“Detective Gold,” he said with that same smile. “Back so soon?”
“Yes, I hope that’s okay. I have a few more questions, based off of something I found in Mr. Perkins’s office. Do you mind?”
“I’ll see what I can do. What have you got?”
She took the list of names from the pocket of her jacket and handed it over to him. “I found these names on a pad in his office. I was wondering if you could tell me who they are. I assumed they might be clients of his.”
White looked at the list for about two seconds before he started nodding. “That’s exactly what this is. Looks like some of his more high-profile clients. In fact, this man right here, Stanley Umbridge, lost his entire life savings during the crash. He moved his family down to Virginia last week. Came in yelling and screaming but by the time the whole ordeal was over, he was crying into Alfred’s arms.”
“By any chance, would you be able to point me to some of the documents concerning these clients? I don’t know if you’re aware or not, but his office is sort of—”
“A mess, right?” White interrupted. “But damn if he didn’t know where everything was. No matter what you asked him for, he would get it for you in under a minute. But as for these men…you should find everything you need in a binder that’s inside his desk—a drawer right there at the bottom. It’s a thick, black one. He showed it to me several times while we were discussing numbers as we smelled the crash coming along.”
“Thanks so much,” Ava said. She left the office and returned to the office further down the hall. Now that she knew what to look for, she ignored the stuffed mess of Perkins’s bookshelf. She opened up the bottom drawer of his desk and found it in much better shape than the bookshelf. There were several folders and binders in the drawer, filed and organized neatly.
There were several black folders, but only one that fit the thick description White had given her. She removed it and found out at once that she had the right folder. Inside were several pages of documents attached to one another, the first page labeled with each client’s name. Much of the work on the pageswere hand-written, only a few here and there having been typed up. Just like the majority of papers on his desk, it was mostly numbers and terms that Ava wasn’t familiar with.
She set it to the side, wondering how hard it would be to take the binder with her. Would White let her take it? Would Miller get upset that she’d made such a decision on her own? She still thought there might be some answers hiding in the numbers somewhere and hated to leave the binder behind.
She was about to shut the drawer when she saw a single sheet of paper, all by itself. It was sitting where the binder had been, making her assume it had fallen out. She reached in and took it, a plain sheet of white paper. It was slightly crumpled but the contents were still easy to read.
It was a letter, dated four months ago, from a man named George Albrecht. She read over it and managed to get the basic idea even though it was littered with industry jargon that went over her head. And when she thought she did understand what the letter was saying, she read it again just to be sure—because if shewasreading it correctly, the implications could be enormous. One passage in particular caught her eye and, she thought, might be something of a smoking gun. That passage read:
As you know, investors change their minds on investments all of the time, often as frequently as every day or so. I do not believe anyone would so much as blink an eye if a few investors in your arena brought their money and attention over to a newer and more exciting investment like the construction of the Chrysler Building. Naturally, no one would have to know of your involvement. Even your employers would not be privy to any matters you and I discuss. Any money you stand to lose in sending investors to my team would be recouped once their business was firmly in place on my end.
From what she could tell, Albrecht was one of the developers at the Chrysler Building. Several times throughout the letter, he referred to “my team” as he went into detail about how he, Albrecht, wanted to work with Alfred Perkins to pull investors away from work and interest at the 40 Wall Street building and point them and their money over to the Chrysler Building. A closing note also suggested that this letter was not the first Albrecht had sent to Perkins.
She felt certain that taking the note, or the binder for that matter, would be crossing lines. Still, the letter was particularly damning, so she folded it and placed it into the inner pocket of her jacket. It showed a direct connection between competitors, and one that Perkins had clearly been trying to hide. Because the binder wouldn’t be so easy to conceal, she placed it back into the drawer and left the office.
On her way out, she stopped by White’s office one more time. This time when he responded to her knock she could see aggravation in his face. She didn’t blame him, really. This was, after all, the third time she’d interrupted him today.
“I’m sorry,” she said, not even bothering to walk in through the doorway. “I was just wondering what you know about a man named George Albrecht?”
“I don’t know the man all that well, but I do know he’s one of the primary developers over at the Chrysler Building. There’s maybe a dozen or so men pushing the money around on that building and from what I hear, Albrecht is probably the most relatable. He’s wealthy, but not in that way that makes him think he’s better than anyone. Know what I mean? From what I hear, he’s one of the few developers that actually shows up on-site to see how things are going.”
“Have you ever worked with him at all?”
White chuckled and shook his head. “No, not me.”
“And do you know if Mr. Perkins had any ties with him?”
White thought about it for a moment but shook his head at this, too. “If he did, I wasn’t aware of it. And I honestly can’t think of why Alfred would have had any reason to associate with him.” He shrugged sadly and added: “Of course, it could be a friend-of-a-friend sort of situation. Do you mind if I ask why?”
She didn’t want him to know that she’d taken the letter so she decided not to even mention it—especially considering the content of it. But she also didn’t see the point of flat out lying. “I saw the name in some of his notes and thought it sounded familiar. I was just wondering. And with that, I’ll leave you alone. Thanks again for all of your help.”
She got back into the elevator and headed down to the main lobby. On her way out, she paused by the large front desk as a thought popped into her head. She approached the woman she’d spoken with earlier and tried on her very best smile.
“I need to make a call,” she said. “Does this building still use party lines?”
“No, Detective,” the woman said, sounding quite proud. “We’ve had access to direct-calling for about five months now. And of course, the people we call will also need to have direct calling for it to work. It still has its bugs here and there, but it seems to work fine most of the time. Can I make a call for you?”
She took the letter out of her pocket and looked at the letterhead it had been written on.Fulton and Donner Enterprises.
“Do you have Fulton and Donner Enterprises in your directory?”
“I believe we do,” the receptionist said, pulling over a large journal-type book with several hand-written contact numbers. She scanned the pages for about thirty seconds and tapped it in delight. “Right here. I can make that call for you if you like.”
“Yes, I’d appreciate that.”