Chapter 27
I was glad we’d done some shopping the day before. Since we were attending a business meeting, I put on a silky light blue blouse with a navy suit and low, black heels. I also wore the long, dark wig and some light makeup.
When I emerged from the bathroom, James grinned in appreciation. “Damn. You are a woman of many personas, Detective Adams.”
“You clean up pretty well yourself.” It was an understatement.
He was wearing a white dress shirt with a light blue tie, gray dress pants, and black dress shoes.
To top it off, he was wearing a pair of glasses, which somehow made him even more attractive.
His hair, which was usually slightly unruly, had been tamed and slicked back.
It was strange seeing him dressed up like this, but he wore it well.
“You like the businessman look?” he asked, then lifted the frame of his glasses slightly. “Do you buy that I’m a distinguished millionaire looking to diversify his portfolio with real estate?”
I’d given him a cocky grin. “Are you into role playing, Mr. Malcolm?” But was it really a role when he likely was a millionaire who diversified his portfolio?
He eyed me up and down. “Not normally, but it wouldn’t take much for you to coerce me.”
I laughed, feeling lighter than I should, considering we were about to try to steal a businessman’s computer files. So much could go wrong, but we’d come up with a semblance of a plan.
First, we needed Harlan to sign into his computer.
The next piece of the plan had to be left up to chance, which James detested.
We’d wait for Harlan to brag about something he owned.
It could be a fly-fishing tackle shadowbox or a taxidermized squirrel.
Anything. The plan was for James to act like an asshole in the beginning, but then show interest in the man’s pride and joy.
Harlan—if it all went to plan—would be eager to show it off in the hopes of winning him over.
Once I was alone, I’d pull an external hard drive (which we planned to purchase on the way) out of my purse and attach it to the computer, then download as many files as I could before Harlan and James came back.
But that was phase two. Phase one was to see what we could get out of the receptionist before we even met with her boss.
We both had roles to play—I was the talkative wife, and James would be the reluctant husband who had already decided on our developer and was only humoring me, albeit with an attitude.
James and I pulled into the parking lot of Harlan Commercial Properties about ten minutes early. Carter had arranged a luxury sedan to fit our roles, and I wasn’t complaining after the last few rides we’d been stuck with.
When we walked into the lobby, the receptionist beamed at us.
She had a friendly smile and wore a blouse, little makeup, and a simple hairstyle—not overly dressed for her public-facing job.
The reception area looked like it had last been furnished in the nineties—everything was in jewel tones and very worn.
Based on her appearance and the waiting room, Harlan Commercial Properties wasn’t used to higher-end clients.
I suspected she and Harlan saw us as big fish they were desperate to land.
“Mr. and Mrs. Beachum,” she said sweetly from behind her desk. “My name’s Beth, and I’m Mr. Harlan’s right-hand person. He’s wrapping up a call, but he’ll be with you in about five minutes.”
“Hmm,” James said, walking over to a wall to look at a photograph of an office building.
She cast James a nervous look. “Can I get you water or coffee?”
James’s unimpressed gaze landed on the Keurig on a credenza on the other side of the room, before he shifted back toward the photo, his upper lip curling with distaste.
“Nothing for either of us,” I said, “but I was hoping you could tell me about Mr. Harlan’s clients.” I smiled. “We’re new to Little Rock, and this will be the first of multiple buildings we plan to develop. We’re trying to get a sense of the people Mr. Harlan typically works with.”
Her eyes brightened. “I assure you, Mrs. Beachum,” she said enthusiastically, “we’re used to working with higher-budget projects.”
“But what about lower-end projects?” I asked. “We plan to have a few of those as well. Will Mr. Harlan be open to working with those? Or does he only stick to seven-figure projects?”
“He’s worked with a wide range of clients,” she said confidently. “From rental properties, to small strip malls, to multi-story office buildings and warehouses. I’m sure he can handle any project you bring to him.”
He’d worked with warehouses. I took that as an encouraging sign.
“I hope he doesn’t take on too many clients,” I said with a frown. “We’ve worked with developers who were spread too thin or handed us off to incompetent people.”
“We do have another partner, Ryan Delaney, and he handles the smaller projects. But,” she quickly added, “if you decide to go with Mr. Harlan, I suspect he’d handle all of your projects himself.”
“That’s good to know,” I said, then glanced over at James, who had moved on to a new photo. “Isn’t it, Jeff?”
“I’m not sure why you’re wasting time talking to the receptionist,” he grumbled.
I had to stifle a snort. He was perfectly channeling arrogant, elitist condescension.
“Jeff,” I scolded, then turned back to her. “I’m sorry for his boorish behavior. He thinks this meeting is a waste of time. He wants to sign with the Delgottos and be done with it.”
We’d decided to toss out that firm’s name because of their previous shady dealings with J.R. Simmons—which I’d known nothing about—but also because they were considered big fish in the Little Rock developer pool.
“I actually do know quite a bit about Harlan Properties,” she said defensively as she eyed James. Then she turned back to me, her expression softening. “I’ve been here for eleven years, practically since Miles started the company. And he includes me in the loop on quite a few things.”
“Oh, good,” I said, sounding pleased. “Then you must know a lot about the history of Harlan Properties.”
She nodded, with a proud gleam in her eyes. “I certainly do. Miles has helped turn a small business with two clients into a multi-million-dollar corporation with many clients.”
“But not too many clients,” I reminded her.
If he was making that much money, I had to wonder why he didn’t spend a few thousand to decorate his reception area.
There was a good chance she was exaggerating.
Or, if Knox provided a huge percentage of his business, he wouldn’t need to worry about making a good impression.
“I assure you, Mrs. Beachum, Miles will give you his undivided attention.”
“That is so good to hear.” I turned back to James. “Jeff, Franklin never promised us his undivided attention.”
“That’s because Franklin has a much larger, more prestigious corporation to run,” he sneered, sounding exactly like a snob born into old money.
“Don’t listen to him,” I said, waving my hand as I sat on a chair closer to the desk. Then I lowered my voice. “He’s always like that.”
“Oh.” She frowned, her gaze on him.
“But once we sign, I’ll be the one you and Mr. Harlan deal with. It’s Jeff’s money, so he makes a big fuss about signing, but once the ink on the contract is dry, it’s all on me.” I added a giggly laugh.
Her face brightened. “You seem like you’d be a delight to work with, Mrs. Beachum.”
I pressed a hand to my chest, pretending to be flattered. “Beth,” I gushed. “You are so sweet. I have such a good feeling about you and Mr. Harlan, and we haven’t even met him yet.”
James released a grunt from across the room.
I leaned in closer. “Since I feel so good about you, I feel comfortable bringing something up.” I paused.
“Of course, I did some research into Mr. Harlan’s company.
I’d be silly not to,” I leaned in even closer, lowering my voice.
“I confess that part of the reason Jeff is apprehensive about taking this meeting is because we saw that Mr. Harlan had fraud charges brought against him about five years back.”
Her face paled. “Those charges were dropped within days,” she said in a rush. “I promise you, Mr. Harlan was never guilty of any wrongdoing.”
“Well,” I said, making a face. “Jeff likes to say that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. But I told him that sometimes, where there’s smoke, there’s just a BBQ.” I released a tiny laugh.
She gave a weak laugh too.
I continued, “But sometimes you’re in the mood for BBQ.” I paused and held her gaze, turning slightly serious. “And sometimes you’re in the mood for a bonfire.”
She studied me as though unsure of what to say.
“Do you think…” I asked, hesitating. “Do you think Mr. Harlan ever creates a bonfire?”
Her eyes grew wide. “I assure you, Mrs. Beecham, Miles is aboveboard. He does everything by the book.”
“Yes,” I said smoothly, “of course. And believe me, I’m so grateful for that. But sometimes you need a project to speed along a little faster than, say, a supervisor or inspector feels comfortable with.” I paused. “Does Mr. Harlan know how to work out those situations in his client’s favor?”
She cast a glance down the hall behind her, then looked back at me, her face going blank.
“You’ll have to speak to Mr. Harlan about that.
” She glanced at James. “Like your husband said, I’m just the receptionist, and I don’t know anything.
” But she wasn’t acting outraged, like I’d insulted her boss’s good name or even her.
She just didn’t seem comfortable sharing sensitive information.
Like a smart employee.
“I told you this was a waste of time,” James grumbled, then took a seat in a stained peach-colored wingback chair on the wall next to the door.
“Jeff,” I scolded lightly. “She can’t say too much. She has no idea who we are.”
He gave me a cold, scathing look. “Exactly.”