by Fiona Murphy
“Tuesday, I need until Tuesday. I have a trade I need to make, the money won’t settle until Tuesday. I’ll have it wired to you by then.”
“Fine, Tuesday. No money, I go to the cops.”
I can hear Bethany crying in the background. Then she’s on the phone sobbing. “I’m sorry, Alicia. I’m so sorry. I only have about fifteen hundred dollars saved up. What are we going to do?”
“I’ll figure it out. I will handle this. Right now, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up as I fight the urge to scream. There’s no way. If I liquidated everything, there is just no fucking way I can do it. Even if I used every penny from my checking account and the savings account to make the trade, it wouldn’t net me enough.
Opening another account I don’t use often, I check the balance. It’s the old account my grandmother had, her name was on it. I had access to cash my checks when I was a teenager to pay her for my food and things Bethany would need, even though she was getting money from the state for our care. I’ve used it as an account to hide money from myself in case of emergencies, but there is only three thousand in it. I would need at least another twenty grand to make everything I would need from the trade, enough to pay the fifty thousand and put back the money in the savings accounts. I’m beyond screwed.
I take a deep breath. What if I did nothing? Let the clock run down on Kelsey and let Bethany deal with the fallout. The thought makes my heart ache. I know Kelsey will keep her word—someone has to pay for the anger and hurt she feels at Bethany saying she didn’t want to live with her anymore. I don’t have the slightest doubt Kelsey would be willing to burn down everything Bethany has worked so hard for, the dreams she’s had since she was only nine years and never wavered from once. Even when things got hard in high school, she spent hours after school getting the tutoring she needed. While I had been proud of her, I hated the way the goal consumed her so completely she missed out on the fun of being a teenager. She had few friends, and considered boys a waste of time.
Seeing how committed she was to the goal she had set for herself, I knew I had to do everything I could to support her. For me, there were no huge aspirations, not even as a young child. For so long all that mattered was keeping us fed, and safe. I didn’t have time for things like dreams and wishes—those were for others. But Bethany had them, and she deserved them. Not because of the way we grew up, but because those dreams weren’t about having a big house or a fancy car; they were to help others, to give the comfort and care she had received when she so badly needed it. No. I needed to figure this out.
To do something, I move the money into the trading account and make the buy of stock. It’s one of the few stocks that doesn’t swing and slide with the turmoil of the market. I do a rough calculation. Twenty-five thousand, I need twenty-five thousand, and I need it no later than tomorrow to deposit the money and make the trade before it does its thing.
Where the hell can I get twenty-five thousand dollars by tomorrow? I look at the icon of my bank but I’m already shaking my head, they’ll never approve a loan fast enough and not on me alone. How the hell have I lived in Chicago all these years and not know a loan shark? There are a few people I could ask if they knew a loan shark. I could ask Cesare for his uncle’s information. No, he’d think I was asking for him to save me.
An email comes through from Cesare requesting a phone number for a client. I click out of the windows I’m in and try to focus on what he’s asking for. It doesn’t take too long to get the information and send it to him. For a long minute I stare blindly at the screen, then the icon becomes bolder and bolder. No, don’t.
I focus my gaze on my email icon instead, except I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s an account for the purchase of company properties. The account is massive, it holds over six hundred and fifty million dollars, money comes in and out of it on a daily basis. Only five people have access to the account: Cesare, Dante, Hannah, Martin, the head of accounting, and me. Twenty-five thousand in and out would be a blip, it would probably go unnoticed. Out and right back in, right back in. A loan, that’s all.
Oh god, what the hell am I thinking? But I would put it right back. I swear, as soon as the money settled. I would only have it out for five days. If anyone noticed they would think it was a buy that fell through. Hell, actually the amount was so small it might be noticeable in how small it was. Stop it. If you borrow money from this company, it would change you from an employee to felon.
I’m going to give my notice at the end of next week on Friday. The money will be out and back by then. Would Cesare press charges if I simply borrowed it and had already quit? Am I willing to take the chance? Even as I’m shaking my head, I’m signing into the account. Don’t do it. Don’t do it. Close the window and think of something else. Then I see it. The last entry is for a credit of twenty-five thousand dollars. It’s a sign. It’s a fucking sign. I take a deep breath.
12
Cesare
“Well, I hope you’re happy. You got your way,” Dante says as he slams into my office.
I sigh. Happy? What’s that emotion like again? Rubbing my eyes, I look up from the contract to find him wearing the carpet in front of my desk. He’s picking at the edge of the cast on his left wrist. “I’m not a mind reader. Care to explain what you’re bitching about now?”
“Alicia came into my office before she left today and gave her notice. Her two weeks’ notice. She says she already has her replacement in mind if I want her to select someone.”
The words slam into me like a freight train. Air, icy cold, fills my chest. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “What did she say?” I can barely form the words.
“All she said was she needed to leave, she appreciated me giving her a chance, but it wasn’t working out. She’s going back to that nothing job. After only six weeks it will be like she never left, but I’m not going to let her. I’ll find her something better.” He’s gone with another slam of my door.
With a few clicks I’m in Dante’s email. It’s there, the last email he received. She sent it twelve minutes ago, her formal two weeks’ notice. It’s professional, simple, not a hint of what had really driven her to quit. Me. How the fuck can it be what I’ve hoped she would do for so long, yet also the reason I’m hollow inside? After that day almost two weeks ago, holding her while she cried I have worked hard to not be an asshole to her. But I guess it was too little too late.
A long time later, my phone rings, pulling me out of my stupor. I see it’s Enzo. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay? Dante just told me, he’s asking me if I can find something for her in my company. He’s also getting wasted. Do you want me to put him in a cab and come see you?”
“I’m fine, watch him. Don’t let him take any of the painkillers the hospital gave him if he’s loaded.”
Fuck, I wonder if Dante would be willing to share those painkillers. No, it’s not pain... only that’s another lie in a long list of them I’ve been telling myself and Alicia. My eyes go to the couch I haven’t sat on since that day almost two weeks ago when I held Alicia as she cried. The memory of her offering herself to me for a night, without promises or pleas for tomorrow tortured me on a daily basis. She can never know how badly I wanted to say yes. Except the moment the words were out I knew down to my bone marrow one night would never be enough. For now, I dreamed of what she tasted like what it would be like to be buried inside but to know then never know it again... I’m no masochist.
Three hours later, as I tip back the empty bottle of what had been a full bottle of scotch, I can admit I’m not fine. I’m pretty fucking far from fine, too bad I’m not even drunk. Pushing away from my desk I try to stand, it takes a long time—maybe a little drunk. It takes a few swipes to get the elevator going to the top floor private apartment Dante and I had agreed would only be used in cases of emergency, and not to be workaholics as I had begun to use the place for a few years. The apartment has only been used during bad weather and to have dinner with Enzo
more comfortably than my office. A cleaner comes in once a week to refresh the three bedrooms, changing the sheets and towels and running the dishes through the dishwasher to get the dust off them.
Once the elevator opens directly into the foyer, I begin undressing as I walk through the place toward the bedroom I picked for myself and into the ensuite bathroom. The shower is an eight-by-nine wet room with half a dozen showerheads and buttons. I punch a few of the buttons, and fuck that’s cold. Finally, I get it to the preset of my preferred nearly hot enough to burn but not quite there.
Time blurs as I stand, letting the water wash over me. I run my hands over my face, and I notice my hands are all wrinkled. With a sigh, I turn off the water. Stepping out of the shower, I grab a towel to dry off. I wrap the towel around my waist as I make my way into the walk-in closet. Opening a drawer, I grab a pair of boxer briefs but don’t bother dressing. I’m not going anywhere tonight.
I grab the remote, turning on the television more to fill the silence than out of any desire to watch television. While I like movies, thrillers, and classics, I don’t like most television shows and only watch the news, BBC news over American. The low buzz of the television begins to blur. I close my eyes, the world goes dark around me.
Waking up, shit is creaking and cracking as I move. Sometime during the night I had stretched out on the couch, but my neck hurts. I check my watch—it’s a little after six in the morning. Damn, I’m starving and my head is pounding.
In the kitchen I grab a bottle of water and chug. Done, I grab another bottle and head into the half bath off the foyer and open the linen closet. There’s a bottle of headache medicine. Popping three, I swallow them down along with half the bottle of water. I’m starving so I make my way back to the kitchen. I open the freezer, there are some mini quiches, close enough. I turn on the toaster oven then toss almost the entire box on the small cooking sheet.
The heat kicks on, only I’m still feeling the cold from outside. I go into the bedroom then the closet. There isn’t much to choose from, three suits and mainly dress shirts. I grab an undershirt and find a pair of well-worn jeans. I can’t remember the last time I wore them. They are loose but stay on. I hear my cell phone ringing. My pants are between the living room and the hallway. I pull out my phone, it’s Dante.
“Yeah?”
“Where are you? Security said you didn’t come home last night.”
“I’m in the apartment at work. I didn’t make it out of the building.”
“Hmm, fine.” Then the fucker hangs up on me. He’d been worried; now that he knew I was fine he was back to being pissed at me.
While I wait for the buzzer to go off on the toaster oven I duck into the office. It’s still here, my old laptop. I had upgraded last year, mainly because the mouse on this one stopped working. Here I used a separate mouse with Bluetooth connection. Taking the laptop with the stupid mouse into the dining room, I turn it on. I need something to focus on, besides Alicia.
The quiches are done. I push them onto a plate, grab my water and eat as my laptop comes up. My emails are too easy, I’m done with them at the same time I’m done with the quiche. I open the email from Alicia again; after reading it for the twentieth time, I make myself close it. The hollow feeling won’t go away. Shaking my head, I close my eyes. She’s doing the right thing, for the both of us. Maybe when I don’t see her every day she’ll stop haunting my every thought. Maybe I’ll stop dreaming of her every night. At least I could hope. Two weeks, in two weeks I’ll find out.
I force myself out of the email box. As I click through the things I’ve been working on this week nothing appeals—there’s nothing to really hold my attention.
Mentally I go through my monthly to-do list. The minute I think of it, I sigh. Doing the monthly checks and balances on the buy account is exactly what I need. It’s a pain in the ass, it requires attention to detail for every small line item, then the follow-up to the accounts money comes in and out of. And it’s exactly what I need right now.
I’m almost done when I find it. An odd out of twenty-five thousand dollars to an account of an individual, when most of our transactions out are to companies. Renee Collins, a checking account at a local credit union of all things, here in Chicago. I write down all of the information then go through the approvals for purchases. None of them are to a Renee Collins, none of them have an escrow which would be the only answer for such a small balance going out of only twenty-five thousand. Escrow would hold the down payment on a property until due diligence was completed, but an escrow account is usually held by the bank, not an individual. Nothing about the transaction looks right. I write down the information on it for Martin to do some digging on this. A week later, this past Tuesday, twenty-five thousand comes back in from the same account.
I stare at the transaction. Something about it bothers me, is getting under my skin and making it itch. I pick up my phone, I find the number and hit send.
Diego Valdez answers on the second ring. He’s the absolute best at finding out everything you want to know about anything. He has ways that aren’t exactly legal and he uses them with impunity. I haven’t had to use him often but every time I do, I’m never disappointed. He’s not cheap and I’d pay twice what he asks. “Hello Cesare, how can I help you today?”
“I need information as of yesterday.” I give him a rundown of the transaction including the checking account number.
“This shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll get back to you within the hour.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Knowing I won’t be able to focus until Diego calls back, I turn on the television, move the couch back a bit and start doing push-ups. I’m working on a nice solid sweat when my phone rings. I finish the push-up as I grab the phone. “What do you have?”
“Renee Collins was Alicia Jeffries’ grandmother. They were both listed on the account. The money moved from the account to a trading account in Alicia’s name. Then it moved right back from the trading account, then back into your account. It was Alicia who took the money, then returned it.”
I’m shaking my head. Out of everything I thought it could be, I never imagined it would be what he’s saying. “Absolutely no mistake?”
“None, I’ve already scanned and emailed you the details. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.” I think I might have said something else. I’m not really sure as I end the call. Alicia stole twenty-five thousand dollars from me. Then she returned it, a tiny voice whispers. No, she gets no points for returning it, not a single one. What matters is that she took it in the first place. She stole from me. The bitch wasn’t content with fucking with my head—no, she fucked with my business. Alicia Jeffries is going to pay for what she’s done. My cock jumps at the thought of all the ways I’m going to make her pay.
13
Alicia
I thought it would be easier getting up for work this Monday after handing in my notice on Friday, but it actually felt harder knowing I would be leaving soon. Over the weekend a part of me hoped, sat waiting in my apartment for Cesare. God, I’m so pathetic. He’s probably relieved I put in my notice. I got almost no sleep last night as I tortured myself thinking about Cesare and leaving. As I walk into the office I wonder when I should tell Hannah. I’m barely settled into my chair when an instant message comes through. It’s from Cesare. All it says is:
My office
Why the hell does my stomach drop then twist painfully? Is it about me giving my notice? It has to be—he can’t know, not so soon. I look to Hannah, who is engrossed in the report she’s writing, doing that mumbling thing she does as she’s typing. Heart pounding, I push up from my chair then make my way to Cesare’s office. I knock, I hear him say come in. My palm is sweating as I turn the knob then push the door open. He’s leaning back in his chair. For the first time in what feels like forever his eyes are meeting mine. They give nothing away.
“Yes, sir?”
“Have a s
eat, Ms. Jeffries.” He gestures to the chair in front of his desk.
Slowly, I sink to the edge of the chair. “Do you need something?” I feel it now: a heady satisfaction surrounds him. He smiles, it’s blinding, it’s scary. The hair on the back of my neck goes up.
“Maybe I should be asking you that. Do you need something, Ms. Jeffries? Was there a difficulty in your personal life?” Oh god, my heart stutters. “It must have been an enormous difficulty to run into twenty-five thousand dollars. I take it the matter has been resolved?” His tone is of concern, of solicitation, with just the faintest twinge of sarcasm. I don’t respond. I can’t. “The matter has been resolved, has it not?” I don’t move an inch. “Ms. Jeffries, I asked you a question. The reason why you needed twenty-five thousand dollars, has it been resolved?”
I nod, just once. I hate the tears that pour out of me as I blink. It’s clear he’s not happy about them either. “Ms. Jeffries, this isn’t a speeding ticket where you’ll get away with a warning if you turn on the waterworks. You stole twenty-five thousand dollars from my company, from me.”
“I gave it back. I only needed it to make a trade. I can pay you interest if you want it.” The words come out of me before I can swallow them. “Bethany was being blackmailed. If I didn’t pay fifty thousand dollars her entire future, everything she worked so hard for was going to get flushed down the toilet by a malicious brat.”
His eyes narrow. “You made a trade with that money? Are you crazy? In this volatile market, you could have lost everything.”
I shake my head. “I’ve made this trade three years running every quarter and it’s never gone against me. Your twenty-five thousand was safe—I made even more this time around. I’m sorry, I’m already quitting. Isn’t that enough?” I plead.
He cocks his head as he studies me. His eyes run over me slowly, so very slowly. It’s back, the heat I haven’t felt in so long, burning me from the inside out. “No, it’s not enough, not nearly enough. I’m going to need twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of recompense in the form of you.” A plain manila folder is pushed toward me. “Option one: I pick up the phone and make a call to the police and give them that file that details every step of your removal of funds, unapproved, into your grandmother’s account. Or option two: You agree to give yourself to me when I want you, how I want you, as often as I want you.”
