The P.U.R.E. Page 17

  Some shared words of warning: “Don’t burn any bridges.” “You might win the battle, but you’ll lose the war.” “Don’t go down with Jon’s ship.” “Don’t ruin it for the rest of us.” “If I have to take another sexual harassment seminar because of this, I’ll never forgive you.” “You shouldn’t shit where you eat.” “Love triangles and work make for bad juju.”

  Callie Oldham offered the last bit of advice—ironic coming from the woman who had admitted to going out with Doug.

  Their questions sucked up every minute of my hour. My head ached from being overstuffed with both bad and excellent advice by the time I stepped on the elevator.

  I presented myself in Jeff’s doorway at exactly nine o’clock.

  He stood as I hovered, his recruiter’s smile snapped into place. “Gayle?” He didn’t remember me from the Turner’s party. Good.

  “Yes.”

  He shook my hand. “Nice to meet you. Please have a seat.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk and shut his door. “I understand you believe you’ve uncovered some irregularities at Aphrodite.”

  “Yes, I do. I mean, I have.”

  “Why don’t you tell me what you think you found that looks out of order.” He clasped his hands in front of him.

  Okay, so mildly patronizing would be the chef’s special. I slipped on my blonde goggles and mentally prepped a meandering story that refused to follow a linear timeline.

  “If the engagement partner’s wife owned stock in our client, then that would mess up his independence, right?” I lifted my voice every few words as if questioning.

  “Yes, it would, but can you back up a bit and give me the details of what you found at Aphrodite first?”

  “Sure thing. I, like, found these documents that said five thousand shares of Aphrodite are owned by Dalrymple Beauty. Did you know Bob’s wife, Leslie, used to be Leslie Dalrymple before she married Bob? Dalrymple. You don’t hear that name everyday, do you? I suppose it’s British or Welsh or something, not that I’m any sort of expert being from Pygmy Viking stock myself.” I tacked on a nervous giggle more legitimate than any other sounds spewing from my mouth. I’d never be so flip with an employer under normal circumstances, but my job wheezed on life support. A brash move was my only hope of recovery.

  “I don’t know.” His placid expression remained locked in place. “What documents did you find?”

  “A stock sales agreement between Leslie and Libby and the Articles of Incorporation.” I nodded, wide-eyed, and gave him a goofy grin.

  “Where did you find these documents?” He straightened in his chair.

  Uh-oh. I needed to keep Jayna out of it. “Well, I was making copies and someone before me must have been making double-sided ones but mucked them up. Geesh, I do that all the time. Double-sided copies are better for the environment, but boy if you get the machine discombobulated … what a mess! So, whoever it was left several half-copied pages in the paper feeder. When I used the machine, those pages came out on the flip side of my copies.” I made manic gestures as I spoke to convey nervousness, disorganization and most of all, naiveté.

  “I see. How did you link those random scraps of information to Bob Turner?” He twisted his wristwatch toward his face.

  I leaned forward in my chair and amped up my enthusiasm as if building to an earth-shattering revelation. “I looked for the originals. Not an easy feat either, I tell you, but I found them in the filing room. I found the full articles of incorporation for Dalrymple. The articles listed Elizabethan Investments as the sole stockholder. Did you know Libby is short for Elizabeth?”

  “Yes, I did, but back to the documents, please.” His reserve sported a few cracks around the edges.

  I redoubled my efforts along the current trajectory. “Libby as in Libby Jameson, the founder of Aphrodite, you know.” I gave him my best ‘a-ha’ expression. Somebody just give me my Academy Award now.

  “Yes. I am acquainted with Ms. Jameson, but please continue.”

  “Right. Well, I found the articles of incorporation for Elizabethan too, and sure enough, Libby Jameson and Leslie Dalrymple, now Leslie Turner, owned the company fifty-fifty. Only ‘owned’ is the key word there because according to another document I found, Libby sold her shares to Leslie a few years ago. Leslie and Libby were Tri-Delta sisters at SMU. I rushed Tri-Delta at UT-Austin, but … well, never mind.”

  Jeff’s lips thinned a little.

  “So you concluded Leslie Turner owns five thousand shares of Aphrodite?”

  “Sure looks like it. Bob said he had no idea his wife owned those shares but said he’d check. He hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

  “When did you tell Bob this?”

  “Oh, gosh what was it, like four or five days ago, I guess. The other thing was those five thousand shares have a buyout option at eight hundred percent of face value. Wouldn’t that feature make them preferred shares?”

  “I wouldn’t know without reading the stock issuance agreement. Did you happen to run across the original documents for the five thousand shares?

  “I … don’t … think so. No. Just for the articles of incorporation. They mentioned the issuance terms in this paragraph right … here.” I placed a copy in front of him, the pertinent sections marked with my pretty pink highlighter pen.

  “Where did you say you found these documents?” He stroked his chin as if in thought.

  “In a file cabinet at Aphrodite.”

  “Did the prior auditors identify the shares as preferred?” His eyes tracked across and down the page.

  “No, they didn’t.”

  “Why do you suppose, in all the years they did the audit, they never picked up on the conversion terms?”

  “Beats me. Good thing Aphrodite hired us, right? Makes me wonder what else those guys missed.” Our gazes locked for a second. Mine broke away first.

  “Did you find anything else about the stock ownership of Aphrodite?”

  “That’s it. But what I found was pretty major stuff, don’t you think?” I was borderline impertinent. Time to dial it back a notch. “I mean, for Hoffman and Barrett to miss something, like, so material … pretty bad, right?”

  “Possibly, if what you found isn’t superseded information.”

  “Superseded?”

  “Yes. Leslie Turner might not own those shares any more. She might have sold them long before we took on Aphrodite as a client.” He offered an oily smile.

  “I suppose that’s possible,” I said in a small voice. Check but not mate. Jayna had already penciled in ‘100% proceeds to Leslie Dalrymple’ in her records.

  Jeff sighed loudly, making a big show of checking his watch. “Tell me about the inventory now.”

  “Sure thing. Aphrodite deliberately overstated the value.” I decided to continue with the blunt and clueless angle a while longer.

  “What makes you think the value is overstated and the misstatement done deliberately?”

  “Because my test counts didn’t tie in.” I went on to describe all the counts in exquisite detail.” Uh-oh. That may have sounded a bit too smart. Careful, Gayle.

  “Your test counts?”

  “Yes. I did the first inventory at the El Paso location.”

  “Had you ever done an inventory observation before?”

  I had anticipated he’d pursue the path of gross incompetence and hitchhiked a ride for shits and giggles. “No, this was my first. I brought the client donuts and all. They loved them, and it really seemed to smooth things over so they wouldn’t mind me too much, would be more willing to open up boxes and stuff. You know.” I wrinkled my nose and smiled as if thoroughly pleased with my ingenious plot to win the client’s trust with treats.

  “Donuts.”

  “I hope that was okay. I charged them on my expense report. Was that okay? I just assumed—”

  “Yes, Gayle, your donut-giving gesture didn’t violate any rules.” He motioned with his hand for me to calm down—like anyone would actually blow a he
ad gasket over donuts. “How can you be sure your test counts were complete though?”

  “What do you mean?” I blinked prettily.

  “What makes you so confident Aphrodite didn’t keep certain products in multiple locations and you only counted the one?”

  Kudos Jeff for sticking to your current line of reasoning. “Oh, well, gosh, I don’t. I just assumed they’d, like, try to keep the warehouse organized. You know, keep apples with apples and oranges with oranges?”

  “Your logic makes sense, but if they had recently moved product into the warehouse from production, they might not have had time to put it where it belonged.” Put a sweater on the man, and he might have doubled for TV’s Mr. Rogers.

  “I guess that could have happened. Gee, I feel a little foolish now.” I twisted my rings. I was nervous but not for the reasons Jeff probably assumed.

  He tilted his head to the side and smiled. “New hires are notorious for misinterpreting or jumping to premature conclusions. The important thing is to learn from your mistakes.”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  My eyes drifted across the surface of his desk. He had the same folder in front of him Sandy Gomez had the day before. Beneath my personnel information were the two Aphrodite audit files I’d tossed at Doug when he visited my apartment. To the left lay his planner, opened to the current date. I wondered if Jon had resumed reading through the copies I made.

  Jeff allowed the silence to settle, no doubt hoping the error of my ways would sink in. His telephone rang, interrupting our dramatic pause.

  “Sorry, I’ll just be a second. I’m expecting an important call.”

  “Oh sure. Do you need me to step out?” I pointed to his door.

  “No, stay where you are. I’ll be brief.” He picked up his phone. “Jeff Hardinger. Yes. Yes. He is. Okay. Where and when? That task will be done shortly … Mmm-hmm … Nope … Won’t be a problem. It was as you predicted.”

  He lifted his eyes to me as he talked. I averted mine and studied his office, taking in his awards, public offering acrylic paperweights, a college diploma from Baylor and his Texas CPA certificate. He didn’t have a single picture of his wife or family. He also wore no wedding ring. I wondered if his wife cared or wore hers.

  “Finish it up, then bring it to me tonight at my house, okay, so we can strategize beforehand. You’ve got my new address, right, in Richardson? Okay, good. I’ll see you later.”

  He hung up. “One more second.” He jotted ‘BT: bio/pic, Ron @ ALV @ 9.’, using the tiny scrawl I’d recognized.

  I had absolutely no idea what he meant, other than he had been speaking with BT—or Bob Turner.

  “Sorry for the interruption. Where were we then?” The oily smile made a repeat appearance.

  “Uh, I think we were talking about the El Paso inventory,” I said.

  “Oh, yes, and how you should learn from this experience.” He nodded at me. “Given we’ve discussed nothing of substance or concern, what do you propose we do?”

  Ha! He had moved on to the redirect and wrap-up, trying to get me to say, ‘Well golly gee Jeff, I’m so embarrassed. Can we forget the whole thing?’ I wasn’t going to let him maneuver out of my blonde chokehold that easily.

  “It might not seem like much yet, but—”

  “Alright then, Gayle, I appreciate your coming forward. Had this been a true fraudulent situation, your integrity would have proven invaluable.”

  “Thanks.” I remained in my chair awaiting his next questions. No point making his sham interview any easier for him than I already had.

  He stared at me for a few beats. “Thanks for coming in.”

  I rose and skulked out his door, Little Miss Submissive. He made no mention of the missing cash or the bogus sales, so neither would I. What was the point since he spent the entirety of the meeting trying to cast doubt on what I thought I knew?

  29

  Joy of joys. As soon as I left my meeting, the staffing coordinator paged me and tapped me for proofreading duty. My luck got even better because they assigned Tony as my partner for the day. A small part of me hoped I’d be fired before I had to spend too much time with him.

  My eyelids drooped after nearly three hours of tedium. Don Runyon came by shortly after noon to collect Tony for lunch. I’d not met Don before, but as soon as he told me he worked in the information technology specialized audit group, I transformed into his biggest groupie.

  “So, do you work with Jeff Hardinger much, Don?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, he’s the main partner for our group. Extremely smart.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder what Don had in common with Tony. Don seemed like a halfway decent guy.

  I brazenly flirted with him and wrangled an invitation to join him and Tony for lunch. As much as I loathed the idea of dining with Tony, the possibility of what I might milk from Don overrode my misgivings. With a wrinkle of my nose I hoped looked cute and maybe a little sexy, I accepted Don’s invitation to make his lunch date a threesome.

  My charms had the opposite effect on Tony, especially when I wedged between him and Don as we walked. Maybe he was afraid he would end up like Doug if Jon caught him with me. He sneered at me over Don’s head when I cut him out of the conversation. My she-devil instincts told me he was more jealous of Don’s attention than worried about Jon’s.

  As we ate cheap burgers and fries, Tony and Don revealed with mind-numbing clarity the basis of their friendship—an unapologetic zeal for video gaming. For nearly half an hour, the two men prattled about their latest online fantasy game before I finally snapped.

  “Don, do you do any type of forensic fraud auditing?” I asked when I could get a word in edgewise.

  “You mean like trying to recover erased computer files or find deleted emails, that sort of thing?”

  “Well, yeah, that, and also maybe hacking into password-secured data files?”

  He smiled and straightened in his chair. I’d obviously tapped into his forte. “Oh, hell yeah, those are the best jobs to get.”

  Even Tony perked up. “How’d you get into that group, Don?”

  “I have a minor in computer programming and took extra classes in auditing information systems. Anderson-Blakely recruited me directly into the division from Stanford.” Pride oozed from his every pore. Tony gaped like he’d had no idea of Don’s pedigree.

  After I’d allowed him enough basking time, I asked, “How hard is it to crack a password?”

  “Depends. If we’re going in after the person’s gone, the process can take a while. If the target still works for the company, we can put a keystroke capture program on their machine, and the next time they login, ta-da! We’re in.”

  “A keystroke program?” Tony saved me the trouble of asking.

  “Yeah, it runs undetected in the background, capturing key strokes with contextual references to help us find what we’re looking for quickly.”

  “How do you get the program onto their machine without them knowing?” I asked.

  “If the client can ‘push’ programs and updates to machines on its network, usually in the wee hours like Anderson-Blakely’s, we load it into the push queue. The next time he logs in to the network, the program automatically installs itself.”

  “Did Anderson-Blakely put keystroke programs on our machines?” I giggled and batted my eyelashes. “I wouldn’t want them to be able to follow me to some of the websites I visit, and no need to tell me I shouldn’t go there.” I brought out the big guns and gave Don a saucy double wink.

  “What, like Facespace or Tweeter?” Don winked back at me.

  I cast a coquettish sidelong glance. “I ain’t sayin’, but … maybe …”

  “Gayle, Gayle, Gayle, you’re probably already on our ‘monitor’ list if you’ve been up to that sort of mischief.” He winked again. “Now my curiosity’s piqued.”

  Oh, I’ll just bet. I wondered if I’d find new friend requests waiting for me the next time I logged in to my favorite social networking s
ites.

  Tony leaned in. “Who’s on the monitor list, and what types of stuff are you seeing?”

  Don leaned in too.

  So did I.

  “You did not hear this from me,” Don said.

  Tony and I both nodded furiously.

  “Do you guys know Dominic Montelvaldi?” We shook our heads. “He’s like this close to getting the ax because he’s been visiting porn sites—and not just the random ones you sometimes get in your email and accidentally click. Almost everyone’s logged a few of those. I’m talking about website after website.”

  I gasped for dramatic effect. Tony smirked, but he couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes. I wondered what websites he’d been visiting.

  “Who else?” I asked.

  “Hardinger’s got a program that captures the number of times you hit sites with certain key words on them. If you rack up too many of them, then bam, you’re on the list. He also adds people if HR requests an Internet usage report.”

  “Really? Are either Tony or I on the list? How about some of my other co-workers—Scarlett Siler, Doug Martin or Jon Cripps?” I pushed the envelope to the extreme by including Doug. I assumed he was familiar with Doug and Jon’s fight and possibly my sordid story too, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t sense any harm in asking in case he hadn’t.

  “What are you willing to offer in return to find out, Gayle?” His lids lowered, his version of bedroom eyes I supposed.

  I was in greater danger of yawning than succumbing to his masculine lures. Time to scrape off the excessive frosting, Gayle. “I’ll give you a hundred extra life points. You won’t find a better offer.” I chuckled and winked at him, my bribe one any gamer would appreciate.

  He laughed at my joke. “Two hundred extra life points, and I’ll talk.”

  “Sold!” I extended my hand for a shake, happy to give my eye muscles a rest from the exhaustive workout.

  “You, Gayle Lindley, are …” He paused. I bit my lip with anxious anticipation. “Prime suspect numero tres but only since about three or four days ago.”

  “Numero tres? Why aren’t I numero uno or numero dos?” I asked in mock offense. Third put me higher than expected, to be honest.