Only the devil, p.24
Only the Devil, page 24
“Did you know the presentation would be recorded?”
He smiles. “Boss is thorough. In this day and age, someone getting video was a safe bet. Check the posts — angles all over the auditorium.”
My phone buzzes.
Brie
You’re a legend.
We all are. Team effort.
Brie
I’m bringing champagne.
I glance at Noah, who’s checking his own phone, and give him a heads up. “Brie’s on her way.”
“Copy that. Jake’s fifteen minutes out.”
I can’t stop watching the feeds, can’t stop refreshing social media to see the latest posts. Financial analysts are calling for investigations.
We did this. We took down a man related to one of the Wall Street untouchables. The sensation feels like reaching the highest level in a game. Mental confetti floats all around us.
The front door opens, and Jake walks in, still in his black suit but with his tie loosened. He looks tired but satisfied, like a predator who’s finally cornered his prey and partaken.
“How bad is it for him?” I ask without preamble.
“Bad.” Jake moves to the window, checks the street below out of habit, then turns back to me. “His lawyers are talking about damage control, but the crypto evidence you embedded in that presentation? That’s federal crime territory. Wire fraud, securities violations, potentially money laundering.”
“And murder? The suspicious deaths?”
“Cases will be opened. Guaranteed. Quinn’s contact thinks the FBI will want to investigate or at least assist with the local authorities. Multiple states means it’s FBI jurisdiction.”
I sink onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. “So it’s over.”
Jake studies my face. “How do you feel about that?”
“Honestly? Relieved. And terrified. And...” I twist my ring for the thousandth time. “It feels like I’m dreaming. Like it didn’t really happen. Or he’s going to weasel out of it. It’s not like he was led away in handcuffs.”
“Give it time.” Jake sits beside me, close enough that I can smell that sandalwood scent again. “Wheels of justice turn slow. You did good today. Real good.”
“I didn’t know he was bringing me up on stage. Who does that? No warning at all.”
“Someone with zero empathy. But you handled it. You did good.”
“We all did.”
“No, Daisy. You risked everything for justice. That takes guts.”
Brie bursts in. “Victory party!” she announces, brandishing champagne. “They’re calling it the biggest scandal since Theranos.”
She pops the cork while I watch the monitors.
“Based on futures, Monday morning will be a blood bath for Sterling Financial,” I report. “And get this—two former employees just came forward claiming they have evidence.”
“The dominoes are falling,” Noah observes.
“At least, if you can believe these posts on social media,” I add. In theory, any rando could comment.
Brie pops the champagne cork and starts pouring into coffee mugs—the only clean option in the rental’s minimalist kitchen. The few glasses sit dirty in the dishwasher, waiting for us to turn it on.
“To bringing down the bad guys,” she toasts.
“To not ending up in federal prison ourselves,” I counter.
Our ceramic mugs clink, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can breathe. The weight of pretending, of lying every day, of working for a person I knew wasn’t a good person—it’s lifting. The effect is slow, but as I take stock, I feel lighter.
“So what happens now?” Brie asks. “Do you go back to ARGUS?”
I glance at Jake, who’s watching me with an unreadable expression. We’ve got to talk after these guys clear out. What started between us was never supposed to be the kind of thing that continued past the convenient stage. But he’s worth inconvenience, and I know he feels the same way about me.
But to answer Brie, I say, “Yeah, I’ll go back to ARGUS. I owe Rhodes. It’s a rare boss who will stand by you after you kick ’em to the curb.”
“So is that San Francisco?” Brie’s question is natural curiosity.
Jake stills, his green eyes as dark as I’ve ever seen them. “You can work from wherever, right?”
“Are you expecting her to move wherever you go?” Brie asks in a way that sounds like she’s openly mocking him, but I’ve always rented so I could easily move. Everything about my life has been designed to be easily adjustable, down to refusing a partner position at ARGUS.
Unspoken messages float between Jake and I, but I’m not sure I’m reading them all correctly. Jake’s not one who is easy to misread, but maybe now I’m projecting my emotions.
“I guess we’ll figure it out as we go,” I say finally.
Jake frowns, and I want to say more, but we have people around us. Quinn messages again.
Quinn
Weaver’s in the office. Talking to someone. Planning.
Who’s she talking to?
Quinn
Not Sterling
I show my phone screen to Jake, and he jumps up and goes to his laptop, clicking away.
“What is it?” Brie asks.
“The head of human resources is talking to someone,” I say, moving closer to the kitchen table and Jake’s laptop.
He pulls up his surveillance interface.
“I didn’t know you can listen remotely.”
“Have never needed to as no one’s in the office outside of work hours. But any surveillance system has remote access capability.”
“And Quinn has access?”
“Well, we have two feeds. One is KOAN. The other is actually Sterling’s system, they’re just unaware. Ask Quinn which one she’s listening to. Confirm it’s Weaver’s office.” As my fingers tap the screen, Jake says, “Never mind. I got it.”
He taps, and Weaver’s voice comes through.
“Wait. This isn’t your personal cell. Where are you calling me from?”
The male voice isn’t one I recognize. She’s not speaking to Sterling, but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard this voice. I’d place it as older, distinguished. No noticeable accent.
“My office. No one’s here.”
Brie and Noah crowd the table.
“After today, no more.”
“We can handle–”
“Don’t be naive. Every phone you use will be tapped. Maybe not by Monday, but by the end of next week.”
“But you’ll stop–”
“You think I can stop this?” Whoever she’s talking to sounds pissed.
“Well, what are you going to do?”
“There’s nothing I can do, Jillian. Where’s Phillip? Is he with you?”
“No. I imagine he’s spinning.”
“Are the authorities with him?”
“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.”
CHAPTER 33
JAKE
Daisy takes the phone from Brie to read the message, and I look to my team, knowing we haven’t fleshed out this part of the plan.
“She shouldn’t call, right? Best to let him get on that plane, then email her resignation on Monday. No one will question her quitting after what happened today. There’s no evidence to connect her to the altered presentation. I’ll resign on Monday too, or maybe I’ll stick around through the end of the week to observe? Then we jump?”
“Makes sense,” Noah says. “Then we’re done here.”
Brie’s the one who crosses her arms and frowns. “She could potentially learn a lot if she returns to the office on Monday. What she observes could be useful for investigators. We’ve come this far. Why wouldn’t she take it through to the end?”
Because someone in that company might be the murderer—’cause we all know damn well Phillip Sterling didn’t risk his manicure. And a guy named Bennett sure as hell didn’t either.
“Phillip wants me to bring him some things he needs from the office. I just texted you the address of where I’m meeting him, but you have it already, right?”
Her question is ludicrous, but her voice is distant—and that’s when I realize she’s already halfway up the stairs, phone still in hand.
I glance at the address that came through. “He wants you to meet at the hangar? Absolutely not. His plan could be to force you onto the plane with him.”
