Chapter 4
Jake
We’re barely into this op and I’m already over watching paper pushers file in and out of conference rooms and offices. It’s been less than two days of alternating between surveillance and massaging my shoulder with a tennis ball against the wall. I’m beyond bored.
Sterling leases floors two through four; street-level’s retail. Big offices up on four, three is where Daisy landed, and two looks mostly empty.
We got lucky with Daisy’s office location.
It’s not directly across from the condo, but throughout most of the day I have a view of the back of her head, her ever-present headphones, and her three monitors, at least when she’s in her office.
She’s spent a lot of time in meetings with human resources and what she calls division heads, learning the business.
She said she has yet to speak to anyone who doesn’t drink the company Kool-Aid.
I still don’t have the faintest idea what this company actually does.
In the mornings, we don’t cross paths. I’m out the door for a run to the nearby park and adjacent trails, and by the time I’ve returned, the shower floor is nearly dry. This weekend, I aim to find a gym, but the schedule should remain the same.
Yesterday she filed out of the building around six.
Said Ms. Weaver, the human resources director, walked around the offices doing a sweep at the end of the day, turning off lights.
She said it felt motherly the way she did it, but the action seems off to me.
But what do I know? I’ve never worked in corporate America.
Based on what I’ve observed of these stooges, I’m damn glad that’s the case.
Daisy stands out as the singular programmer on staff, being as she’s the one who doesn’t look like a clone.
She half-adapts to the herd—blazer over jeans—but keeps her own edges.
Sandals today, a whisper fancier than flip-flops.
The room clones itself; she refuses to. In my mind, she makes herself stick out more by dressing differently, as she’s the only one I’ve observed in denim on this casual Friday, but I’m not going to tell her how to do her job.
Besides, her investigation isn’t a team effort. I’m a protective detail thrust upon Daisy, hired to ease some of Rhodes’ worry. Or hell, maybe Rhodes just wanted a line to his MVP. Doesn’t matter. I’m paid to be here—and if it turns, I’m paid to make sure she walks out.
Truth is, hanging with Daisy after work last night wasn’t half-bad. It’s easy sharing space with her. She loves her noise-cancelling headphones, so after we grabbed takeout and ate, she put those on and read what she calls cyberpunk fiction, a genre I’ve never heard of but she claims is good shit.
I learned a few things about her, too. She packed light: two suitcases, a duffel of Chucks and boots, and more silicon than a Micro Center.
Loved that neighbor, Alvin Reed, and she’s hell-bent on justice.
She’s a horoscope-loving Sagittarius who told me to buy a lotto ticket based on my natal chart.
From what I can tell, she’s brilliant. Quirky.
Am I bored out of my mind? Yes, I am. And getting more bored by the minute.
While Ms. Brainiac likes to think I’m sitting on my ass playing games, that’s not who I am. No, I’m sitting here diligently observing the mundane office routine playing out across the street.
My phone lights up and Hudson’s name flashes. I hit answer, setting it to speaker.
“Hola,” I say.
“Checking in. What’s your take?” The boss man’s always direct; I’ll give him that.
“No change since yesterday. Same corporate drone routine.” I hesitate, but why? I’ve been told I’ve got a job with or without gigs, and I’ve never been one to blow smoke. “I’m pretty useless over here as protective detail.”
“Because you’re sitting across the street?”
I’m pretty sure my eyebrows hit my hairline. Fuck yeah, because I’m sitting across the street. Sure, I have a rifle and am a capable sniper, but I don’t foresee the need to eliminate a threat at long range on this assignment.
“I agree with you,” Hudson says before I formulate a PC response. “But the client doesn’t want her out there alone. Protective detail can be mind-numbing work. It’s better than a war zone. Enjoy it.”
Cognitively, I recognize he’s dishing out good advice.
“This weekend, see if you can set up audio and video surveillance. We’ll monitor the feed on our end.” I scan the windows, confirming Daisy hasn’t returned to her desk. “It’s another way KOAN can assist with the investigation.”
Surveillance should speed the investigation along. Maybe we’ll overhear discussions that aren’t documented in email, and from a protective detail perspective, people come and go from her office and while I can watch from here, with audio, I can hear if there’s a threat. “Sounds good to me.”
“You think you can safely install this weekend? Has Daisy observed any surveillance equipment on their side?”
“She hasn’t, but that doesn't mean it’s not there. If I’m spotted inside, it’s explainable. They think I’m her boyfriend.”
“Good. Based on what Noah is hearing out in LA, it’s best that they’re aware she’s not alone.”
“What’s Noah found?”
“He’s spoken to three different people who were shocked by Alvin Reed’s death. Said he was fit and healthy.”
Yeah, but he was also old. “Is there any evidence that suggests foul play?”
“No. Quinn accessed the police report. But the body wasn’t found for days. I don’t think anyone cared enough to look hard. And he was actively working on that class action lawsuit.”
“And the cops never spoke to any of these people?”
“If they did, it’s not in the report, but I don’t know why they would have.
Daisy’s mom’s name is listed as the person who discovered the body and called 911.
And before you ask, she and Daisy have different last names, so if someone else accessed the report, there’s no obvious connection to Daisy. ”
This isn’t news to me, as it came up in last night’s conversation.
Originally born Daisy Betts, her Mom changed Daisy’s last name to Jonas when she was in a fifth-grade play because she wanted a better name for Daisy should she decide to follow her mother’s acting career path and aim to join SAG.
Daisy prefers Jonas to Betts so she never bothered changing it back after she turned eighteen.
“From what I can tell, this outpost is a mix of low-level sales and cubicle dwellers that run numbers or something. I understand she’s convinced employees have to be in on the scam, but in my observations, the folks across the street don’t strike me as high-risk. Is Noah not picking up the same vibes?”
A flash of white in a second-floor office catches my attention. I pick up binoculars for a closer look. There’s a woman bent over a desk and the shirttail of the man bent over her flaps back and forth.
Well, now. That’s a more interesting office meeting.
“He spoke to a veteran who claims before Alvin Reed’s death, a man came by to ask him questions.
He thought it was an intimidation tactic to get them to drop the class action lawsuit, but now he wonders if someone was checking to see if Reed had anyone that would come looking for him.
The guy said he shared that Reed didn’t have any close family, and he wishes he hadn’t revealed it.
Noah said the guy seemed paranoid, possibly high, so he wasn’t sure how much we could read into it, but it’s something to be aware of. ”
“Did the guy get a name? Or a company name?”
“The guy didn’t leave a business card. It happened a week before Reed’s death, so he wasn’t suspicious.
The man introduced himself as an investigator, researching claims made against Sterling Financial, but we haven’t located any such investigator.
Of course, we have little to go on. Noah’s still working the contact list. Several he’s found are part of Reed’s Gamblers Anonymous group. ”
“You think they were targeting gamblers?”
“I’d say it’s more like Reed was selling the opportunity to those within his network. The fund gives a referral bonus. But Noah’s still investigating. He suspects a few on his list are avoiding him.”
“You think they’re scared?”
“Maybe. Depends on whether this other investigator spoke to them. Scared them, too. Could also be they think Noah’s a debt collector.”
“Is the class action lawsuit still in progress?”
“Dropped with Reed’s death. He was the push.”
“Which means someone in that company knows Reed’s name. Would’ve been smart for Daisy to use an alias. She told me she grew up calling him Uncle Alvin, but they’re not related by blood.”
“Noah’s source said Reed’s niece, meaning Daisy, hadn’t come around in years that he’d seen, so whoever was gathering information might’ve received the same report.
Might not have even bothered to locate the name of a distant relative he didn’t keep in touch with.
But still, the more we learn, it’s good you’re out there.
It’s good we’re setting up surveillance. ”
“After I get surveillance set up, I’ll do some live listens from the condo, but Quinn’s gonna set up her monitoring magic, right?” AI can monitor a lot of boring conversations and flag noteworthy commentary.
“Affirmative. Set up in as many locations as you can—with low risk of exposure.”
“Copy that.”
Out the window, the desk banger pulls up his pants and sets about tucking in his shirttail, while the woman he was with… Oh, wait. Snap. Not a woman. Huh.
“Quinn updated the file on Phillip Sterling. The CEO. He has an office in both New York and at the Virginia location. No earth-shattering additions, but there are photos of him with some high-profile individuals. Check them out. You might make some connections.”
Connections or not, it’ll give me more to do during the day.
“Copy that.”
After signing off with Hudson, I’m tempted to give Noah a call.
Instead, I skim the rooms, searching for a certain smart-mouthed dark-haired woman with cute stubby pigtails.
The executive offices are dark, likely due to drawn shades.
In a third-floor office, someone packs up what looks like a briefcase.
Yes, the older suits pack standard leather briefcases.
It’s the younger ones that sling backpacks.
The second-floor office with the orgasmic meeting is cleared out and dark. Looks like the empty floor doubles as an afternoon-delight zone.
Where is she?
I pick up my phone. No harm in texting her. Actually, it’s a good thing. Better for anyone watching her to know someone out there will look for her should she go missing.
What time you thinking you’ll get away today?
That sounds like a pretty boyfriend-y thing to text.
Within seconds, the bubbles appear.
Daisy Jonas
Soon. Summer Friday hours. Day ends at 2. Finishing up here with Sterling.
Busy day?
Daisy Jonas
No. Sterling’s going to walk me out. Wants to ensure I take advantage of summer hours.
The CEO is walking her out. Interesting.
Daisy Jonas
Think we can get in at that sushi place we saw by the Town Center?
On it
But as I search up the restaurant name to make a reservation, it occurs to me that if I really want to make it clear Daisy’s not alone, I can wait for her outside her office on the sidewalk. Nothing says ‘someone will come looking for you’ like a body on the curb at quitting time.
As I step onto the sidewalk, across the street on the corner, I spot a couple of containers of flowers in front of the bodega.
I pick up a bundle that’s wrapped in clear plastic and pay with a credit card so I can expense the purchase, then stand to the side of the front doors of the lobby. Flowers help sell the boyfriend cover.
I offer smiles to the suits as they file out, mostly individually, but now and then in twos or threes. I don’t get many second glances, as everyone seems to have a place they want to be, and on this summer Friday, that place is not here at the office.
From where I’m standing, I have a direct view of the elevator bank.
Daisy steps out, backpack slung on a shoulder, conversing with Sterling and the woman from HR.
A passerby looking at the three of them, with Daisy in her jeans and pigtails, and the other two noticeably older executives with their silver hair and suits, might assume Daisy’s a college student walking with her parents.
The HR woman lights up with a smile when she sees me.
“How sweet. I love that,” she says.
Daisy’s slight eye roll is the only hint the flowers might be over the top, but she plays along, stepping right into my side.
“Who is this?” Sterling asks.
“Jake Ryder, sir.” The words come out more clipped than intended—old habits. Sterling’s firm handshake lingers a beat too long.
“Phillip Sterling.”
“He’s Daisy’s boyfriend.” Ms. Weaver says. “Do you also have summer hours?” she asks me, voice light and airy like an elementary school teacher.
“Ah, I’m not working today.” She tilts her head, and to fend off further questions about exactly where I work, I say, “I’m currently between jobs. I moved to be with Daisy.”
“Daisy’s been an excellent addition to our team,” Sterling interjects.
My arm wraps around Daisy’s shoulder, tugging her closer.
Sterling’s gaze follows my touch, and the vibes I’m picking up from him say he’s feeling possessive—over an employee.
I’m suddenly quite pleased with my impromptu decision to meet Daisy outside her office.
The tall, thin, older man isn’t a physical threat—he’s more the kind that could sell rain to a hurricane.
Meeting Daisy outside was the right call. He needed to see she’s not alone.