“No money?” asked Steely.
“It’s just not right for me to struggle.”
“You know the executive program doesn’t pay, right?”
“Mother is making Father pay me for another six months, until I finish the program. Good thing I have parents.”
Steely remained quiet for a few seconds. “Erin, you know…”
Everyone in the lobby suddenly stopped and directed their attention to the heels hammering their way toward the reception desk.
“Here comes Mrs. Ray,” Erin said airily. She closed her compact and winked. “I’ll be calling her Benita in no time.”
“Where’s Steely?” Ray blasted at the receptionists.
“She wants you?” Erin slouched.
Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.
Ray went up to the desk, commanding Candy’s and Kristi’s attention. They rolled their chairs in her direction.
“Where is Steely?” Ray barked.
“We don’t know,” replied Kristi.
“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Candy. “We don’t know her.”
Ray had their number. “I bet you saw Mr. Dichiara. Didn’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” they said in union.
“I hear you call him Barbecue Ribs.”
Kristi naively corrected her. “Beef Ribs.”
Ray wasn’t amused. “Stop stalking him and pay attention to what you’re doing. Now, where’s the girl he was talking to?”
They pointed to Steely.
Ray drilled halfway toward her and hollered, “Steely, come here please!”
She’s as loud as Miss Bea!
Security acknowledged Ray and then went back to their duties.
Steely scurried over. “Yes, ma’am?”
“Follow me!” Ray marched toward the elevators with Steely following. Ray didn’t stop to get a guest a badge. Didn’t check her in. There was no chance of anyone questioning her. They burst through the gate and waited for a lift to the second floor. Ray’s silence made Steely more uncomfortable than her hardy voice.
Ray finally announced matter-of-factly, “I’m Mrs. Ray, the senior vice president over HR.”
“Good to meet you, Mrs. Ray. I guess you know who I am, or you wouldn’t be taking me through security unscreened like that, not knowing if I had a weapon or—”
Ray swung around to Steely. “Do you have a weapon?”
Steely shook her head. “Oh, no, ma’am.”
“Then don’t be insinuating that we should run you through a scanner.”
A few seconds passed.
“Thank you for your time on the phone this morning,” Steely said, rattling on, “never can tell what someone’s going to be like on the phone. You meet them in person and could get a whole different—”
“Anybody ever tell you that you talk too much?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Steely hushed.
Time lingered until Ray said, “I’m setting you up for your new job.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Steely tempered her excitement.
Ray vented, “I feel like slapping someone.”
“Hope it’s not me.” Steely stared at the metal doors.
“This place has been bizarre since Mr. Hunter left. I don’t know how long I can last. People doing stupid stuff. This is a business! They use the company plane like it’s a recreational vehicle! I’d fire that Mr.—just understand, from now on, you’ll be treated like everyone else.”
Steely glanced back at the revolving door leading outside.
“I worked directly with Mrs. Hunter from the beginning of this company to put solid hiring practices in place that we could use until Jesus comes.”
I should have guessed.
“I don’t think she would mind.” Steely smiled, attempting to lighten the aura. “And I know for sure Jesus hasn’t come.”
“Nick’s being all secretive. He’s supposed to tell me everything that goes on around here.” She softened. “Well, I hope you’re ready to work hard as an executive trainee.”
“Mrs. Ray, remember I need to get paid.” She braced herself for Ray’s response.
Ray spoke through clenched teeth. “You’re getting paid.”
Steely smiled. “That’s perfect.”
“Perfect? The college grads who get offered that job give their blood, sweat, and tears, working with no pay for six months. Only the best make it to the next level.”
“I see.”
The elevator doors spread apart. They marched in: Steely, stoic; Ray, flaming and facing out. Steely had been more comfortable in Donovan’s side chair with felons chained outside the door.
Ray grumbled, “I hope you realize you’ve been given a free ride.”
“A free ride?” She looked over at Ray as the doors slammed together.
Chapter thirty-eight
Ray placed Steely in the vacant office next to hers. Ray stacked a ream of paper in front of Steely on the bare desk and sounded off orders. “Start your paperwork. You’re allowed thirty minutes for lunch. Then at two o’clock, a lab tech will be here to draw blood.”
“I donated last week. I think you have to wait at least six—”
“This isn’t a blood drive. We don’t want anyone doing drugs here. Oh, and they take a hair sample too. People tried to switch the samples on us.”
“They may take my blood, my hair, or anything else you want. It’s fine.”
Ray handed her a clipboard. “Here’s the schedule. After the paperwork comes the test. Math, spelling, psychological testing. We need your transcripts too.”
“No problem. I have a certified copy here with me.” Steely lifted a sealed envelope from her purse and passed it to Ray.
Ray ripped into it. “This will do for college. But we need your records all the way back to kindergarten.”
“Kindergarten?”
“We want a complete history.”
“From kindergarten?”
“Yes, people don’t change that much.”
“I liked to play grocery store,” she snickered. “Will that enhance my job skills?”
“Being a smart aleck to a superior. Do you want to be written up before you start?”
“I thought a little humor might help your tension.”
“I don’t have tension. And I don’t find humor funny.”
She’s Miss Bea’s twin.
“Now get started. You don’t want to be the first to take three days.” Ray went to her office. She stood over her desk, picked up her phone, and pressed three digits. “Tell Miss Fitzpatrick I must reschedule her for tomorrow morning. Same time.” Click.
Filling in answers, checking boxes, Steely ran through every bit of two hundred papers. She carefully read the company regulations. Ray wasn’t letting her slide. She worked fast. No breaks for her. She just wanted to finish. At 3:55 p.m., she shuffled the papers together and stood at Ray’s door, waiting for attention.
Ray ran her fingers around a keyboard. Steely wasn’t sure if that was her normal speed or emotion causing the rapid reaction. Ray didn’t look up. “Work five more minutes.”
“I’ve completed everything, Mrs. Ray.”
Ray leered up at her. “Did you finish the math test? Those take most applicants half a day by themselves.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m done.”
“Did you answer every question?”
“Yes, ma’am. But I don’t think you’re allowed to ask some of those questions.”
Ray growled, “Do you want to tangle with me?”
“No, ma’am,” Steely said earnestly. “I most certainly do not.”
“I’ve been doing this for twenty-six years. I have a stellar reputation. And a new trainee wants to instruct me on how I should conduct myself?”
“I really don’t want—”
“You’re on a slippery slope.”
Steely shook her head. “Mrs. Ray, the reason I mentioned the questions is because they could offend some people.”
Ray rolled out her bottom lip. “
They can build a bridge and get over it!”
“I just didn’t want you to get into trouble. There are laws—”
“I haven’t been in trouble yet!”
“Yes, ma’am. But many things have changed in twenty-six years.”
“You’re still sliding. You want to keep going with this?”
“No, I regret bringing it up. They took my blood. My hair. Am I finished?”
“Not just yet. We found a blemish on your records.”
“What blemish?”
“What is this assault you committed in second grade?”
“Assault?” Steely was puzzled. “I’ve never assaulted anyone.”
“Says you were in a physical altercation with a girl.”
“Physical?” Steely looked down for a second. Then she slowly lifted her head. “They put that on my record?”
“Sure did. We don’t want any violence in the workplace. Are you hot tempered?”
“No—”
“What exactly did you do to the little girl?”
“We were at recess playing softball. This girl in my grade was mad because I caught the ball that got her out on second base. The game was over, and everyone was going inside. I forgot my sweater on a bench and went back to get it. Then, out of nowhere, this girl came at me with a baseball bat. I grabbed the bat and pushed her back. She tripped and hit a bench. The loudest scream I ever heard came out of her mouth. The teacher ran back and saw me holding the bat. Then the girl told her I had come after her. There I was, uninjured with the bat in my hand. I wasn’t trying to hurt her. But what was I supposed to do? Let her beat me over the head and then tell the teacher? You never know what Cricket’s going to—”
“Cricket?”
“Yes, Cricket. Do you know her?”
Ray slammed the folder. “We’re done.”
“Are you firing me?”
“No.” She glanced at her watch. “I’ll check your test tonight. As long as you passed, you may start with Mr. Dichiara tomorrow. You’re the first to finish this fast. You didn’t cheat, did you?”
“No.”
“Steely…” Ray waved her up close. “No one else is to know about you. Me, you, and Nick. That’s it.”
“About me?” Steely eased back.
“That you’re getting paid. Do you have any questions?”
“Just one. Does Mr. Keaton have to approve my hiring?”
“No. He doesn’t have anything to do with this.”
Chapter thirty-nine
Keaton perched his feet on the corner of his desk forty-eight floors above them and chewed the end of a cigar. He would have lit the thing if the tower weren’t equipped with the most sensitive smoke detectors ever made. He was one proud man.
Qualls bolted in, interrupting the euphoric moment. “Harry, I warned you about that pest.”
“What has you worked up?” Keaton retorted, puffing the unlit Cuban.
“Did you know Dichiara ordered the account statements from Saint Stephen’s?”
The tobacco dropped in Keaton’s lap. His feet fell to the floor. “All of them?”
Qualls erratically darted around the desk. “Yeah. What if he links the accounts? We have over six hundred million floating around the world.”
“It can’t be all of them.”
Qualls was unhinged. “Are you certain Wilkerson didn’t get the account numbers?”
“Yes, I’m certain. He sets up the wires on my laptop. The numbers never leave me. They’re locked up.”
“I still can’t find that stupid agreement you signed.”
“Don’t worry about it. Beatrice doesn’t know it exists. And Nick has no idea what’s in his hands.”
“I still don’t like him having the statements. What if he takes the assets?”
“You mean embezzle company funds? He’d go to jail.”
Qualls grunted. “He’d be roadkill before he ever saw a jail cell. If this thing goes south, Chevoski would have a dozen cartels after him. Us too, for that matter.”
“Don’t tell me anything about cartels. Mr. Chevoski said they were legitimate businesses.”
“They are now.”
“They better be.”
“What about the Swiss accounts? Doesn’t Jason make those transfers?”
Keaton reclined confidently. “Yes, but I’m telling you he doesn’t have the account numbers or the pass codes. I watch him shred the list every time he sends out the wires. I could leave the pass codes sitting on my desk. Nobody would even know what to do with them. What are they going to do? Search every bank in the world?”
“You’re telling Chevoski.”
“Why? Nick looks foolish trying to prove there’s something wrong with the company. Nobody is paying any attention to him.”
“Doesn’t matter. The boss needs to know. Just in case the blind squirrel gets hit in the head with an acorn. Now call him.”
Chapter forty
Nick powered down his desktop, pulled the string turning off the light, walked out, and shut the door behind him. Clicking the padlock, he gave it a few spins and glanced down at the floor. He scraped at a dark spot with his shoe. Just as he thought. Dried blood. His head was still sore from Cricket’s assault. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t worn a five-prong ring.
He went down to the lobby and outside for the short walk to his condo. He was out of the building, but his mind hadn’t clocked out. Keaton had won. He picked the only bank in the Western Hemisphere with no online services. It would take a team of forensic accountants six months to get through all the accounts. The timing didn’t matter. Keaton would never authorize hiring professionals to uncover a crime he committed. And there was no way Macini was asking a judge for a court order to investigate.
Every law enforcement agency with any kind of jurisdiction had already turned Nick down. He had made more enemies than he could count. He’d told the last guy with a government-issued badge pinned to his jacket that he was incompetent. The guy should have been glad Nick left it at name calling.
Nick darted across four lanes of traffic. Suddenly, his life wasn’t worth three extra minutes. Headlights illuminated his body like a spotlight. Drivers, irritated they had to brake, sat on their horns. Cars swerved around him until he reached the sidewalk.
He was drained.
Eighteen minutes to go. One more block and then a straight path home. He waited on the corner to cross the pokiest light in town. His soaring pulse—a good thing—meant he wouldn’t pass out right there on the curb.
He watched for any hint of a light change, but nothing happened. His heart sped up a few more ticks. The thought of jumping into the street crossed his mind. Cars would either hit him or stop. But he’d get moving again if he survived. He assessed the risk and stayed put. Cars passed the corner filled with people who wanted to get home as badly as he did.
A jogger complained, “I’m moving to Canada if they don’t get this light fixed!” The jogger stayed steady, running in place. Less than a breath away, a man wearing a red cap passed the time by watching the blue dress impatiently jiggling in front of him. Nick hoped he wasn’t a creeper. Straightening that guy out would take less than a minute. But he didn’t have time for that tonight.
The light suddenly turned. The stick man lit on a pole meant “walk.” The corner came to life. The crowd cheered. The jogger retained his US residency. Walking fast, Nick would be home in twelve minutes. The timing was tight but feasible. The capped man kept watch on the blue dress as it shifted with every lean-legged movement.
Sicko.
“Help!” screamed the lady in blue dress. “He took my purse!”
The capped man was also a thief.
The endorphins kicked in. Nick felt no pain from his bum knee. He hadn’t sprinted that fast since college. This wouldn’t be his first citizen’s arrest. Last one occurred when he was seventeen, the night he walked home from a friend’s house. Mrs. Yost, at 102 pounds, was no match for a 260-pound muttonhead. But she pa
cked a powerful scream. Nick sneaked up on the guy, wrapped his arms around the unfortunate soul, picked him up off the ground a little too high, and dropped him a little too hard. The guy ended up in Ben Taub County Hospital for a month. Yost had a sprained wrist.
Donovan didn’t nominate Nick for a good citizen award for his bravery since it wasn’t the first time Nick had put someone in the hospital. It was his sixth.
The thief tossed the cap. But it wasn’t hard to spot the only guy running with a sparkly clutch tucked in the back of his pants. He made it one more block before he looked back and saw Nick closing in.
People stared. Police were jammed with calls.
The thief pressed harder, taking a gutsy leap over the front end of a sedan and landing facedown flat on the asphalt. Nick pinned him down, placing a foot on his back. The thief struggled until he realized he wasn’t going anywhere.
“You took something that doesn’t belong to you.”
“Get off me!” the thief complained. “Probably twenty bucks in that bag. Big deal. Let me up.”
“I don’t care if it’s twenty dollars or two hundred million.”
The crowd gasped.
Nick applied measurable pressure. “Someone worked for that money, and it doesn’t belong to you!” He reached down to yank the guy up but missed the van following a few yards away. The barrel of a .38 eased out of a slit in the driver’s window. One round whipped in Nick’s direction.
The crowd screamed. Everyone hit the ground but Nick. He dropped the thief and spread eagle toward the van like he was secret service. The van screeched off. Nick ran to the street but could see nothing through windows tinted darker than the law allowed.
The crowd rose cautiously to their feet. Most were already on their cells conveying what just took place. The street quickly became a parking lot. Nothing was moving.
“I’ve been shot!” cried the thief.
“Stay down and be quiet,” said Nick.
The crowd pushed in to observe.
“It was just a purse!” the thief whined. “I don’t have a weapon!”
Nick lifted the thief off the ground, yanked the purse out of his hand, and passed it to the lady. “You got a bullet in your arm. It’s not life threatening. Now shut up.”
No Offense Page 20
