Underwater

by McDermott, Julia

  Was that all that it had taken? If he could have accessed the SlimZ internal system right away, he would have done it. Apparently he hadn’t been able to at first, and that was why the only thing Woohoo had reported was that the line was about to be unveiled. None of the designs had surfaced, nor any information about the colors and styles.

  But now it seemed obvious that later, he had been able to access the system. He had probably guessed Candace’s password and username and had figured out how to get in undetected. There may be no way to know yet, but it was a definite possibility, especially given his threat about causing her to lose tens of millions of dollars.

  Feeling panicked, she dialed her COO’s number.

  “We found Amanda,” said Ginger. “She was getting her hair colored—”

  “Good. But listen. I’ve had a revelation, kind of. We still need Amanda, but I want to talk to IT.”

  “Amanda’s on the way to the office. I brought her up to date. What’s your revelation?”

  Candace cleared her throat. “It’s more of a hunch, and if it’s true then I’m really worried.”

  “Erin’s a whiz, Candace. I can’t believe that she or her team are responsible for all the problems we’ve uncovered.”

  “I didn’t say they were responsible. But I want to bring them into the loop. Or have you already called Erin?”

  “No. Do you want to do another conference call?”

  “Phoebe has identified the issues and done all she can, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “What about replenishables? Has she checked them?”

  “She’s working on it.”

  “Good. Get Erin on the line in twenty minutes, and dial me in.”

  “Fine.”

  “Ginger, if I’m right about this, it’s bad. If I’m not—well, it’s even worse. And I don’t know how we’re going to solve it.”

  19

  Investigation

  Helen was counting the hours until Dawn’s arrival the next morning.

  The last few weeks had dragged, and the one thing Helen had looked forward to was her sister’s visit. Frank wasn’t coming down, but he planned to come with his wife next month when the babies were born. They were going to help out with Adele while Helen was recovering in the hospital and getting used to taking care of twins.

  Helen shifted on the sofa and tried to get comfortable while her daughter played on the carpet in front of her. She didn’t feel like doing anything and she couldn’t imagine when she ever would again. Soon enough, though, she’d be busy nonstop with two newborns and a three-year-old. She knew she should appreciate the quiet time she still had before the twins came, but she was anxious for the pregnancy to end. The babies kicked her all the time; when one moved, the other did, out of necessity. Helen felt they had almost run out of room.

  She imagined her mother pregnant with Dawn and then later with her. Helen wondered why Diane had chosen to marry Tim when she was so young. Supposedly, she’d been very pretty and had had many admirers. Perhaps she hadn’t had the confidence or the courage to wait for the right man, or she thought that getting married was her only option. From what Helen knew, her marriage to Tim had been volatile from the start and was complicated by her drinking.

  Not that Helen thought Tim was a very nice guy. Neither Helen nor Dawn had ever been close to him. He moved far away when they were toddlers and had never pursued a relationship with them, nor tried to establish even the smallest bond. Now, Diane was about to reinvent herself in Hawaii without Rich, the man who had put up with her for the last thirty years. The little contact Helen had with her would probably decrease to almost nothing.

  It was just as well. Strangely, now that Helen had forgiven her, the lack of communication with Diane seemed much less upsetting than it had in the past.

  Helen had concerns of her own right now, the most immediate of which were giving birth to twins and taking care of them and Adele. Her next priority was finding another job after she recovered and could arrange child care. In the meantime, she needed to make sure Monty continued working and getting paid.

  She also needed to demand that he earn her trust and make their marriage work. No matter what it took, she did not want to end up divorced with three small children to raise on her own. She didn’t want to relive her mother’s history or risk repeating her mistakes. And she wanted her children to know their father, flawed as he was. For their sake, she and Monty had to work out their problems and stay together.

  Adele looked up and smiled sweetly. “Mommy, can we go to McDonald’s for lunch?”

  Helen gave a weak smile. “I don’t know, Boo.”

  “Please, Mommy? I promise I’ll be good!”

  “Well, I have to drop off some clothes at the cleaners, so maybe we can go to McDonald’s, too.”

  Adele bounced on the floor. “Yay!”

  “First, I have to get them, and get ready.” Helen stood slowly and waddled toward the bedroom that she and Monty shared.

  His clothes for the cleaners were piled in a hamper in the corner. He had tossed his expensive black raincoat on the chair next to it after coming home late last night. Helen touched the still-damp raincoat. It was dirty and needed to go to the cleaners, too. Yesterday had been one of Atlanta’s typical rainy days: a steady deluge beginning in the morning, continuing all day, and lasting into the evening hours. Days like those were a nuisance, but Helen wasn’t depressed by them. She found them to be peaceful interludes, when the air was cleansed and the trees and streets were washed of dust and grime. Now the rain was gone and the sky was a clear blue.

  She picked up the raincoat and dropped it in the hamper. Funny, the light coat felt a little heavy, though it was almost dry. She picked it up again and reached into the pockets, finding an object that felt like a cell phone in one of them. It was unlike Monty to forget his phone, and even less, not to miss it all morning. She pulled it out and then gasped.

  It wasn’t Monty’s phone. Or, it was his, and he had gotten a new one without telling her. An iPhone. She picked up her own phone to dial his number, waiting for the iPhone to ring.

  It didn’t.

  “What is it?” Monty asked on the other end of the line.

  “Oh—nothing,” Helen said while sitting down on the bed. “I just—you have your phone, then?”

  “Of course I have my phone! What’s wrong with you?”

  “Um—oh, okay.” Helen studied the iPhone, then swiped it at the bottom. Good—there was no passcode. The small screen lit up with apps. “Sorry I bothered you.”

  “Wait a minute. Why did you think I didn’t have it?”

  Helen thought quickly. “I did think you had it. I just wanted to be sure you had it with you and had the volume turned up. I had some contractions, but they’ve gone away now. False alarm. Sorry.”

  “Okay—”

  “Bye.” She hung up and put her own phone down, then pulled up the text messages on the iPhone.

  There were several, all from someone identified as RB. The latest one, received a few hours ago, read: Since her sister’s coming this wknd, are you staying over at the condo w/me? What time tmrw?

  What condo? Who was RB? Helen sat very still, then felt a kick. She scrolled up the screen to read Monty’s text conversations with RB.

  As she did, she felt hot anger rising in her throat. RB was a woman, and Monty was screwing her. He went to her condo almost every day. Most of the texts were about timing and plans, but some were explicit references to sex and body parts: the shape and feel of RB’s huge tits, the size of Monty’s cock. In shock, Helen kept reading. She felt her mouth go dry and a pit of nausea form in her stomach. Tears welled in her eyes.

  The audacity of Monty’s unfaithfulness astounded her. How could she not have suspected it? She’d believed his lies for so long, had trusted him when intuition told her not to. Like
an idiot, she’d never even considered he had a girlfriend. All those times when she had scratched her head wondering what he had done all day, why nothing had progressed over at the house—well, now she knew what he’d been doing: cheating on her.

  She made herself stop reading after ten minutes. Thankfully, Adele was still engrossed in her television show and hadn’t come to find her. She searched the short contact list on the iPhone, looking for more information. There was no Jeremy or Mack listed. There was an A. Langford, but the others were first names she didn’t recognize.

  Helen pulled up the iPhone settings and found the phone’s number. Not thinking about covering her tracks, she called it and let it ring to hear the recorded voicemail greeting. There wasn’t one—Monty hadn’t replaced the default greeting with a personal one. She checked the mail setting. Monty had only one email account on this phone, a Gmail that she didn’t know he had.

  She clicked on the inbox and discovered several messages from rbenton@gmail.com. She opened them and scanned them, looking for a first name. Most were unsigned, but at last, she found one signed “Rach.” Rachel? It had to be. Rachel Benton. Helen could look her up and possibly find the address of the condo. She checked the phone call history. There were tons of calls made to RB and received from her, at all hours of day and night. Gathering her wits and steeling herself, Helen went back to the text conversations and reread them in the order they were written, starting back as far as they went.

  One of them, written by Monty several weeks ago, caught her attention—she didn’t know how she had missed it earlier: Need to transfer some $ first. Going to the bank. Helen kept reading, looking for clues. There was little mention of money in the rest of his texts, but occasionally RB said she needed some.

  Helen put the iPhone down and let out a deep breath. She stared into space, looking straight ahead, her eyes wide. What else did she not know about what Monty was doing?

  “Mommy!” called Adele. She ran into the bedroom and over toward Helen, pulling on her leg. “When can we go?”

  Helen rose, grabbed her purse, and dropped the iPhone in it. She’d have to think about whether Monty would still be allowed in Adele’s life now. “We can go now, Boo. Let me get these clothes together to take. Do you have to go potty first?”

  Adele nodded and skipped over to the bathroom. Helen followed, standing at the doorway while her daughter peed. Helen should probably go now, too, before they got in the car. When Adele stood to flush, Helen noticed the lid to the tank was awry. This toilet—the only one in the house—often ran. You had to take off the heavy tank lid and adjust the flapper inside, which was corroded and needed to be replaced. Whoever had messed with it last hadn’t put the lid back on exactly right. The mechanism operated this time, and Helen went to the bathroom herself. After flushing again and making sure it worked, she moved the lid back to its proper place.

  On the way to McDonald’s, Helen did some thinking. Before long, Monty would miss having the iPhone, put two and two together, or both. She didn’t have much time to figure out more about what he was doing. She didn’t think he would come home to look for it, but it was good that she and Adele were going out, just in case.

  She made sure that her own cell phone was set on vibrate—she didn’t want to hear it ring if he called. She would take Adele to McDonald’s and let her romp in the play area while she did more investigating using the iPhone. She could access the Internet via the free Wi-Fi and hopefully learn some things. She would clear the history after she did.

  Then she would put the iPhone back in the raincoat pocket and drop everything off at the dry cleaner’s drive-through window. They could find it and give it back to her when she picked up the clothing on Monday—or they could keep it. If Monty said anything about missing a phone, which she didn’t think he would, she would claim ignorance.

  At McDonald’s, Adele ate her Happy Meal and started playing in the fenced PlayPlace. Helen pulled the iPhone from her purse and began searching for information.

  Candace’s phone buzzed.

  “Charlotte?”

  “Candace! I’m so glad I caught you!” said the realtor. “We have a problem—”

  “Can it wait? I’m about to get on a conference call.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not sure if it can. I’ve got four showings scheduled for this weekend with clients in from out of town, and the house isn’t ready.”

  “What do you mean, not ready?”

  “I got in from out of town myself late last night, and just had time to drive over there. The landscaping isn’t complete. There are weeds and dead plants surrounding the front entry. The front door frame is rotting—”

  “What?”

  “That’s not all, dear. Several closet doors are missing, and the other interior doors are hollow. Hollow doors are not appropriate in this price range—”

  “Have you talked to David Shepherd? He’s managing this. As I say, I’m waiting for a call right now. I don’t have time to talk.”

  “I’ve called him. I left him a message, but I haven’t heard back yet, and two of my showings are tomorrow morning. One of them is very interested, an architect—”

  “Charlotte, I just can’t deal with any of this right now. I’m in the midst of a crisis. I need for you to connect with David so that he can get the contractor out there to fix things.”

  “Well, that puts me in a tight spot. I really don’t want to reschedule these weekend showings, but I may have to—and I’m not sure if that will even be possible. It’s very difficult right now to find interested buyers in this segment, and if we get off to a bad start and then word gets out—”

  “You can’t let that happen. David must be on a plane—I’m up in New York, and he’s probably on the way here. I’m certain he will return your call when he lands. Then you two can get this solved. David will just have to manage it with the contractor.”

  “What if he doesn’t? What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

  Candace huffed. “Okay, look. I’ll call David myself, as soon as I can.”

  “We’ve simply got to get the house in perfect condition, Candace. I cannot tell you how important that is. Homes in this price range have stayed on the market for months, despite cuts in the price. Word gets around if a home in this segment of the market is unkempt and unsellable. When you interrupted me earlier, I was about to say that the home is very dirty, too. It’s dusty, there’s trash in some of the rooms, and there’s a mildewy smell.”

  Candace gritted her teeth. “This is unacceptable.”

  “Exactly,” said Charlotte. “I knew you would realize this. You wouldn’t be pleased if we showed the home in this condition. I’m a little suspicious about what else we may find that’s not right, and what might turn up.”

  “So am I. All right, I’m jumping off now to get on my call, but you’ll hear back from either David or myself, shortly.”

  Candace hung up. Thirty seconds later, Ginger called.

  “I’ve got Erin here on the line, Candace.”

  “Good. Erin, what do you know?”

  “The new IT system hasn’t been compromised,” Erin said. “Nothing you’ve uncovered in the old system is showing up in the new one.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Candace.

  “Remember our decision to keep both systems in place through the launch, but to have the old one override the new if they conflict? The dual system approach?”

  “Yes,” said Ginger. “Erin, are you saying the issues are confined to the old system?”

  “Both systems recorded the same production numbers initially. Then changes were made in the old system, but not in the new. However, since we have the old one overriding the new, Phoebe only saw the altered numbers—the ones you’re saying don’t look right. But she’s accessing the old system, because we haven’t changed over to the new one. Like I said, the old one overrides i
t—the new one isn’t online yet.”

  Candace shut her eyes for a second, then let out a deep breath. “Do we have confidence that the new system’s order numbers are correct?”

  “Well, no changes have been made in it since Amanda’s team sent their initial orders over. Replenishables weren’t touched in either system.”

  “So whoever did this only hacked into the old system?”

  “It looks that way.”

  “What do we have to do to be sure?”

  “We’ll have to look at both systems, carefully. At least, go through the new system’s order numbers in detail, manually. That would be my advice.”

  “So, here’s what we do,” said Candace. “Amanda’s team needs to confirm each order received and redo the totals. Then we start back at square one. She sends them over, but this time, I want you working alongside Phoebe, Erin. I want you to compare the numbers to what you say is currently being reflected in the new IT system. If they match up, I think we’re okay—we can disregard the altered numbers. Erin, when Amanda gets in to the office, let me know. I’ll speak directly with her about what to do.”

  “Will do,” said Erin.

  “What about security in the new system, Erin?” asked Ginger.

  “It’s tight. No issues. We have the agreed-upon procedures in place to prevent another hack.”

  “So, once we figure this thing out, we can trash the old one,” said Candace.

  “Right,” said Erin. “But first, we should investigate further to see if any other security was breached in it, if anything else looks funny. I’d be interested in a full evaluation before getting rid of it.”

  “Why?” asked Candace.

  “To make sure that our controls are adequate, that we aren’t forgetting anything. Candace, you have a system-generated password in the new system. You know your passwords will be much more cryptic now and will be changed frequently, right?”