Two Rivals, One Bed, page 11
A light tap on her door was followed by the sound of it opening. “Maeve, you got a minute?”
She turned around. “Sure, Raymond. Come on in.”
Bypassing her desk, she walked to a small round table surrounded by four leather, brass-studded ivory chairs. A vase containing a winter bouquet of vibrant blue delphinium, huge yellow roses and fragrant white oriental lilies sat on a brass plate adorning the middle of the smoky-colored glass top. She reached for a coaster, set her mug down on it and took a seat. Raymond Zewinksy followed suit, his bulky frame barely contained in the chair. An ex-wrestling mathematical genius who looked more like a bodyguard than an accountant, with shocking red hair and devilish green eyes, he was one of the best things that had ever happened to Eddington Enterprise.
“I know the holidays are over, but I hope you’re bringing me good tidings of great joy.”
“Could be.” He set a folder on the desk. So deep in thoughts about Victor’s magic wand, she hadn’t even noticed Raymond had been carrying a folder. He flipped it open and slid a single sheet of paper across the table.
“What’s this?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. We brought in a forensic accountant to scour the Duberry records, see if there was possibly anything we’d missed. Buried deep within the confines of her largest investment portfolio was the trust you see in front of you.”
Maeve picked up the sheet of paper. “Stone Mountain Fiduciary.” Her brows knit. “Stone Mountain, Georgia?”
Raymond shrugged.
“Isn’t Hubert’s ex-wife from Atlanta?” Maeve walked over to her desk and retrieved a small MacBook. She returned to her seat, fired it up and typed Daphne Everett-Duberry into the search engine.
“Hubert as in the kid’s late father?” Raymond asked.
“Um-hmm.”
“Good question. I don’t know.”
“Looks like the ex–Mrs. Everett-Duberry is now Mrs. Daphne Collins.” Maeve clicked on a few more links, then tapped the images on the search engine. A smiling Daphne stood next to a distinguished-looking gentleman with blond hair and blue eyes who had an arm possessively around her.
“Lots of pictures from Europe, especially London. I wonder if this new husband is English.”
“I wonder if she’s the one who was somehow able to set up a trust within a trust and move money over there without us knowing.”
“How could that happen?”
“If someone wanted to be devious enough, there are ways. Complicated, intricate, but possible.”
“Wouldn’t that require help from someone working on the inside, from our company?”
Raymond huffed, picked up his mug and took a long sip. “Yes, it does, and I’m afraid that’s a possibility.”
“Explain.”
“Remember Louis, the mathematical and computer whiz kid we hired two years back?”
“Mr. MIT? Who could forget? He left rather quickly, as I recall.”
“Yeah, family emergency is what he told us.”
“You think it could be more? You think he could have...”
The sentence died as Maeve watched Raymond’s green eyes darken to the color of emeralds. She reached toward a phone on a credenza beyond her and tapped the speaker button.
“Derrick, it’s Maeve.”
At corporate, her father was addressed by his name. At home, he became Daddy once again.
“What’s up, Maeve?”
“Do you have a minute to come to my office?”
“Not really.”
“I think you need to carve out about ten minutes. It’s regarding the Duberrys.”
“Be right there.”
Ten minutes after Derrick arrived, Desmond and Jake were called in, too. Within the hour, two more members of the finance department had been summoned, along with the expert in forensic accounting who’d discovered the obscure account. By the end of the week, more discoveries had been made, information that could change the trajectory of the court case or cause it to be withdrawn altogether. Either way, Maeve knew there was no way they could proceed on schedule. She’d have to contact Judge Keller and request a delay. First, there was someone else she needed to call. Her fingers had been itching to call Victor all week. She was glad to finally have a legitimate reason.
She waited until the end of the day when encased in the privacy of her car. Tapping the Bluetooth, she tapped his name in her contact list.
“About time you called.”
His greeting took her aback and at the same time made her smile. A pretty darn good week just got a whole lot better.
“The phone works both ways.”
“True, but during our last conversation, you were quick to remind me that talking to you about anything other than the case was not acceptable.”
“You don’t strike me as a man who only does what’s expected.”
“You don’t strike me as a woman who likes to break rules.”
“Sounds like there’s more that both of us need to get to know about the other.”
“Is that why you’re calling after work hours on a Friday? Because you’d like to come over and...get to know me better?”
The drop in his voice—both timbre and tone—sent squiggles straight to Maeve’s love box.
“I definitely want us to meet, but before you get excited you should know that it’s about the case.”
“What about it?”
“I’m going to contact the judge on Monday and request a delay.”
“Why?”
“Because of some new information revealed from a forensic accountant’s thorough review of the Duberry records, facts that you need to know about before they’re entered as new evidence.”
“What did he find?”
“An obscure trust account linked to Hubert Jr.’s ex-wife.”
“And the mother of my clients.”
“Bingo. Are you free to meet tonight? I could come where you are and arrange to have dinner delivered.”
“That sounds good. Wait, on second thought, perhaps we should meet somewhere else.”
“Look, even though this meeting is strictly business, I’d rather it happen in the privacy of your home. I’d invite you to the Estates, but to get here you’d have to drive through a town that is much too small to guarantee your arrival would go unnoticed. At this critical juncture in the case, I don’t want there to be any appearance of impropriety.”
At that word, a memory flashed before Maeve’s eyes—her legs in the air and Victor’s head lodged between them.
“I’m not worried about that. I had an unfortunate run-in the day I arrived back here.”
Maeve forced her mind back to the present. “With whom?”
“Camela.”
“Oh.” Maeve switched into the left-hand turn lane and peered at her windshield with narrowed eyes. Is that snow?
“Where’d you see her?”
“Unfortunately, right in front of my building. I played if off as being here for a meeting, but she’s called Cornelius to try and ascertain my whereabouts.”
“Told you Chicago was a small town.”
“Too small for me.”
“Don’t tell me she lives there.”
“No. She was dropping off something at a high-rise down the street. Her car was parked closer to my building.”
“Then I agree that meeting there isn’t the best idea. It’s important, though, that I see you this weekend. For work,” she emphasized.
“Should I meet you at the club? I haven’t leased a car yet, but I could have a service drive me over. And since it’s the weekend, I could spend the night at your place.”
Maeve figured that anywhere near her town was the last place Victor needed to be. Her willpower couldn’t take it. In all likelihood, she’d blink her eyes and find him in her bed.
“Text me your address. I’ll find someplace for us to meet, away from the city, off the beaten path.”
“Should I pack an overnight bag?”
“No, but you might want your briefcase and computer. I’ll be by in an hour.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Maeve stopped by her place only long enough to change out of her suit and into a comfortable pair of jeans, flat boots, a bulky sweater and her favorite oversize down coat. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, slid on a knit cap and placed the matching gloves in her coat pockets. Returning to her car, she sent a text to her dad and one to Reign before heading up the hill to her father’s ten-car garage, where she exchanged her sporty Aston for a less conspicuous and more practical SUV. Finally, after engaging her Bluetooth, she checked the weather forecast. Even though the flurries she’d seen on the way home seemed to be increasing, there was only a 20-percent chance that they’d get any real precipitation. Then she tapped on directions for the out-of-the-way, überexclusive restaurant she’d gone to only once before, even as she forced down the memory of why she’d gone there. Lionel. The night he proposed. Then she remembered another moment, the one only months later where she found out Lionel had gotten married to his conveniently pregnant high-society side chick. The feeling of melancholy that swept over her was soon replaced by one of anger and resolve. No better way to put that memory behind her than to dine at the same spot with Victor, a man with the kind of lovemaking skills to make any woman forget about any other relationship, past or present. The fireworks that had exploded on New Year’s Eve had made her forget her own name.
For a split second, she was tempted to return to her house and pack an overnight bag. Just as quickly, she reminded herself—business only. They’d discuss business over dinner and return to Chicago. No need for extra clothing. When she went to bed that night, Maeve determined, it would be in her own. Alone.
Sixteen
At a little past seven o’clock, Victor stood at the window, watching a light sprinkling of snowflakes dance against his view on the seventeenth floor. His nearby phone vibrated. He strolled over, picked it up and tapped its face to read Maeve’s text.
I’m here, in front of the coffee shop around the corner.
Her obviously suspicious nature made him smile. She was probably thinking about his unexpected meeting with Camela. Walking into his bedroom, he considered the odds that his annoying anniversary date would be on his exact block at the precise moment his limo dropped him off. Probably a million to one.
What were the chances he’d talk Maeve into spending the night with him? Twice as great, most likely.
He slipped into the full-length leather coat he’d just purchased and grabbed his briefcase from off the dining room table. He was almost to the door when he thought to retrieve his phone charger, along with the Chicago Bears skullcap he’d purchased at the airport and worn that afternoon. With a last look around the place he was still getting used to calling home, he closed the door and locked it.
The elevator was empty. The lobby, too. A casual glance around as he headed toward the corner coffee shop took in a bare street. The weather, most likely. The wind off Lake Michigan was ice-cold, felt like needles going right through the protective leather around him, the cashmere sweater he wore and into his skin. He turned the corner, saw taillights on a gray-colored SUV and hurried over. After a quick peek inside, he opened the door and was welcomed by a blast of warmth and the sounds of Lauren Hill.
“Nice,” he said, rubbing his hands together and bobbing his head to the beat. “The Miseducation. A classic.”
“One of my favorites.”
“Mine, too.” Maeve eased into the night’s light traffic. “Cold enough for you?”
“I don’t know how you guys live here.”
“You get used to it, I guess.”
“That frigid air? The ice and snow? Never.” He leaned forward for a better look out the window. “Good thing that stuff’s not sticking.”
“I checked the forecast. It’ll taper off shortly. The temps will drop around midnight but we’re good.”
“Where are we going?”
“A little place called Cook, about ninety minutes outside of town.”
“What type of food do they...cook?”
Maeve laughed. “The chef has Greek and Turkish roots so while the menu boasts American cuisine, other dishes are definitely influenced by the food in those countries. I’ve only eaten there once before but I think you’ll like it.”
“I haven’t eaten since lunch so they could serve a peanut butter sandwich and I’d give them five stars.”
The small talk continued as they hit the interstate then veered off on to a two-lane road about twenty miles outside of Chicago.
“It’s snowing harder up here,” he observed.
Maeve nodded as she turned on the windshield wipers. “Yeah, it’s picking up a little bit. Plus, I believe this is a county road. Probably takes those workers a little longer to clear it than the highways and interstates. Don’t worry, though. Cook is a well-known restaurant within a quaint and popular hotel. It’s always booked. They’ll make sure the roads are okay.”
“Did you say hotel?”
“Don’t get any ideas. I’ll have us back home before midnight.”
Even as she said that, the snow began to fall harder.
Victor peered out the window. “You sure about that?”
“Positive. It’s specifically why I chose to drive this car. It’s got snow tires and front-wheel drive.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there’s no chance of us getting stuck in these mountains.” She patted the dash. “This baby will get us home.”
They reached Hotel Bouvó without incident and were soon seated near a roaring wood fireplace, the restaurant’s focal point located in the center of the room. The sommelier delivered a complimentary bottle of robust red wine, further warming the space. After a cheery server arrived with their appetizers, classic Greek salads and tasty mini skewers of lamb served with spiced pita bread, Maeve steered the conversation toward business.
“I think we’ve located the missing money, or at least where it was directed from its initial account.”
Victor’s raised brow was the only response. He continued chewing his food.
“A trust called Stone Mountain was discovered buried deep within the portfolio’s records. Stone Mountain is a town located in Georgia.”
Victor stopped eating. “Where Daphne Collins used to live.”
“You know about her?”
“I’ve done my research.”
“This case isn’t making sense to you, either. That’s why you’re investigating.”
“I always work to know as much as I can about my clients.”
“Fair enough. We couldn’t get access to the trust directly but know that at least ten million dollars, maybe more, was transferred there out of one of Mrs. Duberry’s accounts.”
“Wouldn’t that have to involve one of your employees?”
Maeve reached for her glass of wine and sat back. “Possibly, but it would also require Hubert’s willing participation and Daphne’s forged signature.”
“Not necessarily. Your employee could have forged the signature without the help of any member of the Duberry family.” He watched Maeve’s cool expression as she processed those words.
“Have you questioned your employees?”
“No.”
She’d answered too quickly. Victor was sure there was more that she wasn’t telling. The revelation also gave him another consideration. That his client could have been set up and was telling the truth all along.
“Why not?”
Maeve began eating again. “This is a very recent development. There is a lot to look into, which is why I’m informing you about the discovery.”
Victor pulled out his phone. “The name of the employee who signed off on the transfer should be documented. I’ll need that information.”
“We’ll turn over names and other documentation as they become relevant.”
“I’d say a transfer within your system to an account outside it, presumably without Mrs. Duberry’s permission, makes this very relevant.”
“I’m not going to withhold anything from you, Counselor. Just want to make sure no one is questioned unfairly. The transaction trail is circuitous and murky. Unraveling it will take more time. I’m going to have to request another delay from the judge.”
“She won’t be too happy.”
“I don’t see how she can refuse it given the potential impact of what’s been found out.”
“Like the realization that my clients are innocent?”
“Like the money trail leads straight to Hubert Duberry the Third’s and/or his mother’s front door.”
“I’ll need you to turn over everything you intend to present as evidence.”
Maeve outwardly bristled. Inwardly, Victor smiled. He loved getting under her skin almost as much as he loved getting on top of it.
“As I said, I’ll turn over all relevant information. If I had planned to do otherwise, I wouldn’t have requested this meeting.”
“Not that I’ll need all of what you have to beat you, just that it would only be fair.”
“I’ll give it to you. Those bedroom moves are mesmerizing. But when it comes to the courtroom, I’ll definitely bring my A game.”
“You’ll need it.”
Maeve’s smile ran away as she leaned forward. “The best possible thing you could do is underestimate me.”
