“Patching?”
“When someone forges something, often they’ll touch up a faulty stroke or writing feature, like the extra flair on the G in George’s signature.”
“Let’s go.” He circled his desk and marched to the door, yanking it open with enough force to startle his secretary on the other side.
“Where are we going?” A wary edge hardened Ryder’s alto voice.
He didn’t care. This wasn’t just some case to him. This was his life. “To the old man’s office.”
…
A frazzled woman in her mid-forties sat at Sarah Molina’s desk outside George’s office. Powered by righteous indignation, Devin didn’t even pause to ask for entry before barreling through the double doors leading to his boss’s inner sanctum.
“I’ll do the talking,” he snarled over his shoulder to Ryder.
The old man sat behind his desk, the phone receiver pressed to his ear.
He glared at Devin and Ryder. “Yes, of course, I really appreciate this, Louis. Devin and his personal assistant will be taking the company jet out first thing in the morning. Dylan’s Department Store is thrilled to finally have a presence at Andol Fashion Week. And as for that other thing, I cannot thank you enough.”
The Andol Republic was an island nation off the cost of Chile. Small but influential in the world of fashion, in the same way as Cannes to the world of film.
Bristling with energy that begged for an outlet, Devin forced himself to be still. He’d fought too fucking hard to put the act-first, reason-second mentality behind him to give in now. Next to him, he could practically feel Ryder humming with excitement like a vibrating bed in a cheap motel. To her this was just a case and she thought she’d nailed it. Behind them the secretary hovered in the doorway, too nervous or scared to come in any farther.
George hung up the phone. “This had better be damn good for you to barge in here when I’m on the phone with The Andol Republic’s cultural minister.”
Lightning lit the sky behind him.
“I’m sorry, sir.” A thunderclap drowned out the rest of the soft-spoken secretary’s apology.
“It’s not your fault, Suzie. By the looks of him, it would have taken a dozen navy SEALs to keep him out.” He jerked his chin toward the door. “Why don’t you take an early lunch?”
“But Mrs. Molina’s notes said not to take a lunch until you did, and even then to eat it quickly in the break room.”
“Well, Mrs. Molina is out sick, so I guess that means I’m in charge, and I’m giving you an early lunch. Why don’t you go check out the new cafe that just opened up next to housewares on the sixth floor? I imagine the tomato basil soup would really hit the spot on a day like today.”
Another lightning bolt exploded in the distance. Devin counted while the secretary backed out of the room. One. Two. Boom! The thunder shook the plate glass window. He’d have to call and check in on James soon. The lightning storms that used to fascinate his little brother now frightened him. Too often the nurses found him hiding under his bed during storms like this.
The door clicked shut, bringing Devin back to the here and now. The
red flush in the old man’s cheeks didn’t make an impact—he’d learned a long time ago that George was all bluster and no bang.
He’d hustled into the CEO’s corner office without pausing to figure out what in the hell he was going to say. It wasn’t like he could come out and tell his mentor that the obviously-off-her-rocker investigator thought George had embezzled from his own company. Devin rubbed his palm against his close-cropped hair and opened his mouth.
Ryder stepped forward. “Can you explain why your signature ended up on all these false reimbursement requests?” She handed the manila folder to George.
The old man quirked an eyebrow but accepted the folder.
What the hell? Devin whipped his head around so fast it almost rolled off his neck. He’d told her to let him do the talking. This was his show, dammit. “I told her the whole idea is ridiculous.”
George held up his palm for silence as he ran his finger down the center of each page. After a few minutes, he sighed and softly closed the folder. “It looks to me as though my faith in Maltese Security is not unfounded. It seems you’ve found our embezzler.”
The shock of his statement almost snapped Devin’s head back.
“My arthritis has made signing documents tedious, and I had a signature stamp made up years ago that I keep locked in my desk. Only two people have the key. Myself and my executive assistant, Sarah Molina.” George picked up a single sheet of paper from his desk and handed it to Ryder. “You need to see this. I found this in my inter-company mail this morning. It was deposited two days ago, but got lost in the mailroom. I was going to give it to you after my call with The Andol Republic’s cultural minister. You’ll understand why as soon as you read it. Why don’t you do that out loud?”
She glanced down. Her brown eyes rounded and her chin jerked up.
George slumped back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Go on. Get it over with.”