by Sloan Archer
Vanessa was geared for battle. An asset to J&M, she was going to make sure that they paid her like one with the raise. They could hem and haw and attempt to lowball her all they wanted, but they knew that she knew exactly how much money she brought in for them each year. Dozens of other firms around town would kill to have her, and everyone in the room knew it.
Antonio Melane cleared his throat. “I’m sure you’ve guessed why we’re here.”
Vanessa gave the group a noncommittal nod.
Where, she wondered, was her new office located? And how much bigger was it? Maybe it would be big enough for a loveseat—she’d always wanted an office with a loveseat. A loveseat and a coffee table. Maybe even a trendy floor lamp, too, if she had room.
“This is a very serious matter, and we hope you understand the gravity of what you’ve done,” said Jersaw.
What I’ve done? Well, there was one way to describe her stellar work performance.
Morris looked a little sad as he added, “You’ve always done solid work for us, so we’re a little confused by your actions. If you didn’t feel as if you were being compensated fairly, you should have come to us.”
Frowning, Vanessa said, “I’m not following. My . . . actions?”
Morris said, “You have not only betrayed the trust of our clients, but you’ve also tarnished the reputation of our firm and the good name of your coworkers, who are now losing accounts left and right.”
Melane clasped his hands together at his crotch line. Whether intentional or not, he was the sort who made every gesture seem lecherous, suggestive. (Vanessa’s money was on intentional.) “We were hoping to keep this internal, but, unfortunately, word gets out fast in our industry. Our main concern now is damage control, but this doesn’t mean that we won’t take legal action in the future.”
Vanessa’s frown deepened as a heavyset man in a security uniform entered her office. He shot a glance at Melane and seemed to expand all over—biceps flexed, chest puffed, legs bowing. He deflated when Morris shook his head.
What was this? Were they playing a joke, engaging in some kind of sick hazing ritual?
Vanessa studied their hard faces. No, Jersaw, Morris, and Melane weren’t exactly the joking types.
Something was wrong.
Very, very wrong.
“Will somebody please explain to me what’s going on?” Vanessa shrilled. “Are you not here to give me a promotion?”
Jersaw barked out an incredulous laugh. “A promotion? You can’t be serious.”
“Save the act,” said Melane.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Will somebody please explain to me what’s happening? Please!”
“What’s happening is that you’re going to clean out your desk. And then our boy here, Damien,” Melane sneered, his thumb jerking toward the security guard, “is going to escort your embezzling ass off the premises.”
Vanessa felt as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “Embezzling? What—no! There’s been some mistake.”
All three men shook their heads, synchronized.
“Who do you think I’ve been stealing from?”
Melane opened his mouth to say something undoubtedly nasty, but Morris raised a hand to silence him. Jersaw produced a file folder from his briefcase and calmly placed it on Vanessa’s desk.
“It’s all in there,” Jersaw said. “We’ve triple-checked the numbers, cross-referenced signatures and digital receipts. You’ve been caught red-handed. There is absolutely no way for you to talk your way out of this, so you might as well start packing.”
Vanessa snatched up the file and quickly thumbed through the paperwork. “What’s this?”
“You know what it is. Brimare Incorporated.”
“Yah, no, I got that from the papers. I’m the one who brought you their file, remember?” Vanessa sniped right back at Melane. “But you’ll probably also remember telling me that they were too risky to take on as clients.”
“And?” Jersaw demanded.
Vanessa closed the file. “And nothing. I was told that I couldn’t take them on as clients, and so I didn’t. End of story.”
“No, not end of story. I’ll save us a bunch of back and forth and tell you what you did,” said Melane. “You went behind my back and took them on as clients anyway, and then drove them into bankruptcy.”
For the second time that day, Vanessa’s mouth was dropping open. “That’s ridiculous! I did no such thing. I would never—”
“I’m not finished. You took them on as clients and you skimmed money from their profits, which you sneakily filtered into your own private accounts. How clever you must think you are.”
Vanessa resisted the urge to punch Antonio Melane in the face. “No, I did not!”
“But not clever enough,” said Jersaw. “What you evidently didn’t know is that we also employ a separate team of accountants who monitor the trading activity of our advisors. It’s unfortunate that we must do such a thing, but it’s become a necessity.” He raised his eyebrows at Vanessa pointedly.
The security guard took a threatening step forward as Vanessa leapt to her feet. Ignoring him, she said to the trio, “This is ridiculous! I’m obviously being set up!”
Melane and Jersaw snorted. Morris provided her a look so disappointed that she nearly felt as if she were guilty. Her eyes prickled and she silently commanded herself: You will not shed a tear in front of these jerks. You will not feed into their stereotypes about women in the workplace.
Vanessa took a steadying breath before she continued. “You’ve obviously made up your minds about my supposed guilt. Why you have, though, I don’t understand, since the only thing I’ve ever shown this firm is loyalty.” In her best dramatic courtroom voice, she looked at each of the men—first Morris, then Jersaw, and finally Melane—adding, “Judge, jury, and executioner. Am I right?”
They stared at her blankly.
“So.” Vanessa sighed. “No matter what I say right now, you’re not going to believe me. Right?”
“You’ve got that right,” snorted Melane.
“Okay, then, let’s go straight to the source.” Vanessa jabbed the speakerphone button on her desk phone, the dial tone aggravatingly noisy. “Go on, then, give me their number. I’ll call them right now so that you can hear for yourselves that I never took them on as clients.”
Melane shook his head in a manner that suggested he was feeling embarrassed for her, the odd woman out.
“Let’s see what you all have to say once you hear it straight from the horse’s mouth,” she said. “And then I’ll expect a full apology from all of you.”
“You can give up the charade, Ms. Paul,” said Jersaw. “You know as well as we do that nobody is going to answer.”
“And just why not?”
“They’ve gone out of business, which you are aware.”
“No, I was most certainly not aware, as I haven’t spoken to anyone from Brimare in months.” Vanessa’s heartbeat quickened as the security guard took another step toward her. “Now, wait a minute. Just wait.”
“We’re done waiting,” said Jersaw. “You should consider yourself lucky that we haven’t had you arrested.”
Vanessa took a step back, biding her time. “Really think about it: Isn’t it a little too convenient that I’m being accused of a crime for which I cannot clear my name? Doesn’t anyone other than me see how fishy this is?”
“I’ll admit that it does seem strange, given your past work performance,” said Morris. Jersaw and Melane, evidently not on the same page, cast their eyes skyward. “But the numbers don’t lie. Our accountants confirmed it.”
“Then they made a mistake.”
Melane nodded at the security guard, who closed in on Vanessa. “I’ll give you five minutes to clean out your office, and then I’m going to escort you outside,” said the guard. “It’ll go a lot easier for both of us if you don’t make a scene.”
Vanessa folded her arms across her chest stubbornly. Melane, in an attempt to ge
t her moving, placed a hand on her arm. “You’ve run out of snake oil to sell, don’t you think?”
“Don’t you touch me!” she hissed. Whatever Melane saw in her eyes made him back away real fast. She shot him an accusing look. “I know what this is—you did this! You!”
Melane barked out a laugh. His diamond pinkie ring glinted as he raised a hand to his chest. “Me?”
“Yah, you. It makes perfect sense, when you think about it. After all, it’s not like you’ve had any problem stealing credit for my work in the past.”
“W-well, that’s just preposterous,” Melane sputtered.
Much to Vanessa’s satisfaction, Jersaw and Morris lowered their eyes. So, it was true, then. They’d been aware all along that he’d been taking credit for her ideas. Though the small victory provided her a whisper of vindication, her insides still clenched with righteous anger.
All these months, and they’d done nothing to stop him.
The bastards.
“I’ll tell you what happened!” Vanessa shouted. She had no doubt that her voice could be heard clear out in the lobby, but she was beyond caring. If she was going down, she would do it swinging. “I went to you with my idea about taking Brimare on as a client. You told me to forget it—that they were a ‘sinking ship’—but what you really did was steal them for yourself. But rather than helping them like I would have, you exploited their instability to make money for yourself.” Vanessa loathed the desperateness of her voice. She sounded crazy, paranoid . . . Yet, her claims did hold a certain logic.
Could she actually be right—was she merely a pawn in a greater J&M conspiracy?
Vanessa powered on before Melane could object. “Yah, that’s exactly what you did—you somehow doctored the papers I submitted to you and then began skimming their profits under my name.” Vanessa rubbed her forehead, lost in her thoughts, talking more to herself than to her bosses. “How could I have not seen it? Then again, you’ve always been quite the little weasel, haven’t you? And you’re dastardly enough to drive Brimare into bankruptcy without even batting an eye. I bet . . . Yah, I bet that you took the dirty funds and funneled them through several offshore accounts—it would be all but impossible to follow your digital trail once you did that. Sure, that’s exactly what you did.”
Morris cleared his throat, bringing Vanessa back to the conversation. Frowning, she looked around the room. Ironically, the security guard was the only one who seemed to think that her claims might have some credence. He was now glaring at Melane almost as harshly as Vanessa.
“Do you have any evidence to substantiate your claims?” asked Morris.
“What—you can’t seriously be entertaining this nonsense!” Melane burst out. On the surface, he was angry, but Vanessa couldn’t help noticing the beads of sweat that had sprouted along his hairline.
“Vanessa, do you?” echoed Jersaw.
“Well, no, not right at this moment,” Vanessa admitted. “But if you’d give me a day or two, I’m sure—”
“I’m sorry, but you’ve run out of time. It’s over,” said Morris. “It’s unfortunate, because I had high hopes for you.”
Yah, Vanessa thought, that makes two of us.
CHAPTER TWO
Using an inhuman amount of self-restraint, Vanessa managed to make it out onto the street before bursting into tears.
She counted herself fortunate that she was in Manhattan, since she was able to skulk toward the subway, mascara streaming down her face and an open cardboard box of her office accessories clutched pathetically in her arms, relatively unnoticed. It wasn’t the first time jaded New Yorkers had seen a financial services worker thrown out on her tail, nor would it be the last.
She found an odd sort of comfort in this fact.
Balancing the box on her hip, she pulled her phone from her pocket and once again tried Greg. She frowned as she noted the time, which couldn’t possibly be right. Vanessa did a slow spin, gaping up at the street sign as she got a handle on her location. Somehow, she’d walked a few dozen blocks in the wrong direction . . . No, she realized, it must have been even more than that, given the hour. She’d been walking the Financial District aimlessly for well over an hour—how could that be?
What Vanessa needed now more than anything was familiarity. She needed to hear the soothing voice of Greg, but where was he? She’d called him several times and her call kept going straight to voicemail.
Greg’s lack of availability didn’t surprise her too much. Unlike herself, he still had a job, so he was probably busy doing it. As an advertising executive, he was often whisked from one meeting after another, so that’s probably where he was now. Vanessa wondered how she was ever going to be able to stand the wait for him to get home that evening.
A homeless man near the subway held out his hand and started to ask Vanessa for money but then stopped when he noticed the box, her brass stapler and potted cactus peeking out the top. “Guess I’ll be seeing you soon, sweetheart,” he said with a cackle, which was exactly what she didn’t need to hear at that particular moment. She fished in her purse and handed him a couple bucks anyway. He called her a damn fool and she went on her way.
On the train, a passenger standing near the doors nudged Vanessa hard enough that she nearly dropped her box as she passed to take a seat. She initially dismissed the jolt as an accident due to overcrowding, particularly once she got a look at the perpetrator. The rosy-cheeked old woman would’ve been more at home on the prairie baking apple pies than riding a gritty New York subway midday.
Vanessa smiled at the woman, expecting some kind of apology—or, at the very least, an acknowledgment of what she had done. The old woman only glared, as if Vanessa had been the one who’d bumped her.
It was, after all, New York.
Thankfully, Vanessa’s exit was just a few stops away. She did her best to ignore the old woman, who didn’t make the task easy, as she continued scowling at Vanessa the entire ride.
Once Vanessa made a move to exit, the woman stepped into the center of the aisle, so that she blocked her path to the doors.
“I’m sorry, do I know you?” Vanessa asked with a polite smile. Had it been anyone younger or less frail-looking, she would have not have been so courteous. Vanessa, though originally from Maine, had been in New York long enough to understand that the best way to deal with subway crazies was to not deal with them at all.
The old woman shook a fist at Vanessa and pushed into her personal space, her large, saggy breasts pressing up against the box. She sneered down at it, the crux of her anger. “You got what you deserved.”
Vanessa’s head snapped back in shock. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m glad you got fired. You Wall Street crooks are all the same,” the old woman spat. “You should be in jail, the lot of you.”
Before Vanessa could react—or even clarify that she wasn’t a Wall Street crook, that she actually helped people—the old woman stormed out the doors with a nimbleness Vanessa wouldn’t have thought possible for a person so ancient. Eyes cast skyward, Vanessa shook her head. Well, wasn’t that just lovely?
Outside on the platform, she frowned down at the box. How did the old woman know . . .? And then she saw it, the very large JERSAW & MORRIS FINANCIAL SERVICES sticker pasted boldly on its side.
Vanessa focused hard to keep it together as she skulked through the trendy Tribeca neighborhood where the loft she shared with Greg was located. She was on her own stomping grounds now, and many of the individuals she passed on the sidewalk, as well as those working in the restaurants, boutiques, and small grocery markets that lined the streets, were people she’d continue encountering on a daily basis. No need to make an embarrassing scene by bawling now, when she could soon cry all she wanted in private behind the safety of her own front door. She reminded herself once more that Jersaw and Morris were only one of many firms in town. With her qualifications, she would find another job in no time.
Vanessa stepped to the edge of the sidewalk, pulled out h
er compact, and thumbed away the mascara that had dried into little black swirls underneath her eyes. While she was at it, she threw on a petal pink lip gloss and fluffed her soft curls, starting to feel a little more like herself. As she stuffed everything back into her bag, it dawned on her that she was feeling pretty close to okay—maybe even a little relieved, too, knowing that not another moment of her life would be wasted slaving away underneath the roof of Jersaw and Morris.
The invisible band around her chest loosened. Her heartbeat slowed. She wouldn’t fool herself into believing that she was feeling a hundred percent just yet, but she knew that everything would be fine, just fine.
There would be no more wallowing, she decided. There would also be no petty smear campaigns against Jersaw & Morris, no harassing phone calls to that larcenous bastard Melane to let him know that she’d despised him since day one. She’d considered the possibility of doing both during the train ride, when her pride was still stinging. She also wouldn’t waste any of her precious time engaging in an uphill battle to clear her good name at the firm, since it was obvious that whomever had framed her—Melane, she was almost positive—had gone to great lengths to cover his tracks.
The only thing she was going to do was hit the ground running. She would wake up early tomorrow, sling back a pot of coffee, and update her resume. Once that was done, she’d send it out to every firm looking for a financial planner—and even those who weren’t. By the start of next week, she’d have herself another job. Just see if she didn’t.
Look out world, Vanessa Paul is on the loose! she thought, her step a little bouncier.
As Vanessa neared her building, the doorman, Tony, raised a hand to greet her, his smile faltering when he caught sight of the box in her hands. Ever the professional, he recovered quickly and made a move to open the door for her.
Vanessa had always liked Tony, and they often had exchanges of witty banter. He always seemed touched, too, whenever she brought him down plates of steaming goodies—Vanessa tended to bake whenever she was under a great deal of stress. It was the one minor therapeutic distraction that she allowed herself. Tony, in return, would sometimes deliver her delicious slabs of homemade baklava, created from a recipe he swore had been in his wife’s family since forever. They weren’t exactly friends in the strictest sense, but they were friendly. Vanessa suspected that Tony liked her a great deal more than he did Greg, who tended to treat the hired help—doormen, cleaners, maintenance—as if they were invisible. It was one of the few quirks that Vanessa genuinely detested about her boyfriend.