by Casey Dawes
Her dad walking her down the aisle where Reese stood, every ounce of love she’d believed he’d had showing on his face. Kelly Anne’s birth, a little girl as perfect as she was right now, but with a father who accepted her.
She must have groaned.
“That good,” said the grandmotherly type beside her.
“Mmm.” She refused to open her eyes. Just a little longer. If she held on long enough, fantasy turned into real life, didn’t it?
But the clank of the cart as it bumbled along the aisle yanked her back to the cramped present.
Montana Sweets was printed in gold gloss on the white box. She was definitely going to have to stop by. Maybe it would have kid-appropriate Halloween candy for Kelly Anne.
“Oh, I’ve been there,” the woman said. “My grandson, Jaiden, insists we go there every time I’m in town. The owner is as sweet as her chocolate. Jaiden’s been helping her out since she started—shoveling snow, weeding, that kind of thing.”
“Sounds like a nice person.”
“Yes, she is. The other gal, she was nice, too, but she moved to Phillipsburg, got married, and became a painter or something.”
Findlay smiled. Montanans were always willing to keep each other up to date on the lives of perfect strangers.
She stifled a yawn.
“I’ll let you be, honey. You look tired. Get some rest if you can.” The sweet grandmotherly woman picked up her novel, the latest gory mystery by local author James Lee Burke.
Leaning back, Findlay did as the woman suggested, quite sure she’d never get past the noise of memories.
She woke when the plane hit the ground at SeaTac.
• • •
“What’s this?” Reese asked as Sam slid a printout across the desk.
“Another problem.”
The good news was Findlay was in the clear. She wouldn’t return to Missoula until tomorrow. The bad news was it would impact the schedule for the new release—the one he’d promised his father he’d deliver on time.
“What now?”
“Another unauthorized reimbursement. This time it’s to Findlay. She say anything?”
“She’s still away.”
“And you haven’t heard from her.” Sam sat in the guest chair.
“Why would I?”
“You’ve been hanging out with her.”
“How the hell . . . ?”
“Maclay Flat is a popular place. Someone saw you two.”
“We’re just jogging. Nothing more.” The knot in his chest tightened. Had he been wrong about her? She had plenty of reason to steal—revenge and desperate need to provide for her child, made worse by her ex’s rising demands.
No. He knew who she was—through and through.
Didn’t he?
“But since she’s away, she couldn’t have done it, right?” he asked.
Sam shook his head. “It was code set to go off on a specific date—almost like a hacking attempt.”
Which was exactly what this was.
“Do you think there are other bombs waiting to go off?” Reese leaned forward.
“Don’t know right now. Wayne’s looking through the records to see if he can find anything.”
“But what about the security he put in? Can’t we tell who put it there?”
“The extra code was put in before the security was installed. Thing is, we don’t know how long it’s been there or who got money they shouldn’t have.”
“Wouldn’t they say something?”
“Maybe.” Sam shrugged. “I’d hope so, but truth-telling seems to be a lost art these days.”
Reese stared at the report. Now what? If he didn’t investigate Findley, his father, Sam, and even his mother would accuse him of letting his misplaced guilty feelings get in the way of doing his job. Which would be true.
He wanted to prove that he was capable of running the company. This situation would test that theory.
“What do you think we should do?” he asked Sam.
“Call in an independent forensic consultant.”
“Can’t Wayne and his team find the extra code? They’re the experts.” He didn’t want a stranger in the office. Word would soon be all over Missoula that the company was in trouble. And the message would get to his father double time.
“You’re the boss.”
“You’re right,” Reese reluctantly admitted. “We don’t know who on his team is involved. It’s best if we keep them out of it.”
It could be Wayne . . . or Sam. Sam went way back—back to the time that Frank Callahan had been accused of theft. But Wayne had started as a programmer after Frank left.
Although Reese had vague memories of Wayne before that—like he’d been there for a while, left, and came back again. Maybe he could bring the matter up with his father in a roundabout way.
As for Sam, why would Sam embezzle money from his own company? For that matter, why would Frank? There was no motive for his father, either, if Reese wanted to entertain the idea.
Which he didn’t.
“I’ll think about it,” Reese said. On the outside chance that Sam was involved, he didn’t want to tip his hand.
Sam shook his head and left the office. Word would be back to his father before the day was over. And his father would come crashing down on him thirty seconds after that.
What was the right thing? Findlay was vulnerable. Any accusation would scar her at a time when there were so many sharp arrows pointed her way. But if he didn’t abandon his defense of her—again—he’d lose his chance to gain his father’s respect and a place within a company he was beginning to feel was his own.
Was someone, maybe even his father, trying to frame Findlay? What if she was right and Frank had been innocent all those years ago? The “evidence” had been created just to get rid of him. What if the same thing was true now—would the challenges to the company disappear like they had after Frank resigned?
Hard to believe his father could be guilty. Sam’s influence? What had his mother’s role been?
Fuck.
Too many questions.
He slid the report into his briefcase. He’d log into the company computer from home and start digging around on his own.
Who was he kidding? He was a trained diplomat, not a programmer. He couldn’t understand what made a string different from an exception. Half the time his employees talked in nothing but letters or numbers. For this research he needed someone with expertise.
Someone like Findlay.
Or, as Sam had suggested, an outside party. It was the smarter thing to do.
He had to take the professional path, no matter what it cost . . . or who. Damn. Why couldn’t life just be fair for once?
Chapter 10
By midday, Findlay was ready to give up finding the program problem and escape the people around her. They were a cacti thicket, all sharp prickles. Everyone she talked to snapped at her, including Wayne.
Focus.
She scrolled down to the patch of code she thought was causing the problem. Why were these particular instructions in this app?
package com.banking.ledger.account;
import java.math.BigDecimal;
public class ReserveAccount {
private BigDecimal amount;
public ReserveAccount(BigDecimal amount) {
this.amount = amount;
}
public void reserveAdd(BigDecimal reserveAdd) {
amount = amount.add(reserveAdd);
System.out.println(reserveAdd + " added to Reserve Account");
}
}
That action wouldn’t be legal.
She gripped her pencil. If she pointed it out, would they think she was covering her ass? That she’d been the one to write the code in the first place?
She stared at the screen.
But if she didn’t report it and someone stumbled across it . . .
Who had put it there? Scrolling back up to the in-line documentation, she couldn
’t find any notes on the inserted code. The field for the original programmer was blank. The only name to be found was hers.
There was no tracking code, either.
Crap.
She tapped the pencil rapidly on the desk, producing a rat-a-tat-tat like a machine gun.
“Whoa there, soldier,” Reese said from behind her.
She spun in her chair, pencil flying from her fingers, just missing his legs.
“You could be lethal.” He picked it up from the floor and handed it back to her.
“Sorry.”
Could she tell him? He’d believe her, wouldn’t he?
“How’d it go in Seattle?” he asked.
“Okay, I guess.”
“Meaning?”
“I have to bring her back there for a second evaluation. And Chris needs to be there.”
Reese drew in a breath. “That’s bad.”
“Not bad . . . we already know what’s wrong, and this will just confirm that. It’s more that it’s an expense I don’t need and a hardship for Kelly Anne.”
“Sorry. Got time for a cup of coffee?” he asked.
“We . . . I shouldn’t.” She pointed to the code on the computer screen. “I’ve found another problem, and I need to tell Wayne.”
“More?” The note of suspicion in his voice torpedoed her.
“I didn’t put it there.” She stood.
“No, no, of course not.”
He didn’t believe her.
“Do you really think that I’d deliberately sabotage your company to get back at you and your father?”
“Of course not.” Reese cracked a knuckle, increasing the tension in her shoulders.
“Then is there something you need? I’m busy.” She gestured to the mess on her desk.
“I . . . uh . . . have something I wanted to ask.”
“What?”
“Probably not the right time.”
“Ask me,” she said “so I can answer and get back to work.”
“Can you meet me after work?” he asked, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Same place we used to meet as kids?”
“Not a good idea.”
“We’ve got things to discuss. I know I promised to give you space, and I will, but this is important.” He gestured to the papers on the desk. “Sam brought me a problem last week. I’m going to have to do something. I’m hoping you can help. Without letting anyone else know.” His voice was a whisper.
“I’ll think about it.” It was a terrible plan. The best way she could help was to get out of this company before she was railroaded like her father had been. Her first concern was Kelly Anne.
But just this morning there’d been announcement in the Missoulian that another tech firm was closing down and moving their operation back to California’s Bay Area. They claimed it was simply too hard to get qualified people.
Hogwash.
“Please.” He attempted a smile.
“I said I’d think about it. I’ve got work to do.”
“Okay.” He put his hands up, as if to surrender, then dropped them and left.
She expelled all the air from her lungs and sat down.
What was she going to do about the stray code? She couldn’t leave it in there. Its purpose was to siphon some payroll funds off to another bank account—small amounts so no one would notice, unless they were an accountant.
If she told Wayne, she risked his suspicion, too. Apple falling close to the tree and all that. If her discovery made Reese suspicious, it would definitely rouse Wayne’s curiosity. Wayne would tell Sam who would tell Brian.
She already knew what Brian thought of her family.
But if she took it out without telling the truth, no one would think anything of it. People made dumb mistakes in code all the time. It was a wonder anything worked.
She’d tell them she’d removed a bug slowing everything down. Taking out this code would definitely speed things up.
She’d tell Reese that she’d been mistaken, that the code was benign. He’d never know the difference.
A smile came to her lips. He was so unqualified to run a tech company. But he wasn’t doing a bad job at it.
She highlighted the text and clicked delete. A quick run of the app showed no effects on the rest of the processing.
Would the person who originally inserted it notice?
If so, what would they do?
• • •
A patch of sunlight beat down on the rush hour traffic pacing through the thirty-five mile hour zone before it could burst free to head down the Bitterroot Valley.
Reese stood shaded by the large-limbed maple tree in the Rose Garden, surrounded by the spindly, bare, and thorn-sharpened rose bushes. The same place he’d always met Findlay in the few warm months Montana allowed its residents.
A whisper of autumn cold mocked him.
Seasons had been easier in Paris. The thriving city had been a direct contrast to Missoula’s rustic qualities. In the city of light, the Eiffel Tower stood proud every morning, no matter how bad the day . . . or the night . . . before had been. The hustle and bustle didn’t allow time for him to think.
If he’d stayed there, he would have figured out how to move ahead eventually. He wasn’t stupid; he just needed to learn to stand up for himself and his beliefs.
He was going to need to do that no matter where he was. And it was past time to start. The first task was going to be to find out who was trying to sabotage the company on his own. No forensic accountants. No help from Sam, Wayne, or even his father.
Just from the one person he trusted. Unless the world had totally twisted her, Findlay had always been solid as a rock and whip smart at figuring out problems. If only she hadn’t seen that momentary flash of suspicion.
He leaned against the tree with his hands in his pockets and stared at the traffic.
No one paid him any attention. The cars continued to stream south, airplanes took the last daylight routes out of town, and students walked hand in hand, passionately discussing something of fleeting importance.
None of them was Findlay.
He’d give her a few more minutes. He’d hoped to convince her to let them work together to find out the truth once and for all. Of course, that would present its own dilemma. If Frank were guilty, Findlay would be devastated. If he was innocent, they’d need to find the actual culprit.
He checked his watch, pushed away from the tree and strolled aimlessly around it, before looking at his watch again.
Thirty seconds.
There. A Corolla steered to the curb.
He breathed again.
Her smile was tentative as she walked toward him, her raincoat falling open to reveal the fall dress caressing her thighs.
His heart beat a little faster, and he smiled.
“You’re here,” he said when she reached him.
“I’m not sure I should be.”
“Why?”
“There’s nothing to say. You don’t trust me. Without trust, there’s nothing.”
“No, I . . . ” He couldn’t lie to her. He believed in her . . . mostly. The nagging bit of doubt lingered no matter how he tried to convince himself it was ridiculous.
“This was a mistake.” She turned, but he grabbed her arm.
“Wait. We can work this out.”
“How?”
“I don’t know right now, but let’s talk. We’ll find a solution.” He slid his hand down to hers and pulled her closer to the tree, in the shadow, away from prying eyes.
“Look,” she said, pulling back her hand. “We were kids. Stop fantasizing about what could have been. I have Kelly Anne. You have the company.”
“I’m not fantasizing. I’m trying to find out what’s wrong—get to the bottom of the truth of what’s going on right now, and what really happened back then.” He took breath to calm down. “If there’s a possibility of something else, something beyond friendship, we’ll figure it out later.” He held out his hand. “Friends, remember
?” She stared at the proffered hand and finally shook it. “Okay. Friends. Nothing more.”
“For now.”
“Okay. For now.”
He released her hand. “We can figure this out. We’re both smart people. Well, you’re especially smart.”
Her smile was thin. “How can I help? I’m being railroaded the same way my father was. If I work with you, people will say I buried the problem.”
She’d always been the more practical one.
“I won’t let them.”
“Yeah.” Her brittle laugh broke into pieces that drifted to the ground. “You don’t believe me any more than Brian believed my dad.”
“I do.” Mostly. “Make me understand what’s going on,” he pleaded. “Pretend you’re coaching me in algebra again.”
“It’s actually a lot like algebra.” Her matter-of-fact attitude took over. “The code I found today.” She hesitated, but then continued. “The ones I found before that. Stray pieces that had no business being in those programs. Their only purpose was to steal from the company.”
Not incompetent programming. But if she was the one telling him, she couldn’t be the one doing it.
“My name is the only one on these programs,” she said. “Whoever made the changes is covering it up well.”
“But you didn’t write the programs.”
“No. They were all written by the guy who left before I was hired.”
“Maybe that’s why he left. To reap the benefits while distancing himself from the code. Someone else would have to make any necessary changes.”
“I suppose. But Wayne—and everyone else—says he was a super good man. Born and raised in Missoula. Went to the university.”
“Good family pedigree.” Connections mattered.
“Yep. The only reason he left was to be near his wife’s family in Minnesota.”
“Are you sure it isn’t a mistake?” he asked, hoping against hope there was a simple explanation. “Maybe you’re reading more into it than there is.”
“I’m not.”
“Do you think it’s the same person who caused the problem a decade ago?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what that person was doing back then. I’d need the original programs, and I’m sure they’re long gone. And why would the person lie dormant for ten years? You’d think they’d lie low for a little while, then go back to what they were doing.”
