by G. K. Parks
“Bastard,” I mumbled.
“However, I do not want to learn that any Cross intel was passed over to the police department without my express consent or the consent of our clients. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I would just make sure he never found out. That seemed to be the main takeaway to his statement.
“Very good. We’ll discuss Don Klassi’s case tomorrow morning.”
“We can’t. He came to me personally. He wants his problems kept secret. He hired me, not Cross Security.”
“Undoubtedly, a favor for James Martin.” Cross waited for the doors to open. “Don’t worry, Miss Parker. I can keep secrets just as well as you can.” He exited the building, climbed into a waiting town car, and disappeared.
When I returned to the café, Heathcliff had consumed three-fourths of his sandwich. He dipped the final piece into some au jus and stuffed it into his mouth. I took a seat after making sure none of Cross’s minions were spying on me and slid the envelope across the table.
“I hope that helps.”
“Probably not, but I won’t know until I look at it.”
“Do me a favor and pretend you don’t know where it came from.”
Heathcliff wiped his mouth on a napkin and watched me drink my coffee. When I didn’t offer any additional explanation or idle threats, he pulled the pages out of the envelope and flipped through them. “The financials will be helpful, as will their CVs.”
I wasn’t sure how, but I refrained from asking. Instead, I picked up a chip from the corner of his plate and took a bite. “Have you heard about anyone trading in cryptocurrencies?”
Heathcliff’s brow furrowed. “Why?” That wasn’t an intrigued why; it was a how do you know about that why.
Klassi made me promise to keep this quiet, and so far, I’d blabbed to Martin, Jablonsky, and Cross. Hell, at this rate, I might as well tell Heathcliff too. “Some guy at MT got taken for a lot of money.”
“That sucks.” Heathcliff tucked the pages back into the envelope and looked at his phone. “I need to get going. Us civil servants don’t get the weekends off.”
“No rest for the wicked,” I said.
He saw the dark circles under my eyes. “You’d know better than anyone. Hey, if you need someone to talk to about anything, you know I’m around. I’ve got a bottle of bourbon dying to be opened.”
“Thanks, but Martin already offered.”
“Well, his booze is top shelf.”
“Yeah, except when he offers to talk, he actually expects a meaningful exchange of words, not just pouring and drinking.”
Heathcliff put on his jacket. “Yeah, but we both know you’re not always so great with the word thing.”
“Fuck you,” I retorted.
“Case in point.” He tapped the envelope against his chest. “Thanks again, Parker. I’ll see you around.”
After I finished the chips Derek left on his plate and the last drops of my now cold coffee, I went back to the office. I had a lot of decisions to make in a short amount of time. It would help if I had some idea what I was doing.
For starters, I ran an extensive background check on Don Klassi. He was clean. As far as I could tell, he wasn’t on any government agency’s radar. That was a good thing. Maybe I misjudged him, but I doubted it. Even if his moneymaking schemes weren’t illegal, they were morally questionable.
“You’re one to judge, Parker,” I muttered. I’d committed a few atrocious acts in the past. Sometimes, the only way to fight fire was with fire, but that didn’t make looking myself in the mirror any easier. I just didn’t want to add more bad acts to my ledger. On the cosmic balance sheet, I was losing. I’d need to spend the rest of my life helping orphans and rescuing kittens from trees, and even that wouldn’t be enough. Nothing ever would, but I was tired of taking on questionable clients. Dammit, Jablonsky was right, as usual. That was the price I paid for a job at Cross Security with its top of the line facilities and practically limitless resources.
I rubbed my eyes and circled the room. Klassi had nothing to do with Cross. He had everything to do with Martin, and since I was stuck on another “save Martin” kick, this was the best and least destructive way to do it. I’d look into it, and Don would walk away from MT. It was an easy win for everyone.
“Nice digs,” someone said from the door, and I practically jumped out of my skin. Luckily for Jablonsky, my nine millimeter was in my desk drawer. If it hadn’t been, I might have shot him. “Did you have to sign the contract in blood?”
“Don’t be a dick.”
He cocked an eyebrow and entered, pulling the door closed behind him. “Marty told me you were here. I was hoping to run into Lucien. It’s about time that pompous prick and I had it out.”
“Mark,” I warned, giving him my no-nonsense look, “I’m already in enough hot water. Don’t make it worse. Please.”
He dropped onto the couch and put his feet on the glass coffee table. “This really is nice.”
“Why are you here? How did you get in?”
“Didn’t I teach you everything you know?” But he didn’t answer the question. “I wanted to talk to you about Don Klassi.”
With my annoyance immediately forgotten, I asked, “What do you know?”
“Not a lot. However, you need to think this through. Assuming what you’ve been told is true, this con artist is targeting a specific type of mark. He’s playing the long game. To empty out an office, dump his phone and e-mail, and disappear without a trace, he must have done it before. Have you checked out the alleged address yet?”
“I haven’t done anything except run Klassi’s name through the system.”
“I did the same. From what we can tell, he gets close to the line but hasn’t crossed it. His actions are legal, at least on the surface.”
“What about Noah Ryder?”
“Like I told you last night, we got nada on him. Fraud hasn’t received any similar complaints. Ryder isn’t in the database. I went through DMV records, social security, everything I could think of. It’s unlikely that’s his real name.”
“What about cybercrimes?” I asked.
“They’re still digging. Honestly, we have next to nothing to go on. I don’t believe they are going to find him either.”
I went to the computer and typed in Noah Ryder. Several entries popped up, but none of them matched the description Klassi provided, not that I expected them to. No one was stupid enough to run a ten million dollar con job and use his real name. Next, I tried the office address, finding it vacant and available to rent. That same space had been rented several times in the last year, but none of the tenants lasted more than a couple of months.
“Did you run the other businesses and companies that rented the property?” I asked.
“Yes, but nothing popped.”
I resisted the urge to do it again. Cross had access to several useful databases, but I didn’t see any reason to double-check Mark’s work. Instead, I keyed in the phone number and e-mail address. The phone was an unregistered burner. It had been paid for with cash and had been disconnected for weeks. The e-mail was an automated box. Someone upstairs might be able to gain some useful information on it or link it to websites or social media profiles.
“Alex,” Mark crossed the room and rested his hips on the side of my desk, “we need to talk about this.”
“What?”
He pressed his lips together. “Marty told me what happened Friday morning. He also mentioned that Klassi practically blackmailed you into helping him.”
“Is it blackmail? I only agreed on the basis that he sell his shares of MT and stay away from Martin.” I swallowed. “Is that why you want to talk about this? Did Martin say something to you? Is he angry I’m influencing factors that affect his life and livelihood?”
“No, he’s not afraid you’ll fuck up again.” Mark gave me that knowing look of his. “But apparently you think you might.”
“I don’t have time for this. Just spit
it out.”
“Assuming we don’t find anything solid on Noah Ryder, the FBI won’t be able to conduct much of an investigation.”
“Well, Klassi didn’t want me to tell anyone, so he should be relieved, unless of course the FBI decides they should start investigating him instead.”
“As a courtesy to you and Marty, I’ve kept the details of Klassi’s involvement to a minimum. If we find more on Ryder, that will change. But if we don’t, I’ll keep it quiet and let Marty do whatever he wants once Klassi is no longer earning dividends from MT. That being said, I want to know what you are doing about Klassi? Are you going to follow through? Or is this a bluff?” Mark gave me a pointed look. “Your word used to mean something.”
“It still does.”
“That’s what I figured. Too bad Cross hasn’t knocked that out of you yet.”
I ignored the jab. “Are you trying to tell me what to do?”
“What would be the point? You never listened when you were under me. Why would you listen now?” He licked his lips. “I’m just here to say if you plan to pursue this, you’re going to need resources. More than the few favors I can provide. And more than whatever spare change Marty might have in his couch cushions. You’re going to need a solid, planted identity and money. Lots of it.” He looked around the office. “Guess you’re at the right place after all.”
“I don’t want Cross involved.”
“Then you need to come up with some irrefutable evidence. Something solid. Airtight. That way, I can persuade the Director to sign off on providing some assistance. Let’s call it a joint-op of sorts.”
I scoffed at the notion. “I burned that bridge. We both know it. When I resigned the last time, Director Kendall told me there was no going back and no consulting work. My ties to the Bureau were irrevocably severed. He won’t authorize it. He’ll just laugh in your face.”
“Then what the hell are you going to do?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Seven
“Have a seat.” Cross gestured to the leather couch. “I’m sure you noticed I didn’t assign you a new case this morning.”
“I’m aware.” So was every other investigator at the Monday morning meeting. I’d gotten several funny looks from Kellan Dey and Bennett Renner. “Are you planning to terminate me?”
Cross let out a barking laugh. “Do I look like Schwarzenegger?”
“Not really.” My boss was in a good mood, which meant he didn’t know I’d given intel to the police or was intentionally pretending he didn’t know. My money was on the latter. “So why the special treatment?”
His eyes lit up. “You know what I want.”
After the discussion I had with Jablonsky yesterday, I knew I’d need Cross Security’s help to investigate Don Klassi’s case, so I told Lucien everything Don had said. I left out my arrangement with him, where we met, and Martin’s sudden dislike for the man. Those things were irrelevant, even though Lucien asked three times if this was a favor for Martin.
Cross had an unhealthy obsession with my boyfriend and had recently approached Martin about producing a line of tactical gear. I didn’t think Martin wanted to move forward on any such endeavor, but Cross thought I was his ace in the hole, which gave me a bit of leeway.
“Ten million,” Cross murmured. He went to the intercom and pressed a button. “Set up a meeting with Don Klassi for this afternoon. Tell him Miss Parker requested it. And find out if the gallery is still available. If it is, have Amir draft a profile for a wealthy art dealer.”
“What are you doing?” I asked when he returned to his chair.
“Getting the ball rolling. I’ll be sitting in on your meeting with Mr. Klassi to discuss revising whatever payment scheme you have worked out. Cross Security can cover the expenses and incidentals in exchange for a finder’s fee. Ten percent is the industry standard, and given the circumstances, it seems reasonable, particularly when the probability of a recovery is quite low.”
“You think he’s going to pay you a million dollars to take his case?” Cross must have suffered a massive brain injury without my noticing.
“Without us, he’s out ten. He should leap at the chance, especially when he realizes he won’t have to pay unless you make a recovery.”
“That’s insane.”
“He’s lost enough money. He’ll jump at the chance.” Cross cocked an eyebrow, clearly confused why I wasn’t more excited by this prospect. “Don’t worry, Alex. We’ll split the finder’s fee fifty-fifty after expenses. I have no intention of overstepping, but surely, you realize this case is beyond your sole capabilities, unless you have a benefactor to which I’m unaware.”
“I don’t.”
His eyebrows rose and fell. “Not to mention, per the terms of our agreement, any work you do for James Martin automatically makes him my client.”
“This isn’t for Martin.”
Cross didn’t argue. He simply went back to his desk. “I’ll make arrangements. Conduct your research in preparation for our client meeting. We will present this offer to Mr. Klassi as a united front.”
“Sure thing.” I stood, figuring I needed to explore the office space Noah Ryder had used and give the techs the information on the e-mail address and phone number. This was happening, and it was happening fast. Maybe Klassi would object, but something told me he wouldn’t. If anything, I needed to run damage control. Don Klassi knew too much about my relationship with Martin, and I didn’t want him to spill the beans to my boss on the off chance Lucien didn’t already know.
On my way across town, I called Klassi. Our meeting was scheduled for two, but I didn’t want to blindside him or be blindsided. I explained the problems I’d encountered, detailed Cross’s insistence on maintaining a client’s privacy, and hinted that the terms of our agreement remained intact and Cross need not know about them. Klassi agreed, assuring me he was in the midst of selling his MT shares. That deal would be done by the end of business today, which meant he’d sign the contract with Cross Security and his problem would officially become mine.
We disconnected, and I entered the office building. Individual spaces were available for sale or rent, making the building a total hodgepodge. There was no central reception area. The few directories listed current occupants only. Noah Ryder had done an excellent job masking his true intentions and concealing his identity.
The office he used remained vacant. I spoke to a few of his neighbors. Surprisingly, most of them recalled the man, but they didn’t know much about him. Some believed he was a hedge fund manager. Others figured he was a financial consultant. A few thought he was some techie with a start-up, and the woman with the corner office thought he was a freelance graphic designer. The office door was locked, so I didn’t get a chance to look around. But from what I could see by peering into the window, it was empty. If Ryder was as clever as I had been led to believe, he wouldn’t have left anything behind.
Still, I dialed the number listed on the door and left a message for the building manager to call me back. It was possible the people I questioned about Ryder had been thinking of one of the other tenants that had come and gone. Then again, if Ryder was playing the long game, he might have introduced himself to his neighbors to add some legitimacy to his persona. He would want a trail, just not one that would link to his real identity.
While I waited for the building manager to call back, I thought about the rest of the details. Jablonsky said no one had reported any similar crimes to the FBI, but I wasn’t sure if the same was true for the local police. Based on Heathcliff’s tone yesterday, I suspected he knew something, so I called the precinct.
Derek blew me off quickly, but he promised to keep his ear to the ground. In return, he wanted more information on CryptSpec. While answering a few questions concerning the documents I gave him the previous afternoon, I heard the telling beep of an incoming call.
“I have to go. Good luck with your case.” I switched the call over. “Hello?”
“H
i, may I speak to Alexis?”
“You’ve got her.” I glanced at the caller ID to make sure it matched the number posted on the glass door. “I have a few questions about an office for rent. Unit 39D. I was hoping to see it.”
“That can be arranged. Let me check my calendar.”
“How about now?”
“How long will it take you to get here? I’ll be leaving for lunch soon.”
I held back my laugh. “Not long. I’m actually standing right outside.”
“I’ll grab the key and meet you outside the office.” The building manager disconnected without asking any other questions, and I wondered just how desperate he was to rent the empty space. With the current turnover rates, he probably wanted to fill as many offices as possible as quickly as possible.
The elevator opened twelve minutes later, and a balding gentleman stepped out. His pallor wasn’t good, and his clothes were too big. He looked sickly.
“What’s your name, honey?”
“Alex,” I replied, dismissing the honey as a generational faux pas.
“I’m Lem. Pleased to meet you.” He unlocked the door and held it open for me. “Ladies first.”
I stepped inside. The office wasn’t much, just a glorified cubicle with a tiny waiting area. The walls around the main office were thin, frosted glass. The rest were painted bright white, starkly contrasted by the dark holes from removed nails.
A modern looking glass and steel desk filled the cubicle. It had been bolted to the floor. Everything else was gone. “Is the desk included?” I asked.
“Yes. We used to have a few leather chairs in the reception area and a rolling desk chair, but the first tenant took them when he left. After that, I decided not to replace them. Is that a problem?”
“No.” I narrowed my eyes at the desk, crouching down to check for fingerprint smudges. “Do you have a record of previous renters?”
“Yeah,” Lem replied suspiciously, “why do you ask?”
“What can you tell me about the last guy who rented this place?”
“Who did you say you were?”
