Little buddy, you’re about to lose your appetite. “Here’s a perfect example: INS83, LLC.” Nick picked up an account statement and tossed it back on his desk. “This partnership is only a few days old. We have no information on it. There’s over eight million sitting in this account. What is this?”
“Pocket change,” touted Jason.
Nick shook his head. “That’s two and a half percent of the company assets. Margin of error is one percent, not two and a half. Any CFO would be incompetent losing two and a half percent of the company’s liquidity. Good thing I’m not incompetent. This is criminal.”
“Criminal? There’s probably just a miscalculation. Now, print that thing up for Mr. Keaton, and let’s get out of here. I’m hungry.”
“Calm down. It’s printing.” Five pages slid out of the printer. Nick shook the pages together, placed a clip on the top left corner, opened a large envelope, and shoved them inside. “The company’s been scrubbed—cleaned up, like the crisis never happened.”
Jason stuck his hands in his pockets. “Looks like Mr. Keaton turned things around.”
“Camouflaged assets.” Nick powered off his computer. “Who’s helping him?”
Jason squirmed. “I don’t know what you mean; lots of people help him every day. He runs this place.”
“Who’s calling the shots? Keaton’s so inept he can’t even send a wire. Qualls looks like a hit man.”
“He’s OK.”
“Qualls couldn’t make change for a dollar. Have you ever tried to have a conversation with him? Why’d Hunter let him in?”
“I hear he had a rough childhood. His father abused him.”
“His father died before Qualls was born. I know who rose from the dead, and it wasn’t his dad.”
“How do you know that?”
“At thirteen, he was the prime suspect in his mother’s brutal death.”
“Didn’t he pass a background check?”
“He was never arrested or charged. You’re cozying up to a hit man.”
Jason fidgeted, tapped on the desk, and headed for the door. “I do what I’m told, and I mind my own business. That will keep me out of trouble.”
Nick climbed up on his chair and pulled the string, turning off the light.
“The company’s on solid ground.”
“Uh-huh, and they give to widows and orphans.”
“I think they did give to—”
Nick slammed the door. “Jack’s accident wasn’t an accident.”
Jason became sullen. “You’ve lost your mind. Are you just going to make stuff up?”
“There’s physical evidence. Jack and David were murdered.” Nick locked the room and faced Jason. “I’m sure you’ve overheard things you shouldn’t have heard, seen things you shouldn’t have seen. You know things you shouldn’t know.”
Jason couldn’t stand still. He was visibly shaken up. “Nick, if there were any proof Mr. Keaton had anything to do with Mr. Hunter’s accident, he’d be in jail. This time, Nick, you’re dead wrong about Mr. Keaton!”
Nick replied, “I’m not wrong about Mr. Keaton. And I’m not dead—yet.”
Chapter forty-seven
Keaton held up the report, kissed it, and set it carefully down on his desk. He opened a drawer, extracted a bottle, and poured champagne into a glass. He toasted himself and drank. He was one proud man. Yesterday, analysts touted JHI stock as a “strong buy,” sending the price soaring to an all-time high. But wealth and success weren’t enough for Harry Keaton. He wanted a legacy. That meant a name change. Every piece of letterhead, every envelope, pen, picture, and sign—especially the one flashing on the top of the building—had to go. Jack Hunter had been replaced. Now he was being erased.
Outside his office, Donna tiptoed into the suite late again. Just yesterday, Keaton chewed on her for being three and a half minutes tardy. Five minutes would surely get her a tongue-lashing. She put her bag away and powered up her computer. She would have been in the clear if the machine hadn’t made that awful chime.
“Donna!” hollered Keaton.
“Yes, sir?” she replied from her desk. “I’ll stay late.”
“Just get Pierce in here. I need to see him!”
“Yes, sir. Calling him now.”
She reached him on the first try. But it took Pierce Thibodaux forty-five minutes to comply with Keaton’s urgent request and ride up four floors.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Thibodaux said, approaching her. “Is Harry still here, or have they hogtied him and hauled him off?”
Donna half cupped her mouth. “He’s been calling for you since I got here. He’s in a rare mood. Maybe he won’t scream at you today.”
“No chance of that happening.” Thibodaux winked and then blasted into Keaton’s office. “What’s the big emergency, Harry?”
“I’m the CEO of this company,” he said, toasting.
Thibodaux shook his head. “That’s a constant nightmare.”
Keaton ignored him and motioned for Pierce to sit.
“Nope. I won’t be here long.” Thibodaux checked his watch. “You have five minutes.”
“Did you see Nick’s report?”
“Yep.”
Keaton’s chest swelled. “I’ll be up for CEO of the year. I’ve done the impossible. No one could pull this company out of the disaster it was in but me.”
“No one else could put it in one either.”
Keaton continued ignoring Pierce. “We’ve crossed over to a new horizon. It’s time to put away the past.”
“I’d like to put away the present,” Pierce said, irritated.
“Under my leadership, we’ll have a great future.”
“You have three minutes fifteen seconds.”
“Long after I retire, I want to be remembered.” He angled the chair toward the window and gazed out. “I want to be remembered every time someone drives past this building.”
“Like the throw-up virus? You got it.”
“For me to be effective, to the maximum of my ability, there must be a name change.”
“Change it. I was sick of hearing your name anyway.”
Keaton arched his head toward the clouds. “I’m changing the name of the company to Harry Keaton Industries—HKI!”
“Hicky? You might as well name it sh—” Pierce bit on his bottom lip. “You’re an arrogant, self-absorbed old man who thinks he’s entitled to what someone else worked over twenty-eight years to create. And with one report you think the company should be named after you?”
“I’m in control here. The board will do whatever I want.”
“You’re full of bullsh—” Pierce stopped and then burst out, “Bull sweetie!”
“Is that Cajun?”
“You put this company in some kind of bull sweetie.”
Vessels swelled in Keaton’s neck. “I don’t know what you’re saying, but I don’t like the sound of it.”
Thibodaux snapped his fingers. “You’re going to prison, not paradise. See, Nick has all this bullsh—sweetie figured out. Didn’t he tell you? Oh, maybe it was a surprise? Oops. Well, since it’s out—Nick knows everything.”
“He should.”
“This was one big swindle, and we know it. He should?”
Keaton replenished his glass. “Maybe you need to listen to yourself.”
Pierce made a fist. “What are you talking about?”
Keaton smiled. “Nick knows everything. He prepared the report that trapped Jack. I’m helping him stay out of jail by locating the assets and sending them back to company accounts. He shouldn’t have messed with the assets. That’s criminal.”
“I was right about you. You’re dirty enough to set up Nick. It won’t work. I’ll defend Nick until the day I die.”
“Mr. Thibodaux, are you forgetting who you represent? Defending Nick, who embezzled company assets, would be a conflict of interest. You must defend the company.”
Pierce said, “This was your plan all along. Denison gets s
ick. Jack holds the CFO post for Nick. You send me on vacation. Jack has an accident. Just a remarkable concurrence of events. A lunar tetrad.”
“Be careful. You could go down with Nick. If anything goes amiss, Nick had his hand in everything. You took off when all this went down.” He held two fingers together. “You guys are tight. Right?”
“You’re going to fall into your own trap. You’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”
Pierce stomped past Donna. He took his cell out of his pocket, poked at the numbers, and held it to his ear. “I’m on board.” He hopped into an open elevator.
Keaton barked on the phone.
Donna looked curiously at Keaton’s door still swinging and then back at the elevator’s closing. She kept her head down. She whispered, “Did he call Mr. Keaton ‘sweetie’?”
Chapter forty-eight
His original plan to head straight from his condo to Bush Intercontinental Airport was nixed. Nick was wide-eyed by 4:00 a.m. Exhaustion is what he should have felt, but he was hyper, not the least bit tired. Playing out his every move for the next two days over in his mind like a big-screen drama had energized Nick. And he especially liked the ending when the good guys won. He hoped that would be the case in real life.
The airport was less than an hour from his condo and about the same from the JHI Tower. His flight wasn’t lifting off until ten. He could stop by his office, run a report of any overnight transactions, and confirm the routine wires hadn’t mysteriously halted and the assets hadn’t disappeared. It was possible to get in and leave before Steely arrived. She’d have too many questions that he did not want to answer, especially if she saw his suitcase and carry-on. If anyone deserved to know what was going on, it was Steely. But for now, not knowing was her—and his—life insurance.
He took a shower and went to his closet. The rack of suits hanging on the left was bypassed for a pair of jeans and the cotton pullover. He laced up a pair of running shoes, picked up a lightweight jacket, and went to the front door to fetch a small suitcase he’d packed the night before. There were only two sets of clothes in his bag. If he were not back in three days, wearing dirty clothes would be the least of his worries.
The intruder alarm was set. He rolled out the bag and hit the stairs. Getting a taxi in front of his condo at five in the morning wasn’t a problem. The hotel facing his condo had cabs lined up, waiting their turn, 24-7. He whistled, and the next one raced over. Nick got in and explained his plans to the driver. The cabbie didn’t mind taking Nick a few blocks to the JHI Tower when promised the long haul to the airport and a cushy tip.
The cabbie bore down on the accelerator. He never braked until he reached the tower. The driver offered to hold Nick’s bag, but he declined. That bag wasn’t leaving Nick’s sight. The cabbie swung across the street and waited as ordered.
The night-shift officer waved Nick past the barriers to the executive entrance. Nick was relieved to see he was not yet on the security watch list. He swiped his key card and shot up to the fifth floor. The path to his office was routine until he took the last turn. The door was open. The light was on. This wasn’t the time to have a brawl and get security involved, but someone was in there. He propped his suitcase against the wall, veered around a corner, and dove in.
Steely jumped back. Papers shot out of her hands. “Nick, I didn’t hear you.”
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stooped to help her pick up the mess. “I just didn’t expect you to be here.”
“What are you doing here?” She crouched on the floor and continued to gather the papers.
“I was about to ask you the same thing.” He helped her up and went back for his suitcase.
“I came in a little early.”
“A little early?” Nick set his bag by his desk. He hung the jacket over the luggage, hoping she didn’t notice. But she did. “Didn’t Benita tell you not to be here at odd hours?” He booted up his desktop.
She glanced up on the wall. “That deer’s a gossip,” she said, casually putting the papers back in a box.
“Don’t do as I do,” he said seriously. “You have to protect yourself.”
She circled around him. “No suit today?”
He jotted quickly on a notepad and held it up. “Be careful what you say. I think we’re bugged.” He mouthed, “Information is getting around way too fast.” He scrolled his computer. The assets were still there.
She panned the room and mouthed, “Where are you going?”
He wrote, “Don’t ask.”
She mouthed, “Are you stealing the assets?”
He went around his desk and put his head next to hers. His five o’clock shadow brushed her face. “The assets were already stolen. I have this under control. Just be safe and keep your eyes open.”
She cleared her throat and breathed in his ear. “Don’t go.”
“I have to do this.”
He began to move away. She pulled him back. “We’ll figure out another way. Please, you don’t have to go.”
Nick was flushed, his breathing rushed. “I found the reserves in Saint Stephen’s. They are the exact amounts in the accounts you gave me in Geneva.”
“You accessed them?”
“Yes, I had the pass codes.” He spoke with more expression. “There’s over four hundred million floating around. This is much larger than JHI.”
She rubbed her chilled arms.
Nick placed his hands on hers and whispered each minty word. “Taking away their assets will be worse than jail time. Prison is nothing more than a reunion to these creeps.” He waited for her to respond.
She didn’t.
He cleared his throat. Then he went back to the keyboard and logged off his desktop. It was staying put. His handheld device was making the trip.
Steely stood by. She crossed her arms, hands wrapped tightly around elbows, and whispered, “Did you warn Jason?”
“Every day for the last six years,” he said loudly. “I’ll send him a text.” He tapped the screen on his cell.
Steely whispered, “Every move you make will get riskier. We can figure out another way. Give me one week. Who knows what we can do with an entire week.”
“The risks are layered. I’ll get through them one step at a time.”
“Do your parents know?”
He raised his voice. “My parents don’t know anything I’m doing and neither do you.”
They both knew his response was not just for her hearing.
Nick whispered, “Steely, just stay quiet. Whatever you do, don’t confront anyone. Don’t do anything to bring attention to yourself.” He put on his jacket and rolled the bag to the door.
She was in a prolonged stare. He came back and held her arms. “There will never be a crime without Jack’s testimony. So I’m going to speak for him.” He embraced her tightly for a few seconds before letting go.
“Bye, Nick,” she whispered as he left.
Candy and Kristi had a visual of Nick dashing out the front door. If he had looked over his shoulder a second time, he would have seen Qualls tailing him.
Kristi said, “Where’s he going so fast?”
Candy looked over and observed, “He’s calling for a cab.”
“First time I ever saw him in jeans,” giggled Kristi. “Come to Momma, cowboy! It’s rodeo time!”
“Next thing you know, you’ll be listening to country music!”
Kristi nodded. “Already kicking it!”
“You bought boots?”
“Yep.”
Qualls crept through the revolving doors, close enough to see Nick jump into the open cab and yell, “Go!” The tires spun around twice before gripping the asphalt.
Qualls couldn’t hitch a ride on a bus. Every vehicle bypassed him. He took a few more steps into the street in an attempt to gain attention. Everything sped by. He raised a fist and then stomped directly in a water-filled gutter. He cursed it. Beating the ground back into the building, he hit the revolving door with enough force
to spin it faster than he could move. The door hit his backside, sending him facedown to the floor.
“That man fell right on his face,” said Candy, rising. “Oh, never mind. He’s getting up.” Candy straightened her collar. “Hey, we better quit goofing off. Mrs. Ray could come down and start barking at us.”
“Ruff, ruff!” Kristi said, cackling.
They made enough ruckus for security to gaze in their direction. Qualls was roughed up. Blood dripped out of one nostril.
“This place is too serious,” said Kristi. “People are so uptight. Their faces crack if they smile.”
“Some of the managers act like they have a burr in their—” Candy locked eyes with Qualls. He limped a few steps away. He wasn’t laughing. He was lethal.
“You think that’s funny? I’m really good at shutting people up.”
Candy froze with her mouth half open.
Kristi stuttered, “Sir, we were only—”
“Shut up!” Qualls ordered. “I don’t want to hear another sound out of you!”
The girls quickly rolled their chairs back. Candy considered screaming at the top of her lungs, before watching him leave, unchallenged, through the executive corridor. She grabbed her cell and then looked at his disappearing shadow with the phone to her ear.
Kristi was shaking. “Where I grew up, ‘shut you up’ meant dead. You think he meant dead? I don’t make enough money to be threatened on the job. Nuh-uh, they can’t pay me regular to take physical threats. No, ma’am.”
Candy firmly gripped her cell. “Rick, get down here. I found another one of the murderers.”
“Murderers?” Kristi rose halfway to make sure he was gone.
Candy hung up and made her next call. “Sergeant Donovan, please…Yes, I’ll hold.”
Kristi rattled. “Who’d he murder?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t we tell security?”
“What can they do?” Candy visually traced his steps. “I want him locked up!”
“These people are crazy.” Kristi opened her e-mail and started typing.
No Offense Page 24
