“This is all I know.” Rachel was crying.
“I’ll send you a hundred dollars. Have Bailey’s come out to see the burn and send me that quote. Tell them I’ll pay them in advance, and they can bill me if it ends up more.”
“Thanks, sis. I’m sorry.”
“We’re okay. Take care of yourself.”
When the call disconnected, Sharon stared at the thick teal-colored carpet under her feet, tears welling. No one could understand poverty’s effect on a child unless they had lived it.
She was sure she’d never receive that quote.
Talking to Rachel churned up memories, especially of the times she had to be strong for her. Memories she didn’t want, memories shrouded in the past.
Her dinner arrived. She sipped the martini and ate the shrimp cocktail in slow motion, saving her salad for last.
What she had learned in the last couple of days disturbed her. Something fishy might be going on at GSE. Why was the inventory fluctuating so much, and why was it increasing faster than sales?
Jake Foster gave out a vibe she couldn’t name just yet. Like he knew something.
The reminder on her phone chirped. Time to go downstairs and meet Trip for a nightcap.
She’d last seen him years ago. She didn’t know where he was working until they passed in the hall at Globe Forwarding. She’d cut off his greeting with a hushed voice. “We don’t know each other, okay? I’d like to talk to you away from here. Call me later, and I’ll explain.”
Trip nodded. “I go by my full name here. Nobody knows me as ‘Trip,’ just Willis Turek.”
She handed him a card. “Okay, that’s enough for now.” She turned toward the conference room.
While she thought about what to say to Trip tonight, she put on a pair of dusty-rose Bermuda shorts and a Madras overshirt. Satisfied she looked feminine but not too sexy, she headed out to the bar.
Boyish and disheveled as usual, Trip remained trim, even in his forties. He rose to his feet and gave her a hug. “You haven’t changed, babe. You’re cuter’n a bug’s ear. Let’s order some drinks in a hurry. I need a bourbon and water. I’m so dry I’m farting dust.”
“Trip, you still have a way with words.” They both smiled.
The waitress appeared, and Sharon said, “I’m getting up early, so I’ve got to take it easy. I’ll have a wine spritzer.”
“Bourbon and water, easy on the water.”
Sharon waited until the waitress was out of earshot. “Thanks for coming over. Long time no see. Exactly what do you do at the company, anyway?”
“My title is marketing manager, but I do a lot of things. I solicit new business from the importers that bring goods into Miami. I’m also customer service manager, without a title. What I mean is we have customer service people, but the problems end up in my lap.” Trip scowled. “I really would like to find something better.”
“I hear ya. Wouldn’t we all?” Sharon glanced around the room. “So, no one at the company knows you by your nickname?”
“No, I don’t want business contacts calling me that. I’m Willis.”
“Yeah, ‘Trip’ sounds preppy.” Sharon smiled. “Speaking of my job, I need your help with something I can’t quite figure out.”
She unfolded her chart. “I made this to show how the tasks and documents flow. I can’t believe the controls here are this bad. I must be missing something. You’ve been at the company long enough to have a feel for things.” She pushed the chart, containing labeled boxes connected by lines, in front of him.
“Me? I don’t work on this end of the business.”
“Trip, for a non-accountant, you have a talent for finding loopholes. Remember? I only wanted your reaction to help me plan my audit report.”
Trip examined the chart. “Sure, but this is a perfect opportunity for you and me to score for ourselves.” He put his finger on one of the boxes. “Here you go. They have no oversight of order entry. I see a few other possible weak spots. For one thing, it doesn’t show anyone reviewing bank statements after a clerk has reconciled them.”
Trip massaged his forehead. If Sharon read him correctly, he knew nothing of any shenanigans that might be going on. The wheels seemed to be turning as though this were all new to him.
He leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I could handle the details of a rip-off on the inside, with you to help cover it up. No one would suspect the bank’s auditor. You want off the treadmill, and so do I. We each could end up with a respectable nest egg out of this.”
“No.” Sharon shifted uncomfortably. “That’s not why I asked your opinion. I want to leave the past in the past, Trip. The reason I settled down is because I couldn’t handle the idea of getting caught.” Not to mention she didn’t want any more to do with Trip.
Trip’s broad smile raised his cheeks, squeezing his eyes into slits. “We had some wild times, didn’t we? I’m glad we were smart enough to close down that charity deal before somebody investigated.”
Sharon leaned and spoke softly. “You’re talking too loud. Excuse me, but I believe I was the one who insisted on pulling the plug.”
She slid her chair back. “I need to go to the powder room. Keep an eye on my purse.” She strode through the dim lounge, receiving admiring glances from a couple of traveling businessmen as she passed by.
After Sharon disappeared down the hall, Trip snatched her cell phone from the table next to her purse. With feverish strokes, he started to download a phone-tracking app. Just in case she went ahead on a scam without him. He grinned, thinking it wasn’t like her to keep the same password all this time, but she had. The download was taking forever—no doubt because of poor reception. He glanced down the hall to the restrooms. No sign of Sharon. The download finished. The next step, the installation, was quick. He turned the screen off. There would be no evidence of this tracking app later.
“What are you doing with my phone?” Sharon’s angry voice rang behind his ear. She must have come back a different way.
Trip half-raised his eyebrows in his best simulation of innocence, then remembered how well Sharon knew him and put on a guilty frown instead. “I was wrong to grab your phone. Curiosity got the best of me. I looked in your photos for a boyfriend but didn’t find one. That was childish, and I’m sorry.”
“Give it to me.” Sharon examined the phone, then glared, brow furrowed, for long seconds. “Worse than childish.”
Trip brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Seeing you gets me thinking about the old days. Remember that RV dealer up in Vero? Good times, exciting times.” His eyes were alight. “I thought for sure we were going to end up in jail for sticking the banks.”
“Lower your voice.”
“Sorry.” He continued, just above a whisper. “I’m still amazed at how you came up with a way to hang it on the equipment manager. That drunken sonofabitch was as confused as a termite in a yo-yo. It was all so slick. We should write a book.”
Trip touched her arm, pleading. “Sharon, I miss the life. We can work together again. If this opportunity is as big as I think, neither one of us would ever have to hit a lick again.”
He leaned in more. “Once we’re out of here, no financial worries, no stress. We can start over. I think you’re hotter than ever, babe.”
Sharon snorted. “We are over as a couple. I’d never take a chance of having you cheat on me again, even if I had those feelings for you, which I don’t. I’m not getting involved in any scam either.” She slid her chair back. “Gotta go, Trip. Early-morning meeting.”
“Think about it. This is a great opportunity.”
Back in her room, Sharon wondered if she’d done the wrong thing by talking to Trip. It had upset her. But she’d found out what she wanted. His reaction convinced her he wasn’t scamming the company, probably because his duties were too far removed from the money fl
ows. Even if he became interested in the potential for fraud, he’d need time to get it going, and an accomplice who knew the computer system. Based on what she was seeing, if there was a fraud, it was in its final stages. Trip would be too late.
If what she suspected was true, though, there might be an opportunity for her. She told Trip she wasn’t interested in participating in a fraud, but that wasn’t quite true.
Just not with him.
Although Trip had seen the company’s vulnerability, he didn’t say he thought someone was taking advantage. She hadn’t showed him the crazy inventory fluctuations or the suspicious rise in the month-end amount. All he seemed to know about the company’s books was from the flow chart she showed him, demonstrating the lousy control environment.
She jotted some notes for a chat she needed to have with Malcolm Weaver, proposing to return in a few weeks and do more work. She’d say the activity from new customers required more verification. If she offered to stay in a less costly hotel, maybe the extra expense wouldn’t bother him.
Jake Foster might be involved in a scam. If so, she needed to find out and then decide how she felt about participating in a theft, but as a partner with Jake. The allure was there, without a doubt. Her fears around committing fraud weren’t as great as she’d let on to Trip; in fact, the danger of getting caught made her feel more alive.
Jake hadn’t appeared nervous in their meeting in the conference room when she hinted there may be problems. Or had he? She had a mental picture of Jake’s face turning expressionless during the conversation—going sort of wooden, but she didn’t recall precisely when, or even if, it happened.
She thought about it more. The simplest answer was often the right one. Jake knew more than he was telling, even though he seemed kind of goofy. She planned to cozy up and needle him to find out.
Something about him interested her. He wasn’t bad looking. She sized him up as an introvert, in the sense there was a lot to him you didn’t see at first. Sharon saw need in those pale blue eyes. And his endearing klutziness. Still, he had an unusually suggestive physical presence. How his eyes traveled over her at their meeting, his open body language, the way he angled toward her as though to reach out and touch her. Her skin tingled. It had been too long since she’d been in a relationship.
Chapter 5
At the kitchen table, Jake popped the top on his second beer and contemplated anew the steady twenty-year slide in his fortunes. Junior officer in an investment bank, a series of other jobs, and logistics manager in a small freight forwarder. Crappy IRA, no bonus, no company stock.
He pitched his empty at the trash can. It bounced off the rim and clattered to the floor. On the way to the refrigerator for another beer he didn’t particularly want, he picked the can up and let it roll off his fingers into the trash with the others.
This beer soured on his palate, so Jake poured it in the sink. He stepped into the living room and dropped into the recliner, reflecting on how he’d tried and failed to skip away from these foundering moods most of his life, even before Iraq. Once, he bought expensive deep-sea fishing gear and went out on a friend’s boat a few times before becoming bored with it. Self-disgust swept over him as he examined the rods and tackle leaning next to the TV, where they had sat unused for over a year. He wanted to hurl when his eyes lit on the bag of Callaway Strata Ultimate golf clubs on the other side of the TV. They’d been there even longer.
He’d lost more than one job because there were periods when he was unable to focus on the work. For the last few years, he’d coped a little better. Until Arlene took off.
Winston Churchill called the depression he suffered his “black dog.” As far as Jake knew, the man had never received therapy—except for champagne with lunch and dinner, and plenty of booze in the evenings. If it worked for Churchill …
He went to the kitchen, poured a nightcap, and returned to the recliner. Two fingers of scotch swirled in his glass. Funny the way it clings to the sides, like oil. No more after this one. He told himself to snap out of it. He knew what he had to do. Man up and finish what he started.
The next evening, after everyone left, Jake reviewed computer entries and checked the files to be sure he’d filed forged receiving documents where they were called for. He rubbed his eyes and closed the computer.
On impulse, he dialed Sharon’s number.
“Sharon, this is Jake Foster.”
“Good evening, Jake.” Her voice was warm with promise.
“I, uh, … you said to call if I thought of anything.”
No answer.
“Are you there?” His voice sounded weak, plaintive to his own ear.
“Yes, go ahead.”
Careful to breathe and use his diaphragm, he spoke in a more resonant tone. “Let’s get together for coffee or a drink tonight, and I’ll explain.”
“I would, but I’ve had dinner and already have my PJs on. I’m going to turn in early. How about coffee at seven tomorrow morning? At the coffee shop near my hotel. It might be better not to meet near the office. Some people might think it unseemly for us to socialize.” She gave him directions.
“Okay.” Jake heard flirtation in her voice. He reminded himself his purpose was to give her a red herring, something to take up her time and lead her away from his falsifications. If that went well, maybe he’d ask her out.
He drove to the coffee shop and entered at seven. He found Sharon waiting for him at an empty table.
“Good morning.” Sharon smiled. Jake wondered what she did to appear so fresh and alert all the time.
“Good morning to you. Would you like some coffee?”
“Yes, thank you. Black, no sugar.” She smiled at him while she hung her purse on the back of the chair next to her, looping the strap once around a rung and securing it to a post.
A few minutes later, Jake returned with their coffees. He took a moment to settle in the chair, savoring his first sip. He looked up to see Sharon regarding him with a steady gaze. He said, “How’s the audit going?”
“I’ll be through soon, if the rest goes well. Everything’s okay on the surface, but something’s been nagging at me. I’m not sure what it is.”
Jake cleared a lump from his throat. “Well, I’ll have those receiving documents for you by early afternoon. There’s something else I ought to mention. It may not mean anything …”
“Don’t worry about what it means. If something’s bothering you, you should tell me.”
“Okay … Malcolm Weaver.” Jake hesitated. “He behaves like somebody with a lot on his mind, and he’s been having closed-door sessions with Arthur Temkin, the finance guy. He never used to spend any time with Arthur. This is none of my business, but … I’m not sure the books are on the up and up. They’re showing a profit, but it’s hard to understand how. The pricing giveaways and extra costs of handling new, difficult customers kill profits. I think they might be cooking the books.” He shrugged and gave a slight nod.
“Jake, I’m not sure what I can do with this information. I’ll think about it. I’ll review the cash disbursements if I have time before I leave. I may not come across anything related to your concern.”
She sat up straighter. “I have to ask. Why would you tell me this?”
“Sharon, we live in a small world. If the company loses customers and has to make cuts, I hope I wouldn’t be one of the people laid off. But if the worst happens, I’d like to think you would let me use you as a reference.”
This red herring had been well placed, Jake thought. Just enough to get her thinking about Malcolm and dilute her attention on winding up the audit.
Jake knew he should end the conversation and let her mull over what he’d said. Asking her out now would be rash. “Say, you’re almost done with the audit?”
“I hoped to have it wrapped up by tomorrow, finish on Friday like I usually do. But I started late, so I�
�m not going to make it. I’ll have to come back. Thing is I already planned to stay the weekend and take Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday off. Really relax and see the sights. I’ll ask Malcolm if it’s okay for me to come back next Thursday and part of Friday.”
What the hell. He decided to make his move now. “This might not be appropriate, but I was wondering if we could go for a drink this weekend, perhaps dinner. Unless you have plans …”
“I don’t have a problem with it. Strictly business, right?” Her words were proper enough, but her smile gave him hope.
Jake and Sharon went to dinner Friday night at an Italian restaurant in Coral Gables named Abbracci. He thought she would like the elegant, white-tablecloth establishment. She contemplated the lavish décor, the soft, romantic lighting. “Wow.”
“Nice, isn’t it? I don’t often come to places like this, but I thought you’d like it. The beautiful people come here. ‘Abbracci’ means ‘hugs.’ A similar restaurant nearby is named Baci, which means ‘kisses.’ They might have the same ownership. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
Sharon beamed. “This is so relaxing. Sometimes white-tablecloth restaurants put me on edge, but not this one.”
“I know what you mean.”
When the waiter was gone with the check, Sharon said, “This was a treat. Thank you.”
“We only had one bottle of wine. Did you want to stop somewhere for a nightcap?”
Her eyes twinkled. “Wait ’til you get to know me better.”
“I’m just kidding.”
“I’m not.”
They spent Saturday night and Sunday afternoon seeing Miami sights Jake hadn’t thought of in years. Life in the city was more interesting, even magical, when he had someone to share with.
They went out again Monday night to a Cuban restaurant named Islas Canarias.
Never Again, Seriously Page 4
