to be out for a little while.” He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “This project should keep you busy enough.”
She raised a brow, figuring he meant he’d be gone for an hour, maybe two. He didn’t elaborate. And she didn’t ask a follow-up question. She tore open the envelopes, lined them up on the floor, and began.
“This closet isn’t so bad. Not nearly as bad as an office in a dark house on lockdown.”
“Prostitution?”
She was baffled that he knew that.
“It’s all over the news.” He opened an e-mail, and his facial expression turned serious. “Keaton wants updated financials in the morning. Mr. Clayton and Mr. Denison are pressuring him.”
“Is that bad?” She took her hands out of the box, stopping briefly.
Nick combed his fingers through his hair. “The financials will show the most profitable year ever. What they won’t explain is the missing reserves—two hundred thirteen million dollars. Keaton won’t get away with this. I’ll dangle him off the top of this building and make him talk before that happens.”
“That would be coercion. HPD can’t use anything he says.”
“I’d like to hang him off the top of the building until he starts flapping his tongue.”
“You know embezzlement could get him a long sentence.” She spread out a few more papers. “In the last twenty-five years, the top fifty largest corporate embezzlers received sentences as long as some murder convictions.”
“Really? You’ve been studying corporate crime?”
“My dad. He’s the reason I studied it.” Steely unfolded a statement and looked closely at it.
Nick had his head in his monitor.
Steely quickly grabbed another envelope and took a glance at its contents. She ripped opened the next one and scanned down, pulled out another. She ran through ten of them. It was the same bank. No doubt about it. She didn’t need to check the account numbers. The names on the accounts were something she hadn’t forgotten.
The statements matched the ones her dad had hidden and the ones she’d found in the abandoned warehouse. For several minutes, she thought about the ramifications of what lay in her hands.
There was a tangible link from Fred Paupher’s death to the JHI fraud.
She dumped out another box and spread out the envelopes. A new wave of questions sent her scrambling on the floor. She sat on folded legs and stared for a few seconds at what she had found.
This was a game changer. All those late-night hours she’d studied, learning things she didn’t know she would ever use, were now the most valuable assets she had to offer on her first full-time job.
Studying account statements had been useless to Nick. They were priceless to her. Helping Nick sort out the fraud at JHI was linked to her dad’s death. This connection was real. It was tangible. It was at her fingertips. Nick’s previous corner office on the fiftieth floor had nothing on the rathole on five.
For several minutes, Steely struggled internally about sharing what she had found with Nick. Fred’s character had already been butchered once. She didn’t want that to happen again. But she either had to trust Nick or get out of there.
Steely gathered the statements and set the box back on top of the others.
“You done?” He scrolled down his computer. “I don’t blame you. It’s a mess.”
She stood at the edge of his desk and crossed her arms. “I’ve seen these accounts before.”
He slowly zeroed up at her, as if he’d misheard. “What?”
“My dad had statements from the same bank hidden in our attic.”
“How would he have them? Jack Hunter didn’t even have them.”
“My dad was a good guy. He wouldn’t have done anything wrong. Witnesses lie.”
“You don’t have to defend your dad. But where did he get them?”
“He was contracted by Flash Away to shred them. That’s where he got them.”
“Mr. Keaton hired them to work for JHI. Paid them way too much. And I don’t think they delivered anything.”
“Dad gave them back every cent they paid him.”
“He knew something wasn’t right.”
“Sure did.” She went back to the box and wadded a few envelopes together. “I don’t need to open another box to tell you there are two hundred thirteen accounts at the Saint Stephen’s Island Bank. Wires move two hundred thirteen million dollars in and out every ninety days. And I assure you, it’s not the same two hundred thirteen million dollars. It’s new money coming in and out,” she said confidently. “Assets are transferred to Geneva. Whoever is doing this is laundering money.”
He looked as if he were hit with hurricane-force winds. His eyes bulged. His mouth hung open. “You figured this out?”
“That much. Do you know what to do with it?”
“You have statements from Geneva? I don’t know anything about Geneva.”
“I’ll e-mail you the account numbers tonight.”
“You have the account numbers?”
“I had to dig through trash bags in a warehouse and watch a man give a kid a concussion to get them. But I have them. I’ll e-mail them to you tonight.”
“You did this in just two minutes.”
She shrugged.
He focused back on the monitor, opened an e-mail, and scrolled for an airline confirmation. Another destination was added to his itinerary. The printer spit out a new boarding pass. He would be making two stops before circling back to US soil.
She wondered what his quick reaction on the keyboard meant.
“I know you’re not going to hang Mr. Keaton off the top of the building. So what do we do?”
“Take a vacation. You earned some time off.” He tucked the boarding pass in his pocket and looked over at her.
“I just got here.”
A question she knew he wouldn’t answer satisfactorily went through her mind: What is he doing?
“You’ll know when you see it,” Nick answered, before being asked. “I’m going to run out for a bit and then come back and take you to lunch.”
She found his answer was satisfactory, for now.
Chapter forty-three
The faint sound of mariachi music played from speakers mounted along the colorful walls. The server one-handed the empty plates and carted them off. Steely set her napkin on the table. Nick pulled out a plastic card, which the server swiftly scooped up.
They stared at each other for a few seconds.
“Now let’s talk about you,” he said. “How are you?”
“Good,” she said.
“I know you’re good. Steely, you’re always good. But really, how are you?”
Steely was caught off guard. The “I’m good” answer always put an end to the “How are you” question. Not with this man. He meant it.
Her right hand quivered on the cleared table. She wished it were in her lap, out of sight, and wondered why she’d put it on the table. Her mom had always told her to keep her elbows off the table. Then her hands would be invisible. If only she had followed that etiquette. She inched her arm slowly away, but her progress was halted when Nick put his hand on hers, holding it in place. Suddenly, it was OK with her if they sat there till Jesus came. She was no longer moving.
“I know you’re not a complainer,” he said.
Her h
eart pounded.
“I’m so glad you came back,” he said.
Her vocal chords froze. She wasn’t trying to sing an opera, just utter a few simple words. But even a slight squeak wasn’t manageable. The most observant man in the world would certainly be aware of her struggle.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You’re the kind of woman…” He slowly lifted his hand, releasing hers.
She screamed inside.
Then she gasped for breath as if she’d swum so far out into the ocean she couldn’t get back. Nick watched her agonize. Surely he couldn’t guess what caused her distress. They were a man and a woman sitting together. And now he’d confirmed it.
For a few seconds, neither had words to express their respective thoughts. They stared at each other, saying nothing.
“What kind of woman do you think I am?” She poked at him with a spray of flirtation.
The elderly man and woman at an adjacent table adjusted their hearing aids well above normal. They chewed on pralines, listening to the intense conversation going on a few feet away.
Nick never made an accidental slip of the tongue. His words were pointed. “I know all about you, kid.”
Her emotions ping-ponged from high to low. “Woman” then “kid”? It was torturous. “You don’t know about my wild college days.”
Why did I say that?
“Yeah, working three jobs is pretty wild behavior.” He smiled.
The server brought him a receipt that needed his signature and a tip if he was giving one. He added the total and scribbled his signature. Steely purposely glanced down at the $21.53 tab with a $10 tip.
No wonder the servers fought for our table.
“People change,” she said.
“Some grow better, some worse. You were your mother’s caretaker after your father passed.”
“Have you been stalking me?” she teased softly, with a grin.
“It doesn’t take a stalker to know what you’ve been doing.” He used a napkin to dab his eye. “You’re transparent, not invisible.”
Is he crying?
“I am?” She didn’t try to be transparent. It was just what she was. Crystal clear.
This young lady related very well to this golden boy with blue blood running through his veins. But if there were genetic markers for loving, caring parents, DNA tests would have proved they were kin.
“Anybody else would have dumped Mrs. Hunter and run.”
“That wasn’t an option. She’s my mother-in-law.”
“How is it? Living with her in your home?” He held up a hand. “You don’t have to answer that. One thing I know about her is she’s never phony. You always know how Mrs. Hunter feels—’cause she’s constantly telling you. One day though, I hope she realizes you’re better to her than any daughter she could have birthed.”
His assessment stunned her to silence.
He continued. “If I searched the world, I wouldn’t find anyone like you.”
“You wouldn’t?” she squealed.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
The elderly lady had heard enough. She got up and poked Nick’s shoulder, her husband beside her. “You better not let her get away.”
Her husband agreed.
Nick respectfully stood. “Ma’am, we’re coworkers.”
“Hogwash,” the woman said as they walked off. Even strangers had recognized the difference between a date and a business lunch. Friendship and romance. Even if no one else was ready to admit it.
Nick flashed a boyish grin. “We better start walking back.”
Externally, Steely was reserved. But that was not the case internally.
They quietly made the five-minute walk back to the tower. Nick stayed close. She hoped it would always be that way.
Chapter forty-four
Candy poked Kristi. They watched the couple make their way through the lobby as if they were a security threat. Candy slid off her chair, held on to a side desk, trying to get one last look at the couple. She scrambled back up and stretched her neck over the desk.
Kristi, on the other end of the counter, had less visibility. “See anything else?”
“Looked flirtatious to me.” Candy tucked her blouse back into her skirt. “Something funny is up with those two.”
Kristi glanced over at the executive entrance, where the couple had disappeared. “I don’t see anything funny. They’re just walking and talking. Girl, you gettin’ crazy.”
“I have information,” Candy said pretentiously, “that I can’t disclose.”
“Oh no, you don’t!” Kristi screeched. “Out with it, now.”
A man in a blazer with gold buttons waited impatiently for someone at the desk to acknowledge him. “This is nonsense,” he scolded. “Make a call and announce me to—”
“Sir, we have a problem here,” Candy remarked. “Please take a few steps back.” She pointed to a yellow line taped on the floor. “We’ll be with you in a minute.”
The man checked his watch. He took a step backward, almost to the line. But he wasn’t crossing that line. He wasn’t completely complying. Several people gathered behind the man. He checked the time again and used his cell.
“I promised not to tell,” said Candy.
Kristi whispered, “You know those extra fifteen minutes you take at lunch with Rick?”
Candy said, “My friend Tiffany works in HR. She talked to a girl who knew that girl in high school.” She glanced at the executive entrance and then back at Kristi. “She wouldn’t reveal her source, but it’s reliable information. Beef Ribs was driving his new one-of-a-kind sports car a few years ago. That girl was driving intoxicated and smashed into him—almost totaled it.”
“She’s a drunk?”
“Yep. Almost caused him to run over a little girl on the sidewalk.”
“She looked so innocent.” Kristi shook her head. “Why would he have anything to do with someone like that?”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
The phone buzzed and lit up another line. They were all blinking now.
Kristi picked up. “JHI Tower. May I help you?”
The man stomped back to the counter. “Young lady, why am I waiting here like a dummkopf?”
Candy righted herself. “Sir, we don’t use that kind of language here.”
The phone beeped. Candy reached for the receiver. The man knocked the phone off the counter, disconnecting all the calls. “I’m going through security right now.” He glared at them, sounding as if he was chewing on gravel. “Which one of you wants to risk her life to stop me?”
The waiting line had doubled. The crowd watched Candy’s bold stand against a force three times her size. “Sir, don’t be coming in here acting like some bully threatening us.” Candy pointed in his face. “We’ll have you tossed out of here. Now, get back in line like everyone else.”
The man’s bushy brows shook below a slash mark on his head. His thick fingers pressed down on the desk with enough force to take him over it. “I can have you eliminated with one phone call.”
The crowd gasped.
Kristi caught the attention of a security officer. He could read the distress signal in her expression and rushed over. “Is there a problem here?” He was even more concerned when he recognized the problem. “Mr. Chevoski, sir.”
Chevoski read from a plastic badge and said mockingly, “Candy was having difficulty announcing my arrival.”
“Please come with me, sir. I’ll take you right up to see Mr. Keaton.”
Chevoski taunted, “Candy dear, don’t forget where we left off. I’m a man of my word.”
Security escorted Mr. Chevoski through the executive entrance like he was royalty.
“I’d feel safer in prison with felons,” Kristi whispered.
“Probably where some of these people need to be.”
“Why does the CEO want to see that thug?”
“I’ve got one foot out the door. If he comes back
out here talking all crazy, I’m gone.” Candy went for her cell and tapped in a number.
“Who you calling?”
“My source in the executive suite. I’ll know all about that crazo in about two minutes. Then I’m reporting him.”
“To HR?”
“HPD. He threatened us.”
“Sure did.” Kristi glanced back, making sure he was still gone.
Chapter forty-five
Steely pulled up close to the garage. She climbed out of the car, retrieved a recycling bin from the curb, and set it on the front steps. Then she headed back to the car for a grocery sack. She still hadn’t told Bea about her new job. There was no easy way to announce she was working for the enemy. Bea was doing well. She seemed content, almost happy. And Steely did not want a relapse. It was a scary thing when Bea quit drinking iced tea and watching TV nonstop. The thought of Bea relapsing halted Steely from telling her yesterday. It’d be worse if Bea found out on her own and accused Steely of keeping another military secret.
Halfway to the front door, a pop rang out loud enough to send two squirrels scrambling up a tree. The neighborhood kids set off firecrackers a couple times a year. They seemed to forget the city ordinance allowing fireworks applied to the Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve. Today was neither.
Steely checked Mrs. Yost’s yard for her granddaughter or her friends and then glanced down the street. No one was causing any mischief. She dropped the sack, ran to the front door, pushed it open, and hollered, “Miss Bea?”
“I got him!” Bea, with her pistol in tow, shifted her muumuu from the bedroom to the living room.
Steely went for control of the firearm. Bea didn’t resist her, as Steely carefully removed Bea’s finger from the firing mechanism. “Miss Bea, is someone in here?”
“Not anymore,” she said satisfactory. “He won’t bother me again. I decimated him.”
“Did you call nine one one?”
“They won’t come out for cockroaches. I checked.”
Steely opened the chamber, dumped out the bullets, and closed it. “Miss Bea, you can’t shoot cockroaches with a three-fifty-seven. This gun is only for life-and-death situations. You can’t exterminate bugs with it.”
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