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He froze. “Gallanach?” he rumbled, his voice echoing off the brick walls again. “Who are ye meeting?”
“The CEO.”
“You’re an accountant,” he croaked, looking me up and down. “I remember.”
“And a bloody good one, too.”
“I’m Stuart McAlister, CEO of McAlister’s of Gallanach Distillery.” He pulled his coat aside to reveal the distillery’s corporate logo on his work shirt.
Christ in drag herding sheep! I slowly closed my eyes. This was not happening.
When I open my eyes, this will have all been a dream…
I opened my eyes and my Scottish stranger – Stuart – continued in his booming voice. “Ye don’t look like a man in his fifties called Andrew Reedman!”
“Because he’s going into surgery for appendicitis!”
His frown deepened. “Nobody told me.”
“The office was supposed to email you to let you know I was coming instead!”
“I haven’t checked emails yet -”
“Maybe you should! Being the CEO and all.”
“Well, maybe I was up all night attending to an issue with the boiler for the second still and I haven’t had -”
His phone started ringing in his coat. I glared at his pocket and back to him.
Stuart pulled his mobile out and answered without looking away from me.
“What?” he yelled. His eyes flared.
I shifted on my feet and matched his stare.
“So, I’m meeting Amanda Turner of Reedman, Williams and Dennis for our audit of our financial records.” He paused. “Aye. Right. I may have spotted her, aye.”
He grunted a few times.
“I’ll deliver her to the office shortly.”
He hung up the call and took a steadying breath.
“Was that my work double-checking you got our email about me?”
“Aye, it was. Now you need to know this: I run an honest business. I haven’t done anything wrong since taking over as CEO. I would’ve told Andrew Reedman that, too, if he was here.”
“What if your company data says otherwise?” Stuart’s mouth fell open but I continued. “Or, what if the data shows that a family member was doing something illegal? Are you prepared for that?”
My heart thumped against my ribs. How had I launched myself at this man who looked like he now wanted to break me? I was taking a risk talking so boldly to a client like this. He could sack my firm on the spot.
I inhaled through my nose and stood ramrod straight, refusing to step away from him, and kept going.
“People lie. Numbers don’t. I trust in data.” He opened his mouth to retort but I cut him off. “I’ve even had clients who have tried to distract me in various ways from discovering their illegal activity. And let’s face it, you didn’t believe me about your five-year-old single malt. You scoffed at me when I told you it was tainted. But I was right. The evidence was in the glass and yet, you still disputed it after you tasted it.”
He paced the small railway station, coming to a stop in front of me.
“Ye were right about the whisky that night.” His nostrils flared as he paused. “And you’re right about how I didn’t believe ye.”
