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“You were right! This is unbelievable!”
“What is it? Have you found something?” Tess asks, putting down the pile of papers she’s holding.
“Look at these entries from May through November of the fifth year. Look familiar?” He passes the sheet to me.
Sure enough, they were an exact match for the ones on Hayes’s leaked document. It takes a moment for my brain to fully process and accept this reality.
This Hayes person has strong ties with Bridges, Inc.
Looking over, I can see Charlee and Tess in deep shock as well. They are talking in a flurry of words but I can’t hear them. This is the last way I imagined this whole drama playing out.
The names of the employees who entered the records aren’t written on the redacted company records. They are simply marked in initials. I can see three sets of initials at the bottom of the page: H.L, R.T, and C.G.
C.G.
Something clicks in my head.
“Roscoe, I think I may have another lead,” I say, and before he can fire me with questions, I pull out an envelope from my bag.
“Our private investigator sent this over. I didn’t think it was important at first since he said the new name hasn’t pointed to anyone, but now I’m having a rethink. Garfield’s real last name isn’t actually Hayes. It’s Gallagher. Garfield Gallagher. His mother’s last name is Hayes. There’s only one Garfield Hayes in all of New York. It’s not a common name anywhere. I don’t know why he changed his last name, but he did some years ago.”
Roscoe’s eyes narrow instantly. “Gallagher? Did you say Gallagher?”
I nod rapidly. “Do you know the Gallagher name? Maybe the G in C.G stands for Gallagher. Can you remember if someone like that ever worked at Bridges? Or even if Garfield Gallagher himself worked there,” I say, sipping a little water to steady my nerves.
Roscoe takes a moment to process his thoughts. “I don’t remember anyone named Garfield, but… That name–Gallagher. It’s striking very strong chords in my brain. Give me a moment.”
He picks up his phone and steps out onto the glittering balcony quickly. Soft conversation floats around while we wait for him. After about ten minutes, he bustles back inside, a bigger frown creasing his brows.
“What’s happening?” I ask.
“That was a friend of mine on the phone. He’s an… uh… agent somewhere,” Roscoe says, and I know better than to pry. That means this guy is probably FBI or something like that and just pulled some top strings for Roscoe.
“Some records were just pulled, and the name ‘Garfield Gallagher’ is related to an older man named Clayton Gallagher, who I can almost swear on my life is somehow connected to Dad. I don’t know where or how, but those two are linked somewhere. I just know it.”
It takes me a moment to absorb the information. This is all getting too complicated.
“This whole situation has turned into one massive web and we need to start detangling,” Charlee says.
How on earth is my dad tied to the person or people trying to bring his son’s business down? I’m not about to let my mind wander into possibly heartbreaking realizations, but there are many scenarios that could be playing out here.
Something clicks in my brain. Shit!
“Roscoe, are you forgetting something? We have a meeting with Dad in…” I glance at my watch. “Ten minutes.”
“Fuck!” Roscoe says and Tess shoots him a disapproving look. He makes a face at her and they laugh.
Picking up my phone, I turn to Charlee. She looks like she needs her bed right now. “Let’s drop you two off and we’ll make it to the meeting whenever.”
“No, guys, don’t worry about us,” Tess says. “Why don’t you two go in Harrison’s car and Charlee and I will take ours? I can drop her off and head home.”
Roscoe hands her the key and plants a kiss on her mouth.
“You’re gonna be okay?” I ask Charlee, gently touching her face. Nodding, she squeezes my hand. It sends a little happy ping to my chest and I like the feeling.
Nineteen minutes later, Roscoe and I are silently riding up the elevator to Dad’s office on BB27. We drove as fast as we could, but New York on a busy Tuesday afternoon is New York at its worst.
The secretary buzzes us in and sure enough, Dad is sitting there with a pissed-off look on his face. I told Roscoe to call him and explain our tardiness, but he said it wasn’t worth it. He’d be pissed either way.
