I smile despite the serious tone. My fella. Hehe.
“Since you can’t see me, I should tell you that I’m rolling my eyes,” O.G. goes on.
“You were digging,” I prompt.
“Yeah. At first, even I had trouble. This guy has nothing. No skeletons. No parking tickets. He’s squeaky clean. Honestly, I don’t trust it.”
I don’t say anything because I know Roe. I feel like I always have. I do trust him.
“Nothing for days, but then this morning,” the robotic voice says, “all the money has been moved.”
“Moved?”
“Dispersed into several other accounts. Shady and fake accounts. They’re all fronts to get the IRS off their backs. It looks like money laundering.”
“But why?”
“That I’m not sure about. The factory is hardly making any income. Laundering that amount of money seems excessive. The amounts are not minuscule but typically these accounts are in the millions.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“I’m just the messenger.”
“Who’s laundering it?”
“The first company is owned by a Michael Rutherford,” O.G. says.
“I know that name.” I gently pick at the steering wheel. “How do I know that name?”
“I thought the same thing, so I kept looking. The next company is owned by a Matt McLoughlin.”
“It’s ringing a bell.”
“What if I say Detective Matt McLoughlin?”
“Okay, cut to the chase.” It’s on the tip of my tongue. Or brain rather. “Why do I know these names?”
“Last name, there are a few others but I won’t bore you with those.”
I roll my eyes at his dramatics. If he weren’t so bloody helpful I’d kill him. Well, if I ever meet him. The sun is just about to set. The last sliver slips behind tall firs and pines as the wheels of my mind turn. When he speaks again my heart sinks.
“Dominick Dartango.”
“No.” It comes out as a whisper. That’s Roe’s latest role. That’s the character he wrapped up press for last week. The others too, I remember now, they’re all his characters. I shake my head.
“It’s true,” O.G. continues. “They all have social security numbers too. Look real enough if you’re in some IRS office somewhere. Money is laundered. Rich get richer. Poor get poorer. Another day in America.”
“Whose social? Not Roe’s?” My insides are ice. I trust Roe. It’s not him. It can’t be. I sit stunned. My head shakes because it refuses to accept. Or maybe that’s my heart.
“Not his. Still trying to figure out whose.”
I let out a breath. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would Roe be behind this? He wants to help his town. He doesn’t want the money.”
“Are you sure about that? How well do you really know him?”
I think for a minute, really sit back and think about who he is and what I know of him. Of how much I learned about him these last few days. He isn’t making himself so miserable just to steal money.
“No,” I say firmly. And then I say it again because I’m so damn sure. “There’s no way he did this. I’ll talk to him. I’ll ask him what’s going on. But he didn’t do this.”
