Chapter 2 - THE JANITOR WHO REFUSED A FORTUNE
At seven the next morning, Dileia woke to three missed calls from an unfamiliar number.
She had slept less than four hours.
Ruth was in the kitchen, attempting to make coffee in a saucepan, and the apartment smelled faintly of scorched milk.
Dileia rescued the saucepan, made oatmeal, and checked the messages.
The first came from a woman identifying herself as Julian Thorne's executive assistant.
The second requested that Dileia attend a meeting at Thorn Tower at ten.
The third informed her that transportation had been arranged.
Dileia stared at the screen.
"Wonderful," she muttered. "Apparently I'm being summoned by the king of spreadsheets."
She called her neighbor, Mrs. Alvarez, who sometimes stayed with Ruth during the day.
Then she called the number back.
"I can come at eleven," Dileia said. "And only if somebody confirms I'm being paid for the time."
There was a long silence.
Then the assistant replied, "Mr. Thorne is not accustomed to negotiating appointment times."
"Then today will be educational."
At eleven fifteen, Dileia entered Thorn Tower wearing the only professional outfit she owned.
Black trousers.
A cream blouse.
A jacket with one loose button.
She had ironed everything twice.
Holloway waited near the elevators.
He looked at her without smiling.
"Mr. Thorne is expecting you."
"Is he still considering murdering the cleaning staff?"
Holloway's expression remained unchanged.
"No, ma'am."
"Excellent. Progress."
The elevator carried them to the forty-second floor.
Julian's office occupied the building's northeast corner, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Chicago.
He stood behind an enormous desk, speaking into a phone.
When he saw Dileia, he ended the call.
"Miss Hail."
"Mr. Thorne."
"Sit."
She remained standing.
"Before we begin, I'd like to know whether I'm here as an employee, a witness, or a hostage."
Something moved behind his eyes.
"An employee, if you accept my offer."
He pushed a document toward her.
Dileia read the first page.
Then the second.
Then the salary.
Her breath caught.
Two hundred and forty thousand dollars annually.
Full benefits.
A housing allowance.
Private medical coverage for Ruth.
She looked up.
"What's the catch?"
"No catch."
"Mr. Thorne, people don't offer janitors a quarter of a million dollars without a catch."
"I'm offering a forensic accounting position."
"Then you should have started with the job description instead of the salary."
Julian leaned back.
"You're unusual."
"That's what my second-grade teacher said before she recommended testing me for a learning disability."
He studied her.
"Did she?"
"Yes. Turned out I was bored."
For the first time, Julian smiled.
It lasted barely a second.
Then he opened another folder.
"Fifteen experts couldn't identify the pattern you found. Explain it."
Dileia moved closer to the desk.
"The payments weren't hidden inside the encryption," she said. "They were hidden inside routine behavior."
She pointed to the ledger.
"Every twenty-one days, a shipping vendor received a payment classified as port stabilization. The amounts changed, but the differences were artificially distributed across smaller expense categories."
"Why would that matter?"
"Because the payments weren't actually leaving through the vendor account."
She traced the numbers.
"They were being reassigned through an internal clearing identifier before the vendor ever received them."
Julian's expression sharpened.
"Meaning?"
"Someone used your own accounting system to authorize payments to a shadow account."
"Who?"
"That's the interesting part."
She turned the page.
"The identifier requires two approvals. One from the financial controller. Another from someone with executive-level privileges."
Julian went still.
Only five people possessed those privileges.
One was Julian himself.
One was Salenzo.
One was his chief financial officer, Martin Voss.
One was his chief operations officer, Conrad Bell.
And the fifth belonged to a former executive.
Julian's younger brother.
Adrian Thorne.
A man Julian had not spoken to in six years.
"Can you prove which account received the money?" Julian asked.
"Not from this printout. I need the original records, approval logs, and independent bank confirmations."
He nodded.
"Then you'll have them."
Dileia closed the folder.
"I haven't accepted."
"Why not?"
"Because you still haven't explained what happened last night."
Julian's expression hardened.
"You saw confidential information."
"Your bodyguard reached for a gun."
"That won't happen again."
"That's not an explanation."
For several seconds, neither moved.
Then Julian said quietly, "My business isn't entirely legitimate."
Dileia stared.
She had suspected.
But hearing him admit it was different.
"How illegitimate?"
"Enough that you should think carefully before agreeing."
Dileia pushed the contract back.
"Then I have conditions."
Julian raised an eyebrow.
"Such as?"
"No involvement in illegal transactions. Independent legal counsel. Written access to relevant records. No surveillance of my personal life. And nobody threatens me or Ruth."
"You negotiate aggressively."
"I've spent fourteen months negotiating with hospitals, insurance companies, and collection agencies. You're not nearly as frightening as a billing department."
Julian almost laughed.
Then he became serious.
"I can agree to those terms."
"And I want to know whether the missing money is connected to something that could hurt innocent people."
He hesitated.
That hesitation told her enough.
Dileia stood.
"Until you answer that, I can't work for you."
She walked toward the door.
"Miss Hail."
She stopped.
Julian's voice had changed.
"Why did you study forensic accounting?"
She looked back.
"My husband believed I was brilliant at it."
A pause.
"He was the only person who never told me my dreams were too expensive."
Julian watched her.
Then he said something unexpected.
"Your husband was right."
Dileia left before he could see her cry.
That afternoon, while reviewing Tommy's medical bills, she noticed a familiar company name.
A company she had seen on Julian's ledger.
NORTHBRIDGE PORT SERVICES.
It appeared on a hospital payment adjustment issued three days before Tommy died.
Dileia stared at the page.
Why would a shipping company appear in her husband's hospital records?
Then her phone rang.
Unknown number.
A man's voice said, "Mrs. Hail, stop looking into your husband's death."
May you like
The call ended.
And Dileia understood that the missing forty million dollars had followed her home.
