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It looked to be a small journal.
Julie opened it—and realized she’d found the proof she needed.
The journal was a ledger, documenting all of Jim’s transactions with some anonymous company. No reference was made to its name or the distribution of PEDs, but the front of the ledger was labeled with the letter R and the word supplements. The ledger itself detailed dates, times, and quantities alongside the initials that corresponded to the stickered athletes’ reports.
There were no addresses, phone numbers, or email addresses, and no additional information, not even monetary amounts.
None of that mattered. The evidence was clear: Jim was supplying PEDs to a select number of his star trainees. The lack of dollar amounts, receipts, or paper trail meant that Jim dealt only in cash, obviously to hide the little “side business.”
Furthermore, Jim wasn’t a genius. Hell, he wasn’t even being discreet about his suspicious records. No, there was no way he was doing this on his own. Someone was working with him. Someone smart and seasoned, with a healthy cash flow and the right connections.
But who?
Julie doubted it was Martha. She was known as a crackerjack businesswoman. She made a ton of money owning and running this place. And she wasn’t stupid enough to get involved in something as dirty as this, something that could blow up in her face and send her to jail. No. Whoever Jim was reporting to had to be someone on the outside, someone shrewd who was running a more widespread operation bigger than just one dealer, one Olympic hopeful, one state-of-the-art training center.
But Jim was Julie’s starting point.
She took the ledger and the stickered reports from Jim’s cabinet.
Nudging the copy machine out of sleep mode, she scanned page after page, in rapid fire, until she’d compiled a ton of information. Then, she put the ledger and the files back where she’d found them and shut the file cabinet drawers. She pulled out the plastic supermarket bag she’d stuffed in her tote, putting the stack of copies she’d made inside.
Slipping out of the office, she peeked up and down the hall to make sure she was alone.
All clear.
She left the same way she’d come in.
“There she is,” Vitaliy said, poking Alexei.
“Yeah, I see her.” Alexei lit up another cigarette, watching Julie Forman wave to the guard and head out. “I also see the bag she’s carrying. She didn’t have it going in.”
“Nope.” Vitaliy watched Julie’s progress. She’d reached the sidewalk and turned left. “She’s going back to the bus stop.” Vitaliy, who was behind the wheel, turned over the ignition.
“Slava’s going to want whatever’s in that bag.” Alexei pulled out his gun and snapped a magazine into it. “Drive to her house. We’ll get her near there. The bus stop’s too public.”
Vitaliy gave a quick nod and then steered the car, turning onto the main street.
He drove right past Julie as she walked straight to her own execution.
CHAPTER THREE
Tribeca, New York
Offices of Forensic Instincts
May 18th
Emma Stirling couldn’t believe how quickly her luck had changed.
She was staring at her pink-and-purple Forensic Instincts business cards—the complete antithesis of the navy-and-white traditional cards that the rest of the investigative team had. They’d given in to her on this one request, just because they got her and because they were great. These cards were awesome, and they made her feel the same.
It had only been six months since she’d conned her way into this job. Now, she was not only a receptionist, she was a real and recognized part of the FI team.
Many people had started their careers in the mailroom and made it to the boardroom. Emma planned on that happening to her. After all, she was only twenty-two. Plenty of time to get there.
Forensic Instincts was the private investigation firm with the reputation that brought clients in by the droves. Most of their clients were affluent and dubious about law enforcement’s abilities to help them. But some of them were just average people with anything but average problems. Casey Woods—the president and founder of FI—never turned someone away because of financial circumstances. The company was successful enough to adjust their fees according to the client’s ability to pay. It was always a team decision as to whether or not a client was taken on, and they always got it right.
Emma regarded the FI team as her family, especially since she had no other. They were brilliant, they were diverse, and they were the best. The media couldn’t get enough of them. And Emma was lucky enough to be here, especially since her life before FI had been shit.
