Chapter 31
Thirty-One
Alex
Our house in Westchester is empty and feels stark, like it’s missing any sense of home.
I don’t know why I only realize that now.
It doesn’t take long to strip the safe of valuables and pack bags for Vicky and myself. She already has her suitcases, but if she returns to my Manhattan apartment without them, she’ll need something to wear.
I don’t plan to stop by Carol’s before we leave. Not after DeLuca’s veiled threats.
The clock is ticking, and I’m feeling twitchy. It’s time to leave.
The bedroom is untouched since I found her ring on a piece of white paper. The bathroom still has a towel on the floor. She’s not been back.
Our house. My apartment. And I can’t imagine Vicky would’ve been happy here, not really. Changes need to be made, and I’m going to make them.
The day is spent running errands. Meeting with Daniel and checking on progress. Cleaning out the apartment and collecting our passports. Ensuring a flight is chartered for this evening.
Mid-afternoon, I drop Vicky a text.
I know I said I’d collect you this evening, but something’s come up. I’m sorry I won’t be able to, but I am coming, though it’ll be late. I’ll explain then.
She doesn’t reply, and I can’t really blame her. Not when I have a track record of breaking promises. Something else that will change in our new life together.
Persuading her to come with me won’t be easy.
Hell, I’d abduct her if I could. Drug her, put her on the plane, wake her up when she’s safe. Maybe tie her to a bed first, and explain everything while she’s forced to listen. Then have some fun with her.
That sounds like such a good solution I begin to fantasize about it, but I can’t force her onto a plane—drugged or otherwise—much though I might like to. Not even with a private flight. Not when we’re traveling internationally.
I head to the office for six, and everyone else is leaving. Rita’s waiting in the reception area, leafing through a magazine. She sees me and gives a subtle shake of her head. Coast not clear.
The executive floor is quiet, but there are still some people around.
Two pass me on their way out, giving me a nod.
I’d prefer not to be seen, but it’s unavoidable.
Yet we can’t afford too long a delay; what I have in mind will take time, and I’ve scheduled the flight for eleven tonight. There’s a lot to do before then.
I walk past Rita and head down the hallway toward DeLuca’s office to see what the problem is.
There’s a cleaning trolley parked outside the door opposite his, and that one’s open.
This is both an inconvenience and an opportunity; I don’t want to be seen going into DeLuca’s office, but I do need to get in.
It’ll be a lot easier if I can use the cleaner’s access, rather than the tried-and-tested route of forcing the lock that I’d assumed would be necessary.
Sometimes the simplest routes are best.
I wave to Rita to get her attention, summoning her, then put my head around the open door.
“Evening. Have you seen Marco DeLuca?”
“Mr. DeLuca leave already,” the woman says, her accent thick. She’s dressed in a cleaning uniform, middle-aged, overweight, stooped with the physical labor of her work. Her access badge is clipped to her belt on an extendable cord.
“You’re Spanish?” I ask in that language.
She gives me a demure smile. “Sí, senor.”
“Beautiful country. I haven’t been in years, but it’s always held a warm place in my heart.”
“Your Spanish is very good, senor Reyes,” she says in her own language, pausing in her cleaning to give me an appraising look.
“My family is originally from there.”
Rita walks up, eyebrows raised, giving me an I-didn’t-know-you-spoke-Spanish look.
“I’m from Cáceres,” the woman continues. “In the west.”
“Sorry, I don’t know it.” I give her a disarming smile, and she returns it.
“No one does, senor. It’s famous for the old city… and pigs. They filmed Game of Thrones there. Did you watch that?”
“No, I’m sorry.” I let my tone turn disappointed. “It’s irritating, I left a document in Marco’s office, and I need it for tonight.” A shake of my head. “It’s locked, isn’t it?”
“Sí, senor. But…” She pulls her access badge from her belt, its cord stretching, and lifts her eyebrows at me.
“Oh, would you?” I say, letting hope and gratitude shine through.
“One moment.”
I step aside as she crosses to DeLuca’s door, touching her badge to the handle. It clicks unlocked, and she opens it for me. There’s no one else around.
“Gracias, guapa.”
She blushes, laying a hand on her chest, then touching my arm. “You are a charmer.” She wanders back into the office opposite, while I stop DeLuca’s door closing with my toe.
Rita walks in. I check again that no one is around, save for my friendly cleaning lady, and follow, softly closing the door behind me.
“Fluent Spanish? I shouldn’t be surprised,” Rita murmurs. “Not just a pretty face.”
“It opens the door, but it doesn’t keep me in the room.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I grin as I slip behind DeLuca’s desk. A flick of his mouse, and his computer awakes. I look expectantly at Rita.
“All right. Try Immired714.”
“Try?” I echo. I type it in anyway.
“I saw it once, from across the desk,” she replies defensively. “Yours I’ve seen dozens of times.”
“Shit. ‘Your password is incorrect. Try again.’”
“Okay… Immured? Same numbers.”
“Still nothing.” I thump the edge of the desk. “This is my last chance, Rita. I need to get in here tonight.”
“Patience, Alex. There aren’t many options.” She closes her eyes, as if she’s recalling watching DeLuca type it in. “Inmured. Inmured714. Try that.”
“Doesn’t it mean to be imprisoned?” I ask as I enter it.
“It’s going to work, isn’t it?” she says.
And it does. “Yeah. I’m in.” I open up DeLuca’s folders. “And didn’t he join in July 2014?”
“Such a happy working relationship. I’ll be right outside.”
I meet her eyes over the top of the monitor. “Thank you, Rita.”
“You’re welcome.” She turns and walks for the door, then pauses with her hand on the handle. “That’s the second time you’ve thanked me since I worked here. The first was yesterday.”
With that damning comment, the door closes behind her, and I focus on DeLuca’s files.
I don’t need much, just proof of anything that could implicate Northbridge, and be used to keep Fournier at bay.
With DeLuca’s seniority, his Company connections, and his oversight of so many projects, he has to know where the bodies are buried.
Whether he keeps that on this computer is the risk in my plan.
That, and I don’t know what I’m looking for.
The minutes tick by, and I’m working as fast as I can, conscious that despite the late hour, anyone could come along.
There are dozens of clients, each with their own folder.
Greenstone is here, Origin Enterprises too, but I steer clear of those, not wanting to choose something directly connected to me.
But Aetheris Pharmaceuticals catches my eye, and I remember it as a large project, even if it wasn’t mine. Large enough to draw Company interest.
The folder’s massive, with dozens of files within it. I settle in DeLuca’s chair and begin working my way through. I glance once at the time; six twenty. This is going to take ages, and I still have to get to Vicky, persuade her, and reach JFK for the flight at eleven.
“Rita,” someone says outside the door.
“Hi Charlotte.”
“Working late?”
“Always.”
I try to focus, ignoring them. Charlotte is one of our other partners, though not in the Company. Could she have a genuine reason for coming into DeLuca’s office? I can’t think of one, but make sure every movement is quiet.
“Alex never sleeps, huh?” Charlotte says.
“He’s driven.”
Charlotte’s voice lowers. “And how is he when he… sleeps?”
“Peaceful, I expect,” Rita replies dryly.
“Oh, I’m sure. Gosh, if I were ten years younger and in your role… I’d be working late with Alex every night.”
“Have a good evening, Charlotte.”
“You too, Rita. You too.”
Footsteps fade away, and I shake my head and get back to it.
Twenty minutes later, I hit paydirt. An engagement letter from Sentinel Risk during the live deal process, detailing intelligence gathering on target management.
It’s illegal, though not enough by itself.
But it’s proof there’s evidence to find.
I open an incognito browser and dump the whole file into a cloud drive account I’ve set up for the purpose.
I’ll go through the rest of it when I have time.
For now, I want more.
Stonegate Financial Holdings. There’s a letter from Calder and Armitage discussing regulatory findings—with language implying it was buried.
It’s enough to add it to my list. Blueforge Data Systems. Connections to Sentinel Risk for shorting a position ahead of the announcement.
That’s dynamite. I read no further, but send it to myself.
I have three transfers underway, but they’re taking a while, each a few gigs of data. It might be enough; it might not. I won’t know what I’ve got until I can go through it all, and that’ll take days.
Then another folder draws my attention: Ironvale Capital. Not only was it recent, but I’m certain Northbridge’s CEO mentioned it at the Company meeting I attended with DeLuca. If there’s more, this’ll be the one.
I glance at the clock; time’s slipped away. It’s already seven forty-five.
Fifteen more minutes, I tell myself.
Yet it only takes five of those to find the most damning evidence yet.
Across multiple documents, there’s clear evidence that Northbridge, Sentinel Risk, and Armitage and Calder operated as a coordinated enterprise to commit fraud across multiple transactions.
Exactly what the Company is designed to do—except it’s also known as racketeering.
That’s twenty-year sentences, seizure of assets, and opens the door to civil suits by anyone damaged by Cadrion Holdings.
It’s not merely a smoking gun, it’s the nuclear option. More than I could’ve dreamed.