Chapter 32 #2
“No. He left without anyone approaching him. It was… You know, this is social media. There was no authority there—”
“Jillian.”
The silence between the two of them sucks the oxygen right out of the room we’re in. Who is she speaking to?
“You said you don’t know who tampered with the presentation. Is that correct?”
“Yes. Phillip’s working on it.”
“Phillip? You don’t learn, do you?”
“This isn’t—”
“I’m done with this.”
“Bennett–”
“No. I’m done. Sterling Financial is closing.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Have you ever known me to not mean what I say?”
“I can make this right.”
“You’ve done quite enough.”
“Please. Give me a chance. I can fix this.”
“I’ll tell you what. You reach out to Phillip. Tell him to go to the hangar.”
“Why? What–”
“You want to make this right? Call him. Tell him I expect him to be on a plane leaving this country. I don’t want him speaking to any authorities. I don’t want him answering any questions. Do you understand me?”
“Where are you sending him?”
“Does it matter?”
“I need to tell him what to pack.”
“Tell him he’ll take the plane to New York, and from there he’ll be headed to Saint Kitts to wait this out.”
“Why Saint Kitts?”
“Because if you tell him the truth he won’t go. Tell him to be at the hangar within three hours. And remind him it’s nonextradition.”
“Tonight?”
“Do you want him answering questions?”
“No. You’re right.”
“Can I trust you with this?”
“Yes. Thank you for giving me a chance—”
“Do not call me again. Not from the office, from your cell, do not email me, do not—”
“Bennett—”
“Jillian, do you understand?”
“Please let me make this right. I can fix this.”
“Goodbye, Jillian.”
“Wow.” Brie pops her lips. “That was quite the exchange. Who was she talking to?”
Quinn, who is on speaker, answers, “The number traces to New York. Private cell. Unlisted. It’ll take me a bit to get the origin.”
“New York headquarters,” I say. “His half-brother’s name is Bennett. That has to be who Jillian was speaking with.”
Jillian Weaver’s voice comes back through the speaker playing on Jake’s laptop.
“Phillip. Call me back. You need to leave town tonight. You need to be at the hangar by eight.”
“She left a voicemail,” I comment to the room. “Who leaves voicemail?”
Jake points at his screen. “She’s tapping out a message. She’s backing it up with a text.”
“Do you have access to her messages?”
“Not on here. But Quinn,” Jakes asks, “You do, right?”
“She’s using an encrypted app. I can’t see those messages without her phone in hand.”
“What do you think he’s going to do? Ship him out of the country?”
Brie pulls out a kitchen table chair and sinks into it. “If I were to bet, he’s going to make it look like he fled the country and then eliminate him.”
Brie says it matter of factly; like she’s discussing her experience with an app.
“Which countries did you trace connections?” Noah asks.
“Singapore,” I say, visualizing the dead CFO’s photograph. “I think they used those entities to increase purchase volume on memes they wanted to pump and dump. I suspect they have connections to an entity in Cambodia, but it could just be a currency route—nothing significant.”
Noah snaps his fingers. “That’s where they’ll send him. That’s why he said if he knew the truth he wouldn’t go. Feds will track his itinerary to Cambodia, he’ll look guilty as hell, and it’ll be easy to eliminate him. If he goes missing, no one’s even going to look for the body.”
“But you realize what this means, right? If this guy is the one calling the shots, and Weaver is begging him to let her fix it, then…how likely is it that Sterling is the one responsible for the deaths?”
“Unsure,” Jake says. “But this is when we let the authorities take over. This is a full-fledged criminal investigation.”
He leans forward and taps my coffee mug again. “Good job.”
I hear what he’s saying, but I’ve lost my appetite for champagne. Maybe it’s because it seems we just heard plans hatched to eliminate yet another person. Or maybe it’s because I’m realizing that the guilty parties could still come out of this unscathed.
Jake holds a finger up in the air, his gaze locked on the monitor. “She’s got a phone to her ear.”
Jillian’s voice comes through Jake’s laptop speaker. “Phillip?”
“You spoke to him?” Sterling asks.
“Yes.”
“How angry?”
“It’s bad. You saw my message? He wants to send you away so the authorities can’t interview you.”
“You believe him?”
“That he doesn’t want you being interviewed? Yes.”
“And where exactly is he planning to send me?”
“St. Kitts.”
“You don’t actually believe he’s going to send me to his personal vacation villa, do you?”
Silence spreads. In the apartment, and on the line between Phillip and Weaver.
“For Christ’s sake, Phillip, St. Kitts is nonextradition. That’s all this is. You need to move before someone shows up at your door.”
“His private hangar?”
“Yes. You’ll take the small plane to New York. Fly in the corporate jet. You’ll be gone before customs flags you. It’s probably an unnecessary precaution, I doubt anyone’s moving that quickly to flag you but, just to be safe.”
“Are you coming?”
“No. Someone has to stay here to clean up this mess. Do you know who altered the presentation?”
“No. My first thought was Jonas, but she was as shocked as me.”
“I’ll figure it out. You go pack.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Bring security with you if you’re worried.”
“Good idea. Thanks, Jillian. What a clusterfuck.”
“You can say that again.”
The call ends, and Jake announces, “That’s it. She’s closing up, turning off the lights.”
“You think that’s it?” I ask.
“Probably. I’ll watch her on the feed until she exits the building.”
Brie and Noah are chatting, but I’m not listening too closely.
Jake sits behind his laptop, presumably watching the surveillance views of the office across the street.
Notifications light my phone, sometimes in such fast succession I can’t keep up.
I lose interest and go to the window as an unease settles.
It’s a familiar enough sensation. But I usually get it when I’ve deployed an update after passing testing.
There’s a bug in the code, and with enough tests in the right conditions, everything’s going to break.
That’s the sensation, and what it tells me is that something’s off.
If the investigators believe Sterling is the culprit, how deeply will they investigate? Sterling didn’t sound like a man who orders murders. Maybe that’s the piece that’s bothering me the most. This Bennett guy sounds like he would, but I can’t be positive. If Sterling winds up dead…
“You’re thinking too hard,” Jake says, coming up behind me.
“Am I?”
“Yeah. For tonight, just let yourself feel good about what we accomplished.”
I lean back against his chest, allowing myself this moment of closeness.
“We won,” Jake says.
He’s right. We did. Sort of. It’s a partial win.
“Should we be doing something to protect Sterling?”
“Not sure how we would without exposing our hand. Guy thinks he’s heading for a tropical vacation.”
Jake’s right. We don’t have anything to prove otherwise, other than common sense.
“We could go to the hangar; be sure they aren’t planning on—”
“They won’t kill him on American soil. Especially on property they own. The hangar he’s mentioning is property owned by Sterling Financial. After everything that happened today, they’re not going to be down for a blatant murder on their property. Besides, we heard the plan.”
He’s right. We heard the plan. It still doesn’t sit well.
“We won. It’s time to relax and appreciate the win.”
Perhaps Jake’s right. Tomorrow’s Sunday, and while the online world will be a flutter, it’s doubtful there will be any action. Sterling will likely leave the country, which will make an investigation more likely. The company’s done. Sterling won’t hurt anyone else again.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?”
“For having my back up on the stage.”
His arms tighten around me. “Always.”
Outside, pedestrians stroll along the sidewalk, unaware that one of the area’s most powerful predators has finally been caged. It feels like I’ve claimed vindication for Uncle Alvin. Righted wrong. It’s time to be happy. To relax. I should be happy and relaxed.
The faded blue of the dried-out swimming pool in the Hollywood Dreams motel turned apartment complex flashes, complete with the green-tinged amorphous puddle in the deep end.
No, if something can go wrong, it will.
As if on cue, Brie says, “Daisy, your phone’s lighting up. Sterling messaged you. He wants you to call him.”