Sweet Vengeance: Ladies (Iron Orchids Book 14)

by Danielle Norman

  In the right corner of her monitor, an alert popped up, telling all the girls that someone had just selected the fourth floor on the elevator. Since they occupied the entire floor it was a safe assumption that all visitors were for them.

  "Places everyone!" Melanie said before moving to the reception area. Sunday closed out of the screens before grabbing her laptop and heading to the conference room. Olivia was already in there, turning on the camera system. They liked to review the interview footage after the client left since body language said far more than the mouth did.

  Adeline stood in the open area of the office, her hand resting ever so lightly on her gun on her thigh. With a tug of her fingers, she could pull if needed. The ladies weren't stupid; they knew that they led dangerous lives.

  Melanie stepped toward the elevator with her hand outstretched just as the doors slid open. "Hi, Mrs. Camden, it's lovely to meet you. I'm Melanie, welcome." Melanie took a step backward with an arm outstretched, guiding Traci into the area of our office. "May I get you some water?"

  "No, thank you, I'm fine. I'm just nervous. I never thought I would be here doing this." Traci shifted uneasily before hastily pulling something from her purse. Adeline tensed but relaxed just as quickly. "I was told to give you this." Traci handed the small business card to Melanie. It was the signature orchid-colored card of the Iron Ladies, which was the only way people knew how to find them. The Iron Ladies prided themselves on being a whisper network. A group who couldn't be found in telephone books or on a website. They were a referral-based business, and the simple gesture of passing of a business card to a friend in need was all that was required. Some people thought it was a bad business idea, but with the type of clientele they wanted to attract, being unassuming and overlooked was the only way they were willing to operate.

  "I got it from--"

  Adeline held up a hand as she stepped forward. "We don't need any of those details. The fact that you have it is enough. Hi, I'm Adeline."

  Traci greeted her with a smile

  "Let's step into the conference room." Melanie moved and Traci followed her. Sunday had already moved into the room where Olivia had everything set up. The conference room was set up for a typical meeting. There were pads of notepaper, a box of tissues, and several bottles of water in the center of the table.

  They went into each meeting objectively, knowing that the women who came to see them were overwhelmed with emotions, sometimes guilt, and even at times fear. It was important that they didn't play into the emotions because, every now and then, the woman sitting across from them was a fabulous actress. It was up to the Iron Ladies to be a fair and balanced voice of reason.

  As everyone else settled around the table, Sunday opened a new document on her laptop, ready to type away.

  "Mrs. Camden, start at the beginning, tell us why you are here," Melanie stated.

  Traci crossed one leg over the other and bounced her foot in a rapid but distracted flutter of movement. It was one of the signs of nervousness that Sunday looked for. The woman's posture was stiff and closed off as well. Nervous or guilt, Sunday couldn't tell.

  "Something is going on internally with my company. We are family run, but over the last two years, I've started noticing money missing. At first, it was small amounts that I explained away as errors in accounting, so I wasn't worried. But more recently . . . maybe over the past year . . . those amounts have grown exponentially, and I don't think it's an innocent mistake. I can't bring in a forensics auditor because it would raise questions, and whoever is embezzling will know that I've noticed."

  "By 'your company,' you mean Camden Financial, which you and your husband are owners of?" Traci nodded, Sunday made a note, and Adeline pressed on. "Do you know who has the ability or access to skim funds?" Adeline asked.

  Traci went pale, and her foot fluttered faster. "We have employees but no one has access to this type of money except us."

  "Who is 'us'? Just you and your husband?"

  "No, my husband, our son, and myself. I do not believe it is Bo. I raised him to be better than that, and he's always been the most ethical person I know. I'm trying to be levelheaded about this and not be blinded by anything, but if it isn't my son or me, then there is only one person left. I came to you ladies because I don't want to ruin my marriage if I'm wrong and I don't want what he's doing to ruin the business I've worked so hard to build." Traci locked eyes with Adeline. "That doesn't sound self centered, does it?"

  "No. It sounds like someone who has weighed her options," Adeline replied.

  Sunday reached forward and wrapped a hand around Traci's. "You deserve to know that your future is secure."

  "Thank you, Mrs. Camden, I'm sure it must be hard having to go through all of this. The one thing that we will need is some time to make a decision, we'd like to discuss everything you told us and do a little digging ourselves. Once we've come to a decision, we will call you and set up a meeting with a plan of attack." Melanie watched as Traci nodded but didn't move to get up. "Don't worry, we will be quick."

  "That isn't it, it's just that, what if it isn't my husband or son, what if it's someone else?"

  "If it's someone else, we will figure out who, if we can. What I want you to do is go about your normal business as if nothing is wrong. Say nothing to anyone.” Melanie tried to comfort her.

  "Thank you. But please, take me. I can pay you any amount."

  "It isn't the money,” Olivia, who had been quiet almost the entire time, said. "We need to make sure that we can do you justice. There's no sense in paying us if we don't believe that we can find anything. For all we know, it is an accounting error and someone's records aren't being sent over to you."

  "Let me walk you out." Sunday stood and wrapped one arm around Traci's shoulders. "Don't worry, even if we don't think we are the right people to help you, we will make sure that you are connected to people who can. It will all be okay. I'll email you as soon as we've come to a decision, it will come from me and the email address is ladies who lunch." Traci raised one quizzical brow. "It doesn't look suspicious that way if anyone else should happen to see it."

  Bo

  "Mr. Camden?" a man asked as he walked into the small reception area where Bo was sitting.

  "Yes?”

  "Hi, I'm Special Agent Grey, come on back." Bo stood and followed the man down a short hallway that was decorated with department plaques and awards and into an office with large windows that were blocked by cheap plastic blinds. "Have a seat." Special Agent Grey pointed to a chair before moving to take a seat behind his desk. The space was about as innocuous as one could get. It wasn't too small or too big and it wasn't cluttered or clean. "So, tell me, Mr. Camden, what brings you to the FBI?"

  "Someone is forging my name on legal contracts."

  "How do you know this?" Special Agent Grey steepled his fingers.

  "I'm the Chief Operating Officer for Camden Financial, and I handle all client contracts. Almost two years ago, I began preparing partial contracts per my father's instructions for clients who I've never met."

  "Partial?"

  "Yes, partial. My father had me leave certain areas blank, and of course, I didn't sign them even though there was a place for my name.”

  "How exactly is this out of the norm?" Agent Grey asked.

  "I always meet the clients because I have to go over the fine print with them to make sure they understand their tax responsibility and then witness their signature." Bo pointed to the stack of papers he had set on the desk. "I haven't met any of those people, and yet, that signature of my name isn't my actual signature and my notary stamp isn't the same one used on the documents."

  "In other words, someone forged your signature?"

  "Yes," Bo stated.

  "Are you suspecting your father?" Agent Grey pulled the stack of papers over to him and began flipping through the contracts. "Your mother is an equal partner, correct? Is there a possibility that she's involved?"

  "Not a chance. You'd have t
o know my mother but believe me, it isn't her."

  "Mr. Camden--"

  "Call me Bo."

  "Bo, what else can you tell me? You said it's been two years, forged documents are bad, but not bad enough to come to the FBI."

  "Every time one of these contracts has been executed, it coincides with a substantial amount of money being erased from Camden Financial books."

  Agent Grey read through some of the names, "Dallas Taiden, CEO of Velvet Inc.; Michael Wynn, owner and founder of Tequila Mockingbird; Charles Mullins, isn't he the--"

  "Motivational Speaker for how to make your first million," Bo finished the sentence for him.

  "Derrick Holden, the owner of the Chicago Kracken, NHL team. I agree, that the forgery is something we should look into, but all of these men do enough business to know how contracts need to be executed. It makes it unlikely that they would just not notice that kind of money going missing."

  "And if they know the money is being used for something other than what the contract stipulates?" Agent Grey raised an eyebrow in question. "What if they are aware that the money isn't being deposited in foreign accounts and have authorized the use of it for something else?"

  "Are you suggesting embezzlement?"

  "I don't really know what I'm suggesting. What I do know is that these contracts have my name on them but I never signed them. I know that Camden Financial is taking in large sums of money that never makes it where it's supposed to go, and I know that my father has to be involved somehow."

  Agent Grey seemed to take his time responding, as if he were choosing his next words carefully.

  "Where do you think the money is going?"

  "No clue. After it's deposited, it disappears from our system. I can't find any wire transfer numbers, routing numbers, or transaction IDs. By my calculations, close to one hundred million dollars has gone missing in just over two years."

  Agent Grey shook his head. "And you're sure the deposits cleared the Camden accounts and these aren't just contracts that never got executed?"

  "If you look at the last page, you'll find the list of incoming transaction IDs for each of those contracts."

  Bo waited while Agent Grey scanned the information, frowned, and then set the papers off to the side. "Bo, you've given me a lot of information to look into. I'm going to have to do some digging and speak to my chain of command. Are you willing to come in and give sworn statements as to what you've told me here today?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Great. Let me see what I can find out, in the meantime, I would suggest not telling anyone that you've brought this to the Bureau's attention. You wouldn't want someone getting a head's up and then getting shredder happy and destroying the evidence."

  "Understood. As long as this doesn't have any blow back on my mom, I don't care what happens to him."

  The statement was harsh but not untrue. If his father was stealing money from clients, he deserved to go to jail.

  "We will do our best to protect her provided she is innocent." Special Agent Grey stood and held out a card. "Here's my card with my email and number, if you learn of anything new please let me know immediately. Thanks for coming in."

  Bo took a second to pull out his own business card to Agent Grey, shook the man's hand, and then headed out of the building.

  He drove home absentmindedly, and it wasn't until he turned onto his street that he allowed himself to take a deep breath. The stress of the day had knots kinking his shoulders and his fingers tapping anxiously on the steering wheel.

  Bo didn't acknowledge the people who waved as he drove past them. They didn't know him anymore than he knew them. They were neighbors for one reason and one reason only--they all were multi-millionaires and could afford to live around Pocket Lake.

  "Damn it," Bo mumbled when he saw that his housekeeper was still at his home. He wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone, and he could feel the muscles in his jaw vibrating with agitation as he pulled into his dimly lit garage. The woman was sweet and did a great job, but he just wanted to be alone.

  Sighing, Bo headed into his home. "Ooo, Mr. Bo, I'm so sorry, I meant to be gone. I almost finished. I'll be out soon."

  "Hello, Marta. You're working late tonight, everything okay?"

  "Oh, yes. Today was a school play for my granddaughter, so I left for a little while to go see her. You said that you didn't care my hours as long as I got the work done. This is okay, right?"

  "It's fine, Marta. I don't care what day you come to work. You've been working for me long enough, I trust you." His foul mood was not her fault, it was his father's.

  "Oh no, Mr. Bo. I do Tuesday. I won't come into your home any other day."

  Bo chuckled as Marta collected the last of her supplies.

  "Everything is done. I'll grab my stuff and be out."

  "Drive safe," Bo said and headed toward his master suite. His suit was switched out for a loose fitting pair of pajama pants, and he settled onto his bed so his back was against his headboard and his legs were stretched out in front of him.

  He was exhausted, but instead of closing his eyes, he grabbed the file he'd brought inside and flipped it open. For the past few months, Bo had become more vigilant in his pursuit to find answers, and the file in front of him had grown with each new thing he'd uncovered and each new explanation he dismissed. Their top clients were disappearing--not as in dying but as in their records were disappearing and there were no transactions to speak of. What bothered Bo the most was that the client's name was still listed but all of their transactions with Camden Financial had vanished, it was like they had never done business together. What bothered Bo was the fact that not even their opening deposit showed in the records and every client at least had that. But for some reason they were still listed in the computer system as Camden clients. And when he checked the foreign bank record of deposits, Camden Financial was still reporting income from the clients. It was creating a shockingly high inconsistency between the company's income and the active account investments funds. Then add to that the large sums of money that were disappearing, the contracts being forged, and Bo was ready to pull his hair out.

  He didn't add any information about talking to Agent Grey on the log he'd been keeping, but he did drop an asterisk by the date. It would be his way of keeping track of their meetings. Satisfied that he hadn't forgotten to note anything, he flipped the file closed and dropped it to the floor beside his bed as he sighed.

  He had such a huge home, and yet, he spent any time in only one of two rooms--the kitchen and his master suite. The other sixty-five hundred square feet went unoccupied. Someday, Bo thought, someday it might all be used. Then he shook that crazy thought out of his head. There was no way in hell he was ever getting married. He'd watched his parents, and he wasn't willingly subjecting himself to a life of fighting with someone who barely tolerated him or subjecting children to it.

  "Alexa, turn on the television," Bo said to the small device on his nightstand, and his television came on. He wasn't interested in watching anything particular; he just liked the background noise. Leaning back against the headboard, his feet crossed up on the bed, he continued adding more notes.

  Sunday

  "Hurry up!” Sunday yelled for the others for the umpteenth time. Saturday nights were their nights. It was just the four of them, and they always spent it the same way. The girls would do whatever they wanted but all of them were home . . . alone before ten forty-five because that was when their girls’ night officially began. Sure it was late but it worked for them.

  "Here"--Adeline handed her one of the two bottles of wine she was holding--"take this, tonight we are all getting educated on wine."

  Sunday raised an eyebrow and looked at the French writing on the label. "Can't we just drink something fruity and sweet? Like Moscato or Cold Duck, one of those cheap ones. You know that I'm all over those."

  "Oh, shush, it goes with our movie, Sideways. Anyway, I asked the guy at the liquor store, and he promised me these wi
nes are smooth to the pallet."

  "Whatever." Sunday waved off Adeline's explanation. Truthfully, she didn't care about the wine or the movie. Well, not unless they picked something romantic and old school like Top Gun, Footloose, or Sunday's all time, she could quote every line, and was her every fantasy for a romantic ending...An Officer and a Gentleman.

  "Hurry up," Sunday yelled to Olivia and Melanie, who were taking their sweet time coming out of their rooms. "We have two minutes." She had played the same numbers every week for five years. She didn't know why, but she didn't plan to stop.

  "Really?" Olivia asked as she walked into the living room and plopped onto her favorite recliner. "You know, the lottery is designed for people who are bad at math. The odds of you winning are--"

  "Shut up, no negativity tonight," Sunday warned. "Besides, it is one dollar, once a week. Give me a friggin' break."

  Adeline walked in and set a plate of cheese with grapes and nuts onto the coffee table.

  "What's this? Where are the chips?" Olivia looked at Adeline. "Saturday is the one night we relax, and we don't watch what we eat. Where are the nachos?"

  "Nachos with wine? Umm, no. You're supposed to do a charcuterie board," Adeline explained.

  "What?" Olivia asked.

  "Charcuterie," Adeline pronounced again.

  "I know what it is, I just don't know why we are having it," Olivia huffed.

  "Here it is." Sunday shushed everyone and turned up the volume.

  A petite blonde wearing too much makeup stood next to a large black box. She pressed a button, and the balls that were inside the box began to bounce around. "Tonight's lotto is worth two point five million dollars!" She gave a dramatic pause, and Olivia used that moment to snatch the lottery ticket from Sunday.

  "Hey," Sunday barked.

  "Oh, come on, it isn't as if you don't know the numbers anyway."

  One-by-one, balls were sucked up and shot into a clear tube. The blonde called out each of the numbers as the corresponding ball appeared at the bottom of the screen. "Four. Twenty-three. Eleven, Twenty-nine. And the final number for tonight's lottery is eighteen!" There was another dramatic pause, which was wasted since the camera had zeroed in on the tube of lottery balls and everyone could see the numbers. "Once again, tonight's winning numbers are four, twenty-three, eleven, twenty-nine, eighteen I wish everyone good luck and good night."