by Isabel Jolie
“Oh, I can’t seem to access the pro bono accounts.”
“You’re starting with our pro bono accounts?” His tone says he doesn’t approve of my tactical choice. Just like a man to be judgmental.
“I’m not starting there. I’m simply trying to ensure I can access everything. Today has been all about navigating an intranet from the eighties. Whoever handles your IT should be fired.”
He comes around the side of my desk to view my computer. “I can’t say I entirely disagree with you, but from what I can tell, it’s multiple people, not just one. And IT’s not a core competency or priority for the firm.”
He zooms around, clicking options at lightning speed, and then frowns. The same error message I’ve received a dozen times flashes on my screen. Access Denied. I don’t try to hide my amusement, because he was so confident I simply didn’t know what I was doing.
He reaches across and taps a few numbers on the keypad for my phone.
“Tommy, you need to give Ms. Frost full access.”
“I did.”
The frustrated expression on Chase’s face is priceless, but you’d never know it from his warm, friendly tone.
“Tommy, my man, I’m sitting here at her computer. She doesn’t have full access.”
“I’ll be down in thirty.” The line clicks.
Chase and I stare at each other for a moment, and then he dramatically holds his arms out wide and looks to the ceiling as if praying to the gods. I can’t stifle a giggle at his exasperated facial expression.
He grins then asks, “Did you find the cafeteria?”
“You mean the break room at the end of the hall?” There’s a full-size refrigerator in the small room, a coin-operated Coca-Cola drink dispenser, and a microwave and coffee maker on the counter.
“Nah. Come with me. Evan did a crap job showing you around and making you feel at home, huh?”
I follow Maitlin to the elevator bank, thinking about Evan Mitchell. He’s been nice enough, and he seems to genuinely want to root out any corruption in his company. But I don’t think he really knows how to deal with an FBI agent. It’s not a big deal. A lot of people freeze up around agents, and I did get the distinct impression Evan’s not the one who normally handles onboarding. But he’s handling me himself because we all agreed the fewer the number of people who know there’s an undercover investigation going on, the better. The head of HR, an older woman in her late fifties, is the only other person who knows I’m FBI. None of the employees in her department know the truth. They all think I’m a personal connection of Evan’s who happens to be a perfect fit for their open position.
We’re quiet on the ride down, as several other people are also in the elevator. When we reach Level C, the doors open into a large cafeteria. It’s mostly empty, given it’s midafternoon, but there’s a deli, a pasta bar, an enormous salad bar, a griddle for hot sandwiches and fries, and one area with a sign that reads International. I point at the sign, and Chase explains.
“Supposed to be international cuisine. Changes daily. There’s a menu for the month over there. You can also find a link to it on the portal home page. Some of the food here isn’t that bad. The salad bar is always pretty fresh. It’s packed down here during lunch. Anyone from the building has access, not just BB&E employees.” He strides over to a coffee bar, which proudly serves Starbucks coffee. It’s great and all, but there’s a real Starbucks on the corner of our block. Chase opens a refrigerator and pulls out a large bottle of water then asks me if I want anything.
I bypass the soda fountain and select a bottle of water, too. Chase lifts it out of my hands. “I gotcha.”
He continues talking as we head to the lone active cash register.
“So, do you live nearby?”
“Not far. Chelsea area. You?”
“Same. What street?”
“King Street.”
“Hmmm. You know, we actually don’t live far from each other.” He sets the water down and pulls out his wallet from his back pocket. “Hello there, Ms. Wallace. How’re you doing today?” The cashier smiles at him, and they act like friends for a minute as she swipes his credit card. When we’re past her station, he asks, “So, what gym do you go to?”
Yep, nailed it. He’s a gym guy. “I don’t have one yet.”
“Yet? That’s right. Evan mentioned you recently moved here.”
“Yes. From Los Angeles.”
“Oh, you’re one of those.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just giving you a hard time. Hhmmm, so, you’re not only new to the company, you’re new to my city. You should’ve said. I’ll help you get your feet on the ground.”
“Well, you could start by recommending a gym.”
“I like Chelsea Pier. There’s a gym in this building, too, but they don’t have classes or anything. HR gave you the packet on employee benefits and all, right? The menu for this place should have been in that, now that I think about it.”
I actually did not receive a packet from HR, but I make a mental note to ask for one. I don’t like being caught off guard. I should at least be aware of what new employees receive so no one gets suspicious.
The doors to the elevator close, and Chase says, “You know, I’ve got this thing coming up this weekend. Some friends getting together. You should come with.”
I pause and study his posture.
“I mean, not as a date,” he’s quick to clarify, “but to meet some of my friends. I have some good friends who you’d like. Besides, if you don’t know anyone here, what else ya going to do?”
“I’d like to go. Thank you.”
I am sincere in my answer. If I’m going to crack this case in two weeks, I need to figure out how guilty Maitlin is, and spending time with him, and getting to know his friends, is a great way to pick up that kind of information.
We each return to our offices. IT hasn’t yet arrived. I close my door and dig down into my briefcase for my personal cell. It’s almost too late to call my sister, as she’ll likely be out again or busy with friends. The five-hour time difference can be challenging.
“Sadie, you called.” Surprise resonates in her tone, which is entirely deserved.
“I said I would.”
“Yeah, well… So, do you like New York?”
“I do. It’s been less than a week.”
“And let me guess. You’ve spent essentially no time outside the FBI office building.”
Quinn spent one summer with me in D.C., and I don’t think she’ll ever let me live that summer down. It was an especially busy summer, and I still had a lot to prove as a new agent, so I put in a lot of hours at the office, leaving her all alone.
“On that count, you would be wrong,” I tell her.
“Wait, are you working undercover?”
“Yes.”
“Damn. You’re like Dad.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I meant in a good way. But you’ll be careful, right?”
There’s a knock on the door.
“I gotta go. Sorry.”
“You’re being careful, right?”
“It’s a nothing assignment. Seriously. Boring.”
The door cracks open.
“Yes. I’ll see you at four p.m. tomorrow. Eleventh-floor conference room, right?”
“Just like Dad,” is the last thing I hear before I hang up.
I smile at the man standing in my doorway. I assume he’s IT, as he’s not wearing a jacket or tie, and he’s also wearing black running shoes.
“I hear you need help.”
“Yes, I seem to have limited access.”
“Well, I’m your knight in shining armor.”
Out of nowhere, Chase comes up behind him. “Don’t go stealing my lines. Just fix her computer, Romeo.”
I laugh as the man steps behind my desk.
Chase pulls out one of my guest chairs for me as the IT guy taps away on my keyboard.
“Here, sit
. I’ll make all your problems go away.”
The guy rolls his eyes. “I’m the one fixing her computer.”
“Yeah, but I’m her knight.”
It’s all in jest. Chase’s brand of casual is fun, not at all what I’m used to, and he kind of cracks me up. But he’s also clueless. He’s not so much my knight as my target.
Five
Chase
* * *
My office phone rings right as I’m about to power off my laptop. Evan’s name lights up the thin, narrow screen. Fan-fucking-fabulous.
“Hey, boss man.”
“Maitlin. How did today go?”
“Fine,” I drawl. Today wasn’t anything special. Another Monday for the books.
“Did you get Ms. Frost settled in okay?”
“I believe she has full access now, and I showed her how to get around on the portal.”
“Did she give you any indication of what she’s starting on first?”
“No.” There’s an awkward pause, and the seconds blink by on my digital clock. “Do you want me to find out?” She’s not in my group. Doesn’t report to me.
“Yeah, maybe try to keep an eye out on what she’s tackling. Tad left us in a lurch, and she’s got a lot of catch-up to do. I want to trust her, let her figure this out on her own, but I also want to keep an eye on things, you know, in case she needs some guidance. I don’t want to come across like I’m a micro-manager. She told me she doesn’t like that, but if you could keep an eye out, I’d appreciate it. If she comes to you about any concerns, please keep me apprised.”
“Sure thing. Not a problem, boss.” I’m in charge of maybe ten percent of our accounts, but if this half-cocked oversight plan of your new employee lets you sleep better at night, fine.
“Oh, by the way, Cooper’s coming back in town. He has some business meetings and wants to go out Thursday night. Can you join us?”
The chicken scratch on my desktop calendar bears the word Joe, reminding me I’ve already committed to one client.
“I’m supposed to go out with Biohazard Waste Disposal Thursday night. He let me know earlier today that he’s coming into town. Do you want me to cancel?” There’s no doubt Cooper’s Chicago Real Estate Development Group is the bigger client.
“Nah, keep your plans. You getting out of here soon?”
“Yep. You?” Come on, wrap it up.
“Yeah. Gracie wants me to pick up Maura from soccer practice, so I’ve gotta run to make the 5:32 train.”
“Ah, the life of the commuter.”
“Yeah, stay single.”
“Oh, I plan on it.”
He laughs into the phone, and I hear other sounds that indicate he’s closing up shop. I stand and throw my laptop into my backpack, ready to make my escape.
“And remember, keep me apprised of Ms. Frost. I need to know that she’s starting out on the right foot.”
“You got it, boss.”
When I head down the hall, I pass her office. It strikes me that it’s odd HR put our new internal auditor right by my office. Maybe someone else had already taken over Tad’s old spot. Fluorescent lights fill her office as I zoom past her open door for the elevators.
Her sing-song voice floats out into the hall calling, “Chase.” I pause, my attention on my compadres gathering by the elevators. Fuck. IT probably screwed something else up. Damnit. I’m gonna have to wait to get into my weight rotation.
I exhale my frustration, plaster on a smile, and spin on my heel. “Yes, sweetie pie?”
Her face contorts, like, wrinkles literally form on her brow, and a deep one shows between her eyebrows.
“Do you treat all of your colleagues with that level of disrespect?”
Oh, fuck, she’s one of those.
“Not all of them, no. I thought you and I were becoming friends. My mistake. What can I do to help you?”
A perfectly polished, short nail taps on the desk, and I can hear her huff. She’s cute and all, but she’s interrupting my gym time. I’m the one who should be huffing.
“I’m sorry. This office is more casual than I’m used to. You’re being nice. I know you didn’t actually mean to disrespect me or treat me as a lesser colleague.” Lesser, what?
“No, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m casual with everyone. Not just women. It’s not about disrespect. I just wanna enjoy my day. That’s all.”
She stares at the middle of my t-shirt. There’s a giant red stain on it from where marinara sauce leaked out of my chicken parm sub earlier today. Yeah. It’s stained. Get over it.
“Thank you for your help today. Are you headed to the gym?” She points to my gym bag.
“On my way right now.” I smile, mostly to hide how frustrated I am that I’m not in transit to said gym at this very moment.
“Maybe I’ll see you there.”
And this is my chance to get out the door. I shoot her with my finger gun and shout out down the hall, “Have a good night.”
Six
Sadie
* * *
Chase heads down the hall toward the elevator bank, and a chorus of “night, man” and “see you later” floats down the hall.
I power down my laptop and pack up. This is my first undercover assignment, and I’m not exactly nailing it. Why on Earth is his laissez-faire attitude getting to me? This isn’t where I actually work. He is not another agent not taking me seriously.
UC is not my thing. Yes, I’ve gone through the training, but when I transferred to the New York office, it wasn’t supposed to be my role. But things change quickly, and this should be a short assignment. One of Dad’s motivational postcards comes to mind. Great things never come from comfort zones. I can do this.
Nothing in the reports so far shows anything suspicious. I’ve got to dig deeper, but what I really need to learn is who specifically knows some of these businesses are essentially laundering money. We have enough to indict a senator. I need to close this loop. Identify who is involved, and I’m out.
My pep talk streams all the way to Chelsea Piers Fitness, the gym that made our suspect’s eyes light up when he waxed poetic about it. I checked it out online, and the monthly fee is so high it should be fabulous. There are a few classes I’m looking forward to taking. And there’s a pool for laps.
The place is mammoth, so I’m a little concerned about the ease of observing him here. He said tonight he’s doing weights. After changing in the spa-like changing room, I follow the signs to locate the weight room. We have a gym at the FBI field office, but I can see myself keeping my membership here after this case is over. Besides, if Maitlin’s guilty, he’ll be doing ten to twenty, so it’s not like I’ll be bumping into the guy I helped prosecute.
When I enter the weight room, he’s talking to a beefcake by the chest press machines. Neither guy is lifting weights. They’re just standing there talking. I pull out a mat to observe from a distance as I stretch. It doesn’t take long to fully grasp how Maitlin spends hours at the gym.
He does reps on a machine, a guy comes over and talks, they both stand and talk for longer than he did reps, then he moves to the next machine. This could be where his real business takes place. I don’t recognize any of these men, but I do use my phone and covertly snap a few photos so the team can research them later.
I can only catch snippets of his conversations. It all seems rather benign. Sports, stocks. Sometimes he tosses in a question about how the kids are doing. He always seems to know the kids’ names. Standard light conversation.
He moves over to the cable machine. To watch him, it might look like this is nothing more than a social circuit, but those muscles say otherwise. His biceps bulge as he curls his biceps up and the block of iron plates lifts. No, those muscles say he’s the definition of a gym rat. He’s not beefy, like someone taking steroids, but I’d bet he’s consuming protein shakes regularly, and he’s spending most of his free time right here in this weight room.
As an FBI agent, I spend my fair share of time in the w
eight room, too. It’s a required part of the job, maintaining a basic level of fitness. I’ve seen plenty of men lifting weights. So, I can objectively say, Maitlin has a good program. He’s fit. He’s wearing a shirt, but the tight fit of his t-shirt hints at well-defined pecs and nicely shaped biceps, and I’d bet he’s sporting an attractive six pack. Not a bad male specimen. Too bad he’s most likely destined for prison bars. Chase peers around the shoulder of the guy he’s talking to, and I instinctively turn sideways.
“Sydney, is that you?”
“Yeah.” The observation game’s over. “I love your gym.”
“Right? So, you joined?”
“Well, I’m on the free trial. But, yes, I think I will.”
He taps his buddy on his chest. “Roger, this is my new colleague at BB&E, Sydney Frost. Sydney, this is Roger Baldwin. He’s a gym regular, too. He lives in Lower Manhattan. You’ll find people from all over come to this gym. It’s great.”
“Hi, Roger. What do you do?” I ask as his large hand engulfs mine.
“Ah, I work for Fidelity. Nice to meet ya.” He effectively dismisses me, turning back to Maitlin. “If you get a chance, stop by the box at the game this weekend.”
Roger Baldwin moves on to the next machine in his circuit, and Chase grins. He looks me up and down. “Lookin’ good, Frost.”
I’m wearing leggings and a tank. We’re in a gym. There’s nothing about my outfit that isn’t appropriate or warrants an open evaluation. I glare back at him, the exact way I’d shoot daggers at any guy in the academy giving me shit.
He catches on quickly, and his eyes return to my face lightning fast. Then he grabs a water bottle and chugs.
The guys at the FBI gym do show respect. He and I are still colleagues. I stand at attention, chest puffed out. The clank of iron on iron breaks my ire, and I remember my assignment. Get to know him.
He wipes his mouth with his palm, and his gaze falls to my shoes. “If you need spotting, let me know. I know most of the guys in here, too. Some of ’em are single. So, if you’re interested in anyone, lemme know. I might be able to do ya a favor,” he tells me with a harmless, boyish smile, and I soften. Maybe the whole him checking me out thing was all in my head. Maybe Aaron was right, and I am too sensitive.
