Breach of Trust

by Kimber Chin

  Philippe nodded like yes, he had known it all along, his confidence restored and then some. “I'm a bastard. We know these things."

  "But bastards still like to hear the words, don't they?"

  "Peut-etre."

  Anne wrapped his arms around her. Philippe's body responded. Couldn't happen, could it? Not again. She placed his hand on her breast and his fingers moved of their own volition, kneading, caressing.

  What was his little brown sparrow doing? It was broad daylight, they were parked at the side of a busy street. Any number of curious pedestrians could spot them. No, better to wait. Mon Dieu, she felt good. If only they were in that underground parking over there? Philippe stared at the sign with yearning, aware of the softness under her blouse fabric. Her hand rested on top of his right thigh.

  The Volvo was no Maybach, not that much leg room. To do anything would be a challenge. Wouldn't be very sensible, would it? He had to be sensible. Anne's hand moved upwards.

  Time to move the car.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Twenty One

  The e-mail came in the morning, after Philippe left Anne's condo for the office. Anne hadn't told a soul, not Philippe, not Nancy, certainly not gossip queen Stanley. No one. She didn't want to talk about the problem until she had a couple of possible solutions. Or one solid, workable solution.

  Philippe phoned her, several times, the duration between calls shortening. Anne wasn't picking up. What did she have to say? She had nothing so far, no action to suggest.

  "Hello, hello—Earth to Annie-kin.” Stanley snapped his fingers in front of her face, finally breaking her concentration.

  "Oh, Stanley.” She blinked her eyes a couple times, coming back into the present.

  "What's up, girlie?” He rested his wrists on his slim hips. “You're in dreamland."

  "She's been like that all day.” Nancy popped her head up from behind a stack of boxes. They almost had finished packing-up her living room. Next was the dreaded kitchen.

  "Sorry, I've been distracted.” Anne moved a few more books off the shelf.

  "I'd say.” Stanley flounced to the sofa. “So share.” He slapped his knees in anticipation. “You looked so frowny-faced. Not good.” A finger waved, “That'll give you wrinkles and you don't want those. So what could make our Annie-bananie grumpy? Is it that gorgeous hunk of a man? Is he giving you trouble?"

  Philippe? Anne's face softened at the thought of him.

  No, it wasn't him. “No reason for frowns there. He used the 'L' word last night."

  "The 'L' word!” This brought a round of squeals and both friends grabbed Anne's hands, singing, “He loves you, he loves you.” She spun around until they toppled to the sofa, collapsing on each other, laughing.

  "Oh.” Nancy made a pained sound, grabbing her stomach.

  "Nance,” Stanley and Anne froze, horrified. Is Nance ... the baby...?

  "Psyche.” That dratted redhead laughed, pinching them both. “Got'cha."

  "That's not funny, Nance,” Anne protested. “We were worried."

  "Not funny to you.” Nancy grinned. “You didn't see your faces. And I have to have my fun since I'll be big as a house while wearing my bridesmaid's gown."

  "Dum dum te dum," Stanley hummed the wedding march, walking more like Hitler than a bride.

  "Not yet,” Anne groaned. “Too early, guys."

  "But getting closer, don't you think Fancy Nancy?” The makeup artist lifted Anne's hair, twisting it. “Yes, definitely up."

  "Getting closer,” her other friend agreed. “Not that much more time to plan. And up is so classy, shows off her neck. Anne has a nice neck. She could wear my pearl studs."

  "I was thinking diamonds,” Stanley disagreed, “to match the dress."

  Dress? What dress? And about the hairstyle? Diamonds? Anne looked at them in confusion.

  "Yes, that's right.” Nancy tapped her forehead. “I forgot that the dress has rhinestones, not that many, just around the waist."

  Around the waist? Rhinestones? Again, what dress?

  "With the simple draped bodice, more isn't needed. It'll make her boobs look bigger too."

  Boobs bigger? Anne looked down at her flat chest. Maybe that isn't a bad idea. They couldn't appear much smaller. Wait a minute though. She didn't need a dress, did she? Anne had to break into this crazy conversation before it went any further.

  "What are you two talking about?"

  "Your wedding dress.” Stanley waved her off. “Nothing for you to be concerned about."

  "My wedding dress?” Anne was worried about getting blackmailed and they were busy designing her wedding dress. “No, no, no. It's too early."

  "It's only in the planning stages,” Nancy tried to assure her.

  Stanley grabbed Nancy's hands. “But didn't I tell you? I got the silk in Hong Kong..."

  "You did?” The redhead smiled. “You said you were keeping an eye out for it."

  "And the rhinestones when I was in Austria last. They have the best selection, darling, you should have seen it! Bling, bling. Like Liberace's bedroom."

  "It's going to be so beautiful. Have you cut the fabric?"

  "Indeedie, I did do.” Stanley twirled. “I used that dress you gave me, Nancy, for sizing."

  "Which dress?” Anne shouldn't be encouraging this but couldn't help herself.

  Nancy looked everywhere but at Anne. “The taupe, the one that fits you like a glove..."

  "Nance...” Anne wondered where that had gone.

  "Don't be mad, Annie. It was only for a few weeks, until the sizing was done."

  "Final sizing will be when you try it on, Annie-kin, but we know how you don't like standing still."

  "Final sizing?” Anne's brain was about to explode. “I don't think I want to talk about this anymore."

  "We know.” Stanley gave a pitying glance. “Oh, how we know. You have no interest in weddings, that was clear from Nance's. That's why we decided to be good friends and plan everything for you."

  What? “When did you decide this?” And why hadn't she been involved in the decision? Shouldn't she be involved in planning her own wedding? Wait a minute. Shouldn't she have a fiancé first, before planning a wedding?

  "When? Oh, a while back, Annie-dynamie. As soon as I saw you and that hunky money-man together. We knew. It was like magic!” Stanley swirled his arms around, doing some hocus-pocus.

  "Remember at the bridal show, when he saw the make-up job you did on Annie, Stanley?” Nancy's face glowed. Anne's friend was a hopeless romantic.

  "Girlfriend, he didn't have a chance. That man was so far gone.” Stanley giggled and they high-fived each other like they were directly responsible.

  "Shouldn't you guys wait until I have a ring before planning?” Anne decided to rain on their parade and point out the obvious.

  "Oh, no.” The two looked at each other in horror. “That'll be too late, Annie-pie. You'll end up with some city hall wedding or, or, or..."

  "Vegas,” the two squealed together.

  "Hubba hubba burning love.” Stanley was off doing his best Elvis impression, surfing on the couch.

  There was no use talking to those two. Anne snorted with disgust, piling more books in the box. This box was going to be as heavy as sin. Thank goodness Nancy had movers. Hope none of them had back problems.

  The doorbell rang, breaking up the party as Stanley was doing his best Scarlett O'Hara. Nancy hustled to the entrance, dusting her hands off on her tee shirt.

  "Where the hell is she?” Anne heard the bellow as clear as day across the breadth of the house. He would track her down. Arrogant ... so she didn't answer her phone, that didn't give him the right to interrupt her day.

  Determined to ignore the source, Anne continued packing.

  Philippe filled the doorway and glared at her. She didn't have to look up to know that. Stanley and Nancy watched them in fascination like it was a real life soap opera unrolling in front of them. She half expected them to break out popcorn
and beer.

  "When were you going to tell me?"

  Blast it, he is furious. Why? What exactly is his problem? Anne's anger rose. He wasn't the one getting blackmailed.

  "Philippe, this isn't the time.” Anne nodded toward her friends and they busied themselves shuffling objects around. Like that fooled anyone.

  "Merde, Cherie, you don't understand, do you? We don't have time. We need a plan. A response is expected."

  He was right, but Anne didn't have one yet, not a single plan. And part of her hoped that if she ignored the problem, it would go away.

  "Maintenant, Cherie.” His jaw clenched.

  Maybe the problem would away if she was very, very lucky. Philippe certainly wouldn't. He had to be dealt with and dealt with quickly. From the rate of his rapidly darkening look, she would say that he was about to completely lose it. That couldn't happen here, in front of an audience.

  "Nance.” Anne turned to her friend, her face a carefully contrived picture of calm.

  "Don't worry.” Nancy smiled in understanding. She was such a good person, her Nancy. “Go take care of what you need to take care of. There'll be more packing you can do later."

  Philippe didn't wait for anything else to be said. He grunted something Anne couldn't make out and grabbed her, slinging Anne over his shoulder like she was a big sack of those potatoes she saw in stores. Very undignified, what with her butt in the air and everything. Anne was not impressed.

  Nancy and Stanley watched him stomp off, their friend kicking and struggling, concern and amazement written across their faces.

  "That was interesting.” Stanley's eyes didn't need liner to look bigger. They dominated his skull.

  "Yes,” Nancy fretted. “We don't have much time left."

  "I think you're right, Nance Valance.” Stanley nodded his platinum blond head, “Anne's dashing Frenchman is not what I would call a patient man. He won't give us much notice at all."

  Nancy picked up her phone. “I'll warn Ginny. She's got the most difficult job. The hall looks like it will be last minute."

  * * * *

  Philippe was on the phone, barking instructions with machine gun rapid fire into the mouthpiece. Anne sat in the passenger seat and quietly fumed, arms crossed, a sullen look on her face. How dare he treat her like that in front of her friends? What was he, some throw back to the Middle Ages? She opened up her mouth to tell him that. Somehow he managed to squeeze off the first question.

  "When were you going to tell me, Cherie? I should have been called immediately. Instead I hear the news from an employee.” His expression was nothing but raw hurt, pure and simple.

  Anne felt guilty, she should have told him. He kept talking about how they were a team. She was about to apologize when the rest of the words sunk in. Hear from his employee? What did he mean, hear from his employee?

  "Are you reading my e-mails now? Monitoring my every movement? Invading my privacy?” Her voice raised but she didn't care. She was having a very bad day.

  Philippe didn't deny it. “From those addresses, oui, I am. I'm reading them, I'm tracking them, I'm running algorithms on them. Obviously I have reason to."

  They glared at each other, both very upset.

  And why is he upset? A small voice inside her asked. Because he cared. So sweet. Bossy but understandable. Besides, of course, he would monitor those e-mails. He felt responsible. They came from the Cyber Café through his network. She should have known he'd do that.

  "I was going to tell you first. I haven't told anyone else.” Anne looked out the window at the passing houses. Children skipped rope. An older gentleman was out with a hose, watering his vibrantly green front lawn. The peaceful scenes taunted her inner turmoil. “I had to think on it a bit."

  Philippe heard the fear in Anne's voice. He continued staring at the road directly ahead, not wanting to see the worry on her face. It would remind him of his failure. He should have settled this by now.

  Anne was his woman and he was supposed to take care of her. But take care of her how? They didn't know who the blackmailer was, where he was, what he truly wanted. Nothing—they knew nothing. Frustrating. All Philippe could think of to do was call in a crackerjack team. That was something, not much, but something. Together they might be able to formulate a plan. Mais peut-etre Anne already had one.

  "What do you want to do?” The sensible, rational part of Philippe wanted to hear Anne had a solid plan, one that only needed implementing. But the very primitive part of him wanted to hear her ask for help, to give him the chance to be her white knight.

  Without turning his head, he felt those big brown eyes looking towards him for a solution. A cool soft hand covered his on the steering wheel. “I don't know what to do, Philippe."

  White knight, it was.

  Two hours later, they were no closer to a solution and Philippe was even more frustrated. He ran a hand through his hair. “D'accord, let's go over the facts again. Anne could you read the e-mail?"

  "If I lose, you lose. Transfer one million dollars to the site listed below on Tuesday at exactly 3:00 p.m. or all confidential information will be posted on the same site.” Anne's voice was steady; her soul was not. This couldn't be happening.

  "The website is owned by a dummy corporation,” Gregory added, “that's owned by another corporation owned by an overseas corporation situated in Kazakhstan. No remote tracking is possible from that point. I have a call in with the local government."

  "We won't get a response in time,” Philippe dismissed that avenue.

  It was Pete Thorne, Philippe's top information technology point person's turn to recap. “The site was easy to hack into, no real controls to speak of. A basic site, the inputted information sits in a database. Any average programmer would be able to access it. The site has no links or auto transfer to any other external site. I expect the information will be picked up and moved manually."

  "So we don't know where it's going,” Philippe concluded, “what are our choices, Detective?"

  Detective Marlow clicked his pen a couple of times. “Don't pay."

  "And punish innocent companies, innocent people for my mistake? It would ruin them.” That was no solution for Anne. “No. Unthinkable."

  "Then pay it,” Marlow gave the other.

  Everyone turned toward Anne. “It'd wipe me out but I'd do it if I thought it would stop the blackmail. However, there's no assurance that the information won't be posted.” She thought of Kevin. He hated her enough to be vindictive even with the million dollars in the bank.

  "It's Kevin, I know it is.” Anne was sure.

  Philippe opened his mouth, Anne was convinced, to contradict her, instead to her surprise, he agreed, “You might be right."

  Whoa, where had that come from? "Why?"

  "I drove by his house,” Gregory piped up, “the lights were on, the curtains open. Boxes were everywhere, the walls were bare."

  "He's moving,” was Anne's conclusion. “Why would he move when he has a good job here?"

  "Exactly.” Philippe nodded. “And he didn't mention a move during our meeting. Looks like he might be cashing in and leaving town.” He addressed Marlow. “Can we hold him until the deadline passes?"

  "On what grounds? You have nothing on him.” Marlow was right. They didn't.

  "Couldn't we track the receipt?” Gregory asked.

  "In a click of the mouse, the money will disappear. It could be picked up whenever and where ever.” Lamont's Head of Information Technology shot down that idea. “We have no control over the transfer."

  "I wish there was a way we could,” Anne muttered.

  "Is that a possibility?” Philippe asked Marlow, “Could we counter-offer with our terms?"

  "Blackmailers aren't usually open to counter offers. It isn't a business negotiation. They hold all the power and there's a lot of emotion involved,” the detective explained.

  Anne walked through the steps from start to finish in her mind. Something didn't feel right, but then, she wasn't
the most tech savvy person in the world. She already slowed the process down by asking basic questions.

  They tried to humor her, these highly intelligent men plotting to help her, but one simple question from her might push them over the edge. Yeah, she should leave it to them. Philippe and his I-T wiz, Pete, would know more about that than she would. Although ... That nagging feeling wouldn't go away. The locked down, detail person in her wasn't happy with the gap in logic. And what do I have to lose? They were at a standstill. Maybe this would get them thinking in a different direction.

  "One thing I don't understand.” Anne stopped as Gregory shook his blond head.

  "Anne, this not the time...” the lawyer cautioned her.

  Philippe gave Gregory a look that said he overstepped his bounds. “Let Anne speak. Anything will help at this point."

  Was that faith in her? She guessed so, in a very understated way. “What I don't understand and maybe someone could explain to me. How does he expect us to transfer a million bucks blindly to a public access site? How do we know it'll go to the right person? Couldn't anyone pick the transfer up?"

  Silence fell in the room and Philippe stared at her, his mouth slightly open. Was he amazed at her insight or amazed at her incompetence? Anne didn't know. Philippe slapped the table, making Anne jump. Here it comes, she readied herself.

  What she heard was, “Anne, you're brilliant!"

  Pardon? Is that sarcasm? It sure sounds sincere.

  "Anne has it exactly right. The wire transfer information isn't going to simply sit there. It can't.” Philippe laughed, sounding pleased with the situation. “He needs to pick it up and move it immediately. That's why he needed exact timing."

  "But he could pick it up from anywhere, undetected,” Pete pointed out again.

  "He could,” Anne agreed, “if we didn't know who he was. Only we do. We might not have proof to arrest him but if we followed him and caught him in the act..."

  "Provided you have the right person. And if it isn't who you think it is?"

  "We give the person only a short window for pick up and end up transferring nothing.” Philippe smiled. “Only a flashing error message, like the transfer failed. He'll think it's a computer glitch and ask for a re-send. Pete, can you design that?"