Chapter 5
Daisy
Jake weaves his fingers through mine, the motion as fluid as if he’s been doing it for years. His rough, calloused hands warm my AC-chilled skin, and while I’d never cop to it, I’m grateful he’s here.
At sixty-two, Phillip Sterling doesn’t come across as threatening, but when he’s around, I feel uneasy, and I’m unsure why.
He dresses in classic custom suits with subdued colors, and his hair isn’t one of those stomach-churning swept-over concoctions.
His teeth, while relatively straight and white, aren’t of the ultra-white variety of an SNL skit.
He’s intelligent, well-spoken, and his fascination with ARGUS is understandable.
These last two days have left no doubt that ARGUS is the reason my resume filtered to the top.
But something’s off. Either that, or my amateur sleuthing skills are showing.
“Phillip, let’s let these two enjoy their afternoon. I want to beat the traffic,” Ms. Weaver says.
“Have a wonderful weekend,” Phillip says. “Daisy, let’s meet on Monday. Spend the weekend thinking about what you need to make it happen. The sky is the limit. With the right motivation, there’s no end to what we can accomplish. Think about what you really want.”
Sterling’s smile never quite reaches his eyes.
He talks about possibilities and sky-high limits, but there’s something about him that reminds me of a Hollywood agent.
Maybe it’s that being the daughter of a struggling actress, I’m naturally skeptical when someone offers to fulfill dreams. My mother fell for skeevy smiles more times than I can count.
Phillip doesn’t wait for a response, instead turning to head in the direction of the parking garage with Ms. Weaver.
“Are they a couple?” Jake asks when they’re out of earshot.
“I don’t think so. He doesn’t wear a wedding band and she does. But I guess it’s possible. He doesn’t have to wear a band.” I give it some thought. “They don’t act like a couple at work, so I don’t think so.”
We’re halfway across the street, and I’m about to state the obvious, that just because they both parked in the company parking garage doesn’t mean they’re together, when Jake says, “Well, two somebodies are getting it on in your office.”
“What?” Now this is the juice that makes office life interesting.
I’ve always worked remotely, so any ARGUS gossip is basically prehistoric by the time it reaches me. All the juice is long gone.
“Who?” I ask when he fails to dish.
“How the hell should I know? I couldn’t see faces, only the backs of two men and one flapping shirttail.”
“Ohhh…” I wonder who I’ve come into contact with that’s doing the wild thing. “Wait? Where? How’d you see? In an office?” I practically squeak.
“Second floor.”
“Ah. That makes sense. The floor’s empty.”
“Empty floor’s a security nightmare,” Jake mutters. “Perfect for meetings you don’t want recorded. Or activities you don’t want witnesses to. No one’s on the floor?”
“No one. I asked about it. Was told that they had a pretty big layoff in January.”
“Did they have some troubles around then?” He holds the door for me to enter, but I hesitate.
“They did. One of their funds went under, the one Reed was in.” There’s a doorman behind the entry, and I wait, one foot on the sidewalk, one in the lobby. “Do you want to go for a walk? I’m not ready to re-enter AC.”
“Sure.” Jake gestures to the doorman. “Want to drop off your backpack and jacket with Larry? We’ll pick it up on the way up.”
Larry clearly hears him as he smiles and taps the counter. “You can leave it right here if you’ll be right back. Or I can store it behind the desk. I’ll be here until five.”
“Oh, we’ll be back before then. Thanks, Larry. I’m Daisy.”
“Nice to meet you, Daisy. You two have a delightful walk. Gorgeous day.”
Outside, I glance up at the Sterling facade, a sheen of black against the harsh glare of the sun.
“How do you see inside?” I ask Jake.
“Depends on the angle of the sun. Most of the day, I don’t have an issue. It’s right about now and for about the next hour that the angle of the sun seriously impacts visibility.”
We take a few steps down and I can’t stop taking in the mirror-like facade against the blue backdrop. It is a beautiful day. There’s an energy, a zest that comes with early dismissal, something I never felt before because this summer Friday concept doesn’t penetrate upstart culture.
And then another thought comes. I was going to go into the office on Saturday. But there’s no need to wait. No one will hang out in an office on a day like today.
The sun lightly burns my skin, the sensation welcome after being trapped indoors, and I tilt my head back, soaking it in.
“What does Sterling want you to make happen?”
“Oh, an algorithm that predicts fluctuations in cryptocurrency, like Bitcoin.”
“Doesn’t that already exist?”
“Yes and no. A lot of the tools exist to predict changes in the stock market. But crypto is like the Wild West since technically anyone can create a cryptocurrency. So predicting what’s going to be the next big thing, or what’s going to go up and down, would be worth a fortune.
If I could create such a program, I’d be the billionaire sitting in an executive suite.
But, with the right information and direction, I can create a system to provide a likelihood assessment.
What Phillip wants me to build is provocative; I just don’t know if it’s realistically possible,” I explain as we walk.
“You gonna do it?”
I shrug, kicking at a lone rock sitting atop the concrete.
“Yeah, I’ll play around with it. It’ll give me a chance to better understand how he’s structuring the funds.
What he’s doing to get his promised returns.
And I want to buy time to meet more of the employees.
Especially the sales staff. Learn more about who they are targeting.
If I find the right one… They’re a talkative bunch.
” Weirdly outgoing. “So I’m optimistic.”
“You’re jonesed about the project, aren’t you?”
“Meh.” I hesitate, admitting the appeal feels like cheating on ARGUS, on Rhodes, or even on my cause—hunting down the rat bastards who hoodwinked Reed. “He’s paying me well.”
“Right. Well, whatever he’s paying you, I bet it’s a fraction of what it would cost him to outsource.”
Hmm. Good point.
Sterling’s algorithm project tugs at me like a puzzle I can’t resist. It’s exactly the kind of challenge that would normally have me coding until 3 a.m., surviving on energy drinks and the rush of cracking something everyone else thinks is impossible.
But the shadiness of cryptocurrency makes my stomach churn.
I’m not one to compromise ethics for an interesting problem.
“Military does that shit all the time. Outsource to ‘save’ money.” He leans closer to me as he air quotes the word save. “And then you get wind that the little cost-saving outfit caught a billion-dollar contract.”
“Well, he’s not outsourcing. It’s all in-house. Said I could hire additional employees, which is intriguing. He has the space for new hires, but I don’t know where he’s getting the money, especially after his last fund collapsed.”
“Why’s he holding onto an entire floor if he’s not using it?”
“My guess is it’s a long-term lease, but I should look at that.”
I stop on the sidewalk.
“No one’s gonna be in there this afternoon. I left my headphones on purpose. Want to go back in there with me?”
“Sure thing, if you think it’s cleared out. I need to install surveillance. You can point out the offices of those that you think would be worth monitoring.”
“I don’t think these guys are stupid enough—” Jake side eyes me.
I can’t actually see his eyes, because he’s got these Tom Cruise Top Gun shades on, but I read him without him saying a word.
What he’s thinking is, it’s more likely that an employee will slip and mention something in a closed door, private conversation, than that I’ll find incriminating documents uploaded on the network.
“Point made.”
He grins, clearly noting his win. “Should we go now?”
“Well, it’s probably cleared out now, but maybe we’ll give it another hour to be sure? They already did the rounds, pushing people out.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird? I thought companies liked for people to work late.”
We resume walking in the direction of a nearby park.
“It is weird. And Ms. Weaver made a comment yesterday about working late, but I guess in the summer maybe…and, well, this is Virginia.”
“What does that mean?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Seems like the strict work ethics come from big cities.”
“Hey now.”
“You gonna try to tell me you jarheads never cut out early? That you work eighty-hour weeks?”
“First,” he stops me on the sidewalk. There’s basically no one out here. Everyone passing us is doing so in air-conditioned automobiles with the windows rolled up. “Not a jarhead. That’s the Marines. I’m Navy. Second, you owe your security to those in the military.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Bad joke.”
“Damn straight.”
“If you loved it so much, why’d you leave?”
He rounds the corner and it could be my imagination, but I’m pretty sure his skin reddens around his neck and ears. It could be the heat.
“It was time.”
His jaw tightens. The slight stiffening of his shoulders, the way his eyes dart away—whatever happened, it still cuts deep.
“Let’s head back,” he bites out, and we turn, retracing our steps.
In silence, we return to the condo and he preps. Jake’s backpack looks ordinary, but as he loads it, the contents scream professional: tiny cameras, audio devices, lock picks, and equipment I can’t even identify. This isn’t his first unauthorized entry.
“You really want to do this? Go back in there this afternoon?” The words tumble out before I fully think them through.
Jake’s grin is sharp. “Absolutely. It’s time to think like someone who wants answers. Besides, if I run into any problems, it gives me the weekend to obtain whatever materials I need.”