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“Scarlett I…”
“Do you have a problem working under me, Dick?”
“No.”
“Then you had a hunch?”
“It was a stupid idea, not worth mentioning.”
“You thought it was important enough to risk the contract.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the flash drive with all his research into Prometheus and laid it on the desk. He’d forgotten about it amongst everything else that had gone on in the last couple of days and had only thought of it after receiving her email. He’d brought it along just in case. “It’s nothing.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that.” She took the flash drive and plugged it into her desktop. With a few clicks of her mouse, all the documents were arranged on her monitor. Spreadsheets. Invoices. Tax returns. Everything he could find on Prometheus, but would it be enough?
A tight knot of tension wound around and around his guts like a python’s coils. Financial reports. Richard watched her work. Those fierce blue eyes skimmed over the screen behind her glasses, moving from one article to the next while she caught her rose-pink lower lip between a perfect set of pearly whites.
He hated to admit it, but her look was sexy as hell.
She swivelled slowly back around in her chair to face him; her stare piercing. Not quite a lioness, but definitely not a flopsy bunny either. “All this shows is Prometheus recorded substantial profits. Hardy conclusive, Dick.”
A low shiver coursed down his spine to tingle in his crotch as his cock stirred at the way she said his growingly official nickname. The accusation behind it made him feel like he was getting a telling off from the hot teacher all the boys fantasised about.
“Since the early 90s, Prometheus has consistently recorded growing profits. Yes, however, if you look more closely, you’ll see the bulk of their earnings came from work throughout Ukraine, Estonia, Georgia, Kazakhstan, and the Baltic states. Nations recovering from the Soviet Union. Plenty of cheap labour, but a brassic economy. Prometheus’s books took a slight hit in the Global recession but remained firmly in the black until 2012, when they expanded their operations into the Middle East. Work in areas of Turkey and Syria achieved record profits, despite the numerous conflicts raging in the region.” He paused, trying to think how to put the next part.
“Go on…”
He took a breath, steeling his nerves for the plunge. “I think Prometheus has connections with Russian organised crime and is a front for criminal activity, including money laundering, drug trafficking and smuggling.”
And there it was, the complete ruin of his career. And all packed up neatly in one sentence. Who says experience counts for nothing!
For the longest moment, Scarlet let the silence drag on. Her expression impassive, unreadable, neither bunny nor lion, but her eyes, once such a vibrant blue, were suddenly steel. “I see.” Her tone was as cold and sharp as ice. “Those are very serious accusations, Dick. Ones we’re required by law to report to the proper authorities and would almost certainly result in us losing the client, even if you’re wrong. Can you prove this?”
“No,” he confessed, then added hastily. “But there are too many anomalies for it all to be just coincidence.”
“What anomalies?”
“The company was founded in the early 90s and received heavy outside funding, primarily from a now disbanded Russian-led consortium, at the same time Russian gangsters started moving west out of Moscow. They do business all over Europe but are especially affluent in areas of high Russian criminal activity and interest.”
Scarlet nodded. “And their 2012 expansion?”
“The date they began expanding was just a month after the Russian President’s second inauguration. It’s not exactly a secret he uses the crime bosses as off the book enforcers, and the countries Prometheus has expanded to have seen heavy Russian influence since.”
“They’re war zones, Dick,” she laughed without mirth, shaking her head. “Builders and developers often receive government contracts to repair and rebuild sites damaged in conflict.”
“Yes, but usually after the war is won,” Richard cut in. “I’ve heard of prudent planning, but if I’m wrong, whoever picked these deals must have one hell of a crystal ball. You should take him to the Cheltenham races next year. With this guy’s luck, you’ll make a fortune betting on the gee-gees.”
She ignored the joke, instead turning back to look over the documents on her screen. “Well, the money laundering is self-explanatory. Dirty money finances the projects on the books, then returns as profits, but what about this trafficking and smuggling nonsense?”
What? Was she actually buying this story? He couldn’t believe it; he’d half expected her to tear up his contract right there, even for suggesting it.
“They ship out their own equipment instead of hiring or purchasing on-site. A JCB is a pretty big bit of kit. Lots of places to hide something you don’t want found, if you know how.”
“But you can’t prove it. Legally.”
“No.” His throat was so tight, he had to force the word out. “After tax is accounted for, their profits are all funnelled into an account in a private Depository Bank in Zurich. I can’t track it from there without going through a long and costly legal battle.”
“So…” she rounded on him, her voice as cold and sharp as steel. “Let me get this straight, because I’m a little confused. You’re given a high value contract, told to make them your top priority, but instead of doing your job and having the report on my desk like you’re supposed to, you dig into their business records and concoct some cock and bull theory about the Russian Mafia. And just to put the icing on the cake, you have no proof? Nothing to back it up. Is that about the sum of it?”
