CHAPTER SEVEN
NOLA
“Hill & Associates. This is Nola.” I answer the phone for what feels like the umpteenth time in two hours, and only three of those calls were even for something I could help with.
What a drag of a day. With the way today is going, I’m really regretting all the time I spent practically begging Fergus to let me have a day in the office. This place is a mess.
Even though I’ve been keeping up with all of the work I could do online, it was a mistake to be away from the office for an entire month. I know a good portion of the mess cluttering my desk is my fault because I wasn’t here to deal with it, but I can’t believe no one even bothered to call and ask if I was coming in. There are a twenty-some other people in and out of this building every day, yet not a single one of them bothered to check in, or drop me an email, letting me know things had gotten this bad.
And to make matters worse, my in-office filing system looks like it was hit by a tornado. While most of my organization and record keeping is done on the company portal, we do keep paper copies of all important transactions and legal documents. Unfortunately for me, instead of using common sense and decency to put things away like I know everyone who works here knows how to do, not a single one of them used it in my absence.
In between answering phone calls, most of which are not about things under my purview and a waste of my time, I’m now stuck alphabetizing hundreds of file folders that fill the wall of file cabinets behind my desk.
One system that I set up when I started working here, is that every lawyer has their own color folders to use. This is making the process go a little smoother than expected, but it still doesn’t fix everything. When a blue folder that belongs in the M drawer is actually in the R drawer where the green folders belong, it adds another second to the daunting day ahead of me.
Last night just before Fergus left to deal with whatever mess that was going down, I let him know I would be going into work today no matter what he said. I think he agreed just to get me to stop asking, but I considered it a win. But looking back now, I wish I had been able to talk him into crawling into bed with me after our shower this morning. I think it would have been a better use of our time for the day, but unfortunately for both of us, there seems to be no rest for the wicked in either of our jobs.
Flipping through one stack of folders that shouldn’t be in the drawer I have open in front of me, I keep seeing a client company name I don’t recognize. TXMX Water LLC out of Laredo, Texas. While there is no way I could ever memorize every client this firm has ever had, based on the dates of the invoices and banking transfer statements in this handful of files, this company has been a client for the last four years, three of which I have worked here and have touched every file in this office at least once.
I don’t recognize any of these documents.
Dropping the pile of folders to the one cleaned off corner of my desk, I plop into my chair for the first time in over an hour and wake up my computer screen with a wiggle of the mouse. I type the LLC name into the search bar for the firm’s database and twenty-seven results pop up.
“What the hell?” I whisper to myself. “What is this?”
Clicking on the first result, I see the client is being represented by Jasper Hill, my boss Jordan’s younger brother.
Moving to the second, then third, and each and every result until the last, they all are under Jasper’s name. There is no reason I shouldn’t have seen any of these files and records before.
Grabbing the files, I open the one on top and find the coordinating client record on my screen.
It’s a lawsuit settlement judgment awarding TXMX Water LLC four point two million dollars from another LLC, this one out of Philadelphia, that I don’t recognize.
One by one, I open every file and it’s coordinating client record. Every single record is showing a winning judgment from an LLC in various cities across the country, all going to TXMX Water LLC out of Laredo, Texas.
Back and forth. Over and over. I go through the pile six more times and the same alarm bells have been ringing in my head since the second go-around. Everything in these folders, every client name and record on my screen, has the set-up of a money laundering operation.
In my business ethics class during my sophomore year of college, one of our lessons was about how LLCs can protect a business owner’s personal assets from being involved in their companies finances. While for the average law abiding citizen, this can be a great thing, it unfortunately also can also be used as a way to take part in some not so legal business practices. With people’s names being hidden by more often than not ‘dummy corporations’ with fake names, finding the truth behind situations like these wouldn’t be easy. The more I look and click and read, the more it’s starting to look to me that this is one of those situations.
What did I dig up? I don’t think I’m supposed to be seeing this. Why is firm involved in something like this?
I need to call Fergus.
This may make me sound like a damn hypocrite, because I am very much well aware of the fact that he is involved in numerous, even darker illegal acts himself, but my fingerprints are now all over these files and I’m scared.
Even though my name isn’t on any of the records, I don’t want to be involved in whatever mess this is any way, shape, or form. Something tells me, all of these folders ended up on my desk by mistake and I wish I never saw them.
Just as I fish my phone out from under a different pile of papers, Jordan comes marching around the corner and grabs it out of my hand.
“You won’t be needing that,” he snaps.
“What the hell, Jordan?” I jump out of my chair and try to grab it back from him. “Give me my phone back.”
“I really wish you hadn’t been sneaking where you weren’t supposed to, Nola.” Using one hand to push me back an arm’s length away, he tucks my phone in his back pocket before grabbing my forearm and pulling me into his chest.
“Let me go!” I scream, wondering where everybody else is. Why is no one rushing out of their offices to see what’s going on out here?
With his arms wrapped around me and pining mine down, Jordan is holding me in a way too tight bear hug. I try to kick my legs, and stomp my feet, but my dress is preventing me from being able to get enough momentum to do any damage. Also, I have lost both of my flip flops, not that they would be helpful in this situation, but all I’m managing to do is hurt my own feet as I stomp on his shoes. I toss my head back once, thinking I can maybe break his nose like you see done in the movies, but he twists me in a way that I’d only be hitting air and potentially hurting myself.
“Why were you accessing files that have nothing to do with you, Nola?” Jordan growls as he starts backing us toward his office. “I know for a fact that Jasper keeps those separate from the regular client files.”
“What files?” I try to play stupid at first. Maybe I can talk myself out of this. “I don’t know what you mean. I was just organizing the mess on my desk and making sure all the right papers were in the right folders.”
“Nice try.” And with that I am pushed free and spinning, only to fall into another set of arms. “But we don’t believe you.”
Looking up I see Jasper, his brother whose name is on all the suspicious files. I didn’t know he was in the office today. He is supposed to be in court all day. “I heard someone was looking into things she shouldn’t have. So I had to come in and see it for myself.”
Jasper really is a slimeball. How did I not realize it until just now? Black hair slicked back with way too much gel, designer suits that are way too flashy to be worn by a lawyer who is supposed to be representing the ‘average Joe’, beady eyes that look like a snake ready to strike—maybe that’s why I feel like I’m a little mouse while he’s holding me tight to a chest like a boa constrictor. Jordan’s grip on me was rough, but it was nothing compared to the hold Jasper has me now.
I’m beginning to have a hard time breathing. I try to pull in a deep breath, but his arms only tighten more with each one I let out.
“Where did you get those folders, Nola?” Jasper whispers in my ear. His voice sends a shiver across my entire body.
“They were,” I pant between the small breaths I can make, “on my desk.”
“Well they shouldn’t have been,” Jordan barks from somewhere behind us. “Why were they on your desk?”
“I don’t know!” I cry out.
It doesn’t take me long to realize that there are some shady things happening in this office, and I stumbled in to on a very bad day. The office should be full of people since it is the middle of the day on a Monday, but everyone who was here not thirty minutes ago seems to have disappeared. Jordan took my phone, so I can’t call for help. I told Fergus I’d let him know when I was ready to be picked up, so it’s not like he’s just going to walk in now and see me being held against my will. I know I could try to scream again, but I also know it’d do me no good.
“Bring her over here.” Still being held tight in Jasper’s arms, he whips us both around to face Jordan. “We’re gonna go for a little ride until I figure out what to do with you.”
“What—” I start to ask but can’t get anything else out when I feel the prick of a needle in the side of my neck.
The moment I wake up, I immediately know something is wrong.
My head is pounding like a dozen marching bands have taken up residency inside my skull for a Thanksgiving Day parade through New York City.
Before I open my eyes, I try to take stock of the rest of my body.
The cold concrete beneath my feet sends a shiver all the way from my toes to my now thankfully quieter throbbing head, chasing the remnants of my drowsiness away.
I blink against the grittiness and clear the blur from my eyes. Dim light filters in through the grimy windows that cover one whole wall to my left. The air is thick with dust and the one single long fluorescent bulb hanging overhead flickers as it buzzes.
Taking stock of my surroundings, I see a row of rusted metal filing cabinets lining the wall to my right and an old beat up dented desk sits about three feet in front of me. That’s it. Nothing else.
There is a solid metal door in the middle of the wall in front of me, leading who knows where, but from what I can see when I turn my head, nothing is behind me and there is no other way out.
The walls are painted a sickly shade of green, which I’m sure was bright and cheerful at some point, but now it is just peeling and exposing the rotting wood boards underneath. The once sterile atmosphere feels suffocating, closing in on me with every breath I take.
Based on what I can see through the dirty windows, I’m guessing I’m in an office in some kind of abandoned industrial warehouse.
I’m tied to a surprisingly sturdy wooden chair, ropes biting into my wrists and ankles. Panic surges through me as the edges of reality blur and I fight against the restraints for a few seconds. The ropes are probably the newest item in this whole damn building, and they are securely knotted.
Calming myself again, because thrashing around is going to do me no good, I switch to twisting my wrists slowly, testing to see if there is any hope of wiggling free. My small sliver of hope is crushed when all I feel is the sting as the fibers pinching my skin. Same thing with my ankles.
My heart pounds like a drum in my chest, each pulse a beat reminding me of my predicament and how I got here.
I remember realizing my bosses are laundering money.
I remember Jordan stealing my cell phone.
I remember the beady gleam in Jasper’s eyes as he squeezed my body until it hurt to breathe.
I remember the pinch of the needle—and that’s it.
Straining to hear any signs of life other than my own—footsteps, a voice—anything that might lead me to a way out, but I hear nothing other than the usual creaks and groans of an old building.
Closing my eyes, I think of what Fergus would want me to do in this situation. Yes we haven’t been together very long, but his voice rings out crystal clear in my mind.
“Nola, mo fhíorghra, find something to cut the ropes.”
He’s right. I am not powerless here. I can find a way to get myself free.
My eyes zone in on the desk in front of me. What are the chances of there being something in one of those drawers that can help me break out of these ropes? I guess I won’t know unless I scoot myself closer and find out.
Leaning forward, biting my lip to stifle a whimper as the ropes scrape against my wrists, I plant my feet flat on the floor and lift my butt to see if the chair will move. It does! Adjusting my weight just a bit, I get the chair closer to the desk, inch by agonizing inch with each hop.
Now to figure out how to open the drawers.
I wiggle my wrists and ankles again but they still won’t budge. I wonder if I can bite through the rope? No, the strands are too tightly woven. Shit.
Inspiration hits and I remember a movie I watched on Netflix not too long ago. I was bored and nothing else was catching my interest, so I just clicked on a random new release and listened to it as background noise while I scrolled through my Instagram.
A woman was tied up, hands behind her back, in the trunk of a car. She escaped by straightening her fingers while cupping her palm, pressing as much of her pinkie to her thumb as she could, to make the circumference of her hand smaller. She was able to wiggle and shimmy one hand free, then the other, and pop the trunk and run when the car stopped.
I try the same pinkie to thumb technique with my left hand, since I’ve heard your nondominant hand is smaller than the other, and feel a little bit of give in the rope. Trying again, using the sweat from my palm to aid in sliding along the chair’s armrest, I pull my arm back and somehow it starts to work. My wrists are going to be sore after this whole ordeal, but if that is the worst injury I sustain, I’m okay with it.
Yes! One hand free!
I pull the first desk drawer open and hit the jackpot—a box cutter! Using this with my left hand is going to be tricky, so I don’t accidently cut myself in the process, but if I take a few deep breaths and go slow, I should be good. My fingers wrap around the slim handle of a box cutter—sharp and desperate, just like me—and get to work.
With a slow and smart movements, I begin slicing at the rope around my right wrist. I know I said I’d stay calm, but my heart is pounding wildly in my chest because I can’t believe this is working.
Each scrape against the tight fibers sends a tingle up my arm, but also a rush of adrenaline surges through me. I imagine being home in Fergus’s arms, and the thought alone ignites a tiny spark of hope.
I get a more reliable grip and, after several breaths filled with gusto and anticipation, the fibers burst apart, falling loose. I unravel the rope and finally have both hands free. Using my now free right hand, I get to work on the ropes around my ankles. Within what I imagine is a few minutes, but feels like hours, all the ropes are gone.
My heart jumps when a short thumping sound echoes in the distance—I freeze for a moment, listening intently. The room goes still again, and my breath catches in my throat. I need to move.
Now free, I cautiously rise to my feet, the chair creaking under the sudden shift of weight. I hear the scuffle some sort and the deep timber of voices nearby. The short thumping sound happens again, but this time it’s closer and much louder, echoing like it’s in a large empty room.
That was a gunshot!
My instincts scream at me to remain hidden, so I crouch behind the desk, clenching the box cutter tightly against my chest. I can’t believe I did it, I’m going to escape this hellhole. Now if only someone would stop using it as a place to have target practice, I would be much happier.
But what if it’s Fergus out there? I don’t know how he would have found me, but at this point, all I can do is hope it is. And if it’s not, then I’m just as much on my own now as I was two minutes ago. But hey, I got myself this far . . . I can do this!
Adrenaline courses through me, and I bite down on my lip to keep from hyperventilating while I plan my next move. If I can get to the door, and open it just enough to squeeze through unnoticed, I can plan what to do next when I get out there, wherever there is. I take a deep breath, forcing myself into a calm mindset and tell myself—one step at a time.
Not allowing myself even a second to panic, every instinct telling me to act fast, I scan the room again. My eyes dart around in a desperate search for another way out. The one door is the only way.