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“Hello, Carlton,” Zoe called out as she entered the lobby.
“Good evening, miss.”
“All good here?” she asked.
“Yes. The gentleman from the cable company finished up. No escapees.” He chuckled.
“Thanks for handling it, Carlton. I appreciate it.”
“Well, I didn’t do much except give him the keys. Against my will. Just for the record.” He winked.
“No worries. Thanks again.” When she arrived at her door, she saw the new apparatus. She punched in the letters as instructed and—voilà! Open sesame. She shut the door behind her and secured the lock. Buster and Betty slowly ambled down the hallway, yawned, and stretched.
“Hello, my lovies!” She bent down to rub their soft fur.
Buster rolled over onto his back, requesting a belly rub. Betty waited her turn. After paying tribute to the cats, Zoe quickly hung up her jacket and changed into soft flannel lounge pants with a matching hoodie. She opened the small wall safe that was fitted inside the bathroom closet and removed the manila folders where she kept copies of the invoices.
The night she’d discovered the bogus invoices, no one else had been on the floor. She knew paper was easier to hide than electronic fingerprints. She’d hit the print icon on her computer and sent the data to the printer that everyone shared. She printed two sets and had given one to Charles before she left Pinewood.
Now Zoe tucked the folder under her arm and went back to her light oak kitchen table. She set everything in front of her: the burner phone, the watch, the tablet, and the gorgeous Dolce & Gabbana bag. She wondered if they would let her keep it. Then she gave herself a tsk-tsk. Aren’t they doing enough for you?
“I wonder how they managed to smuggle this into that?” She tapped her finger on each item in turn. “What do you think?” she asked her furry friends. They blinked in response. “You’re no help.” She powered up the tablet. There was a message waiting for her:
Hello, Zoe. This tablet operates via a special encrypted private server only accessible to the Sisters & associates. We will have a face-to-face consultation later this evening. Nine PM. See you then. Mind as you go—Fergus
The intrigue alone was invigorating. Zoe checked the fridge for anything that she could turn into a meal. Leftover Chinese food? Why do I always save it? Not once did she ever eat it. She tossed the soy-soaked containers into the trash. “Pizza anyone?” she asked the cats.
By the time the pie was delivered, devoured, and the remaining pieces wrapped in foil, it was close to nine. Zoe took her position at the table and powered up her new tech toy. She stared at it, thinking she had no idea how to log on, or whatever the procedure might be. She had lots and lots of questions. Had they found any hidden audio devices in the apartment? What should I do next? Naturally she would apprise them of her meeting with Fielder and Walsh. That Walsh guy. What a tattletale.
At the stroke of nine the sound of a piano playing a crescendo burst from the tablet’s speaker. One by one faces popped up in little boxes on the screen: Annie. Myra. Charles. Fergus. Izzie. Yoko. Alexis. “Hellos” went around the block of boxes as if it was a game show. Zoe giggled.
Annie grinned. “I see you got the D and G bag.”
“Yes,” Zoe said and promised herself she wouldn’t get attached to the beautifully constructed tote.
Before she could take another breath, Annie chimed in, “It’s yours, honey.”
“Oh my goodness!” Zoe squealed. “Thank you so much!” She picked it up and put it close to her face, inhaling the rich smell of leather.
“You are most welcome.” Annie smiled at the boxes of faces.
“What’s the latest at the office?” Myra asked Zoe.
“Malcolm called a private meeting with Donald Walsh and me. He questioned my questioning Walsh. I apologized and told them about where I grew up and how I have an inordinate amount of concern when it comes to safety. PTSD.”
“Brilliant,” Charles responded.
Zoe continued. “Malcolm said I would eventually get my previous responsibilities back, but the company is going to go through another reorg. That would make three in less than five years.”
“No surprise,” Fergus broke in. “The financials of the company are all over the place. Some places more difficult to track than others, but we will carry on.”
“What about Walsh?” Zoe asked. “Any monkey business going on there?”
“He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, I might say,” Charles said. “From what we can tell, he has two accounts at the same bank. Savings and checking. The savings account has quite a sum in it, considering his salary.”
“Do tell!” Annie said.
“The man makes a hundred and thirty-five thousand quid a year, yet he has over fifty thousand dollars in a savings account he opened within the past year. All deposited via small amounts under three thousand dollars. All cash.”
