The Ledger Behind the Champagne Toast

Chapter 02 - The Ledger Behind the Champagne Toast

The Continental kept a private conference suite on the thirty-second floor for people who needed to have discreet arguments above weddings.

Larkin entered first.

I followed.

His head of security, Dominic Hale, closed the door.

Thomas did not come up.

That was not reassuring.

Larkin placed the printout on a black lacquer table.

“Start.”

No threat.

No gratitude.

I respected the efficiency.

“Hartwell Holdings appeared in March.”

“What is it?”

“On paper, a facilities-management vendor.”

“For what properties?”

“None.”

His eyes sharpened.

I continued.

“It bills three Steves Hospitality hotels, two construction subsidiaries, and one security company.”

“How much?”

“Eleven point eight million over twenty-one months.”

“Where does it go?”

“First to Hartwell. Then through four LLCs. Then to accounts in Curaçao and Luxembourg.”

Dominic looked at me.

“How did you trace that?”

“I reconcile vendor exceptions.”

“That’s not in your job description.”

“No.”

Larkin’s expression changed.

“Why were you doing it?”

Because boring women are given access to everything if men think boredom means harmlessness.

I said:

“I found duplicate invoice numbers.”

“When?”

“Fourteen months ago.”

He stopped.

“You’ve known fourteen months.”

“I’ve suspected.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

I looked at him.

“Because I didn’t know whether you were taking it.”

Silence.

Dominic actually turned away.

Maybe to hide a reaction.

Larkin did not.

“Fair.”

I had expected anger.

That answer unsettled me.

He sat.

“Why Thomas?”

“I didn’t say Thomas.”

“You baited him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because the Hartwell password was THOMAS32.”

Dominic closed his eyes.

“Subtle.”

“Criminals often overestimate encryption.”

Larkin almost smiled.

Then:

“Who else has access?”

“Five admin users.”

“Names.”

I gave them.

Thomas.

Dominic.

Chief Financial Officer Warren Pike.

Larkin.

And me.

His eyes stayed on mine.

“So you could have created it.”

“Yes.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

“Can you prove that?”

“Not alone.”

Good.

No trust requested.

Evidence.

I gave him the flash drive.

“Copies?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Where?”

“No.”

Dominic stared.

Larkin raised one hand.

“Good.”

Another unexpected answer.

“Why good?”

“If I take the only copy from you, you’re a fool.”

He looked at the drive.

“And I don’t employ fools.”

The compliment was almost insulting.

Then the suite phone rang.

Dominic answered.

His face changed.

“What?”

He listened.

Then:

“Thomas left.”

Larkin stood.

“When?”

“Seven minutes ago.”

“Car?”

“Gone.”

“Phone?”

“Off.”

I looked at the printout.

Larkin looked at me.

Neither said what we were thinking.

Thomas had run.

Or wanted to look like he had.

Larkin called hotel security.

Then stopped himself.

“Police?”

Dominic looked surprised.

I did too.

Larkin noticed.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No.”

He waited.

I said:

“I assumed you’d use your people.”

“Normally.”

“And now?”

He looked at the ledger.

“If this touches legitimate companies, moving evidence through private hands contaminates everything.”

I stared.

“You’ve thought about this before.”

“Occupational hazard.”

He called outside counsel.

Not police yet.

A preservation order first.

Good.

Then he turned to me.

“You’re staying here tonight.”

“No.”

His eyes lifted.

“No?”

“See? We both know the word.”

Dominic made a choking sound.

Larkin ignored him.

“You exposed a theft in a room full of armed men.”

“Yes.”

“Thomas fled.”

“Yes.”

“You may be in danger.”

“Yes.”

“And you want to go home.”

“I want to choose where I sleep.”

Larkin’s jaw tightened.

Old instinct.

Then:

“What do you want?”

Good.

“A hotel room not owned by you.”

Dominic looked impressed.

Larkin said:

“I can arrange—”

I stared.

He stopped.

“Would you like me to arrange one?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“I’ll book my own.”

“Security?”

“One plainclothes officer in the lobby if you insist.”

“I insist.”

“Lobby.”

“Fine.”

Negotiation.

Strange.

Then there was a knock.

Not Thomas.

Warren Pike.

The CFO.

Sixty-one.

Silver hair.

Man who had approved half the Hartwell invoices.

He walked in carrying a champagne glass.

“What on earth is happening?”

Larkin showed him the printout.

Warren’s face did something interesting.

Not shock.

Recognition.

Just for a second.

Then:

“That’s impossible.”

I watched.

He looked at the total.

Then Thomas’s name nowhere on the page.

Still said:

“Thomas wouldn’t steal from family.”

Larkin heard it too.

“No one said Thomas.”

Warren’s mouth closed.

Two men had now volunteered the same defense before accusation.

That was not proof.

It was pattern.

I said:

“Mr. Pike, when did you first hear the name Hartwell?”

He glared.

“I’m not answering the secretary.”

Larkin’s voice went quiet.

“You are tonight.”

Warren turned.

Something passed between them.

History.

Fear.

Then he said:

“About a year ago.”

Lie.

I knew because he signed the first invoice eighteen months earlier.

I did not correct him immediately.

“Who introduced the vendor?”

“Facilities.”

“Name.”

“I don’t remember.”

He was sweating now.

Larkin sat again.

“Warren.”

The CFO looked at him.

“I signed what came through.”

“Without checking?”

“That’s what staff are for.”

His eyes flicked toward me.

There it was.

Furniture.

Useful until blame needed somewhere to sit.

I smiled.

“Exactly.”

He frowned.

“What?”

“Staff are for checking.”

I pulled another paper from my clutch.

Warren’s electronic approval history.

Every Hartwell invoice.

Manually approved.

Not batch.

Not delegated.

His face changed.

Larkin looked at him.

“Sit.”

Warren did.

Then my phone buzzed.

Unknown number.

One image.

My apartment door.

Open.

Second image.

My bedroom.

Drawer emptied onto the floor.

Third.

A message.

YOU SHOULD HAVE STAYED INVISIBLE.

I showed Larkin.

His face turned cold.

Not loud.

Cold.

“Where are your copies?”

I looked at him.

“Still no.”

“Penelope.”

“No.”

He stopped.

Then nodded once.

Good.

Dominic was already calling NYPD.

Warren stood.

“I’m leaving.”

Larkin looked at him.

“No.”

“You can’t hold me here.”

“He’s right,” I said.

Everyone looked at me.

“If you physically stop him, he becomes more useful to his lawyer.”

Larkin’s expression tightened.

Then he stepped aside.

Warren left.

Dominic stared at me.

“You just let a suspect walk.”

“I let an executive leave a conference room.”

Different.

Ten minutes later, police found Warren’s car still in the garage.

His phone on the seat.

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He was gone.

And suddenly Thomas was not the only man who had disappeared after hearing the word Hartwell.