Clawback (26 page)

In the privacy of the office, out of sight of her employees, Haley buried her head in her arms and wept. When the bout of tears finally subsided, she looked up and found herself staring at the blank computer screen. And that's when she remembered the drive once more. With the office door still closed, it occurred to her that maybe this was the time to learn what was on it.

When she tried to retrieve the tiny memory card, she found it had slipped to the very bottom of her pocket. Holding it in one hand, she examined the side of the computer, looking for the proper receptacle. Then she remembered Millie had mentioned something about the card requiring an adapter. Searching through the top drawer of Dan's desk, she found the device stashed among a full supply of dead ball point pens and dull pencils.

After loading the tiny drive into the adapter, she shoved that into the USB port and turned on the computer. The old desktop took forever to boot up. When it finally did, she clicked on the Unnamed File and encountered a screen prompt: PASSWORD REQUIRED.

That wasn't a big deal. Dan had always been hopeless when it came to passwords. If he wrote them down, he lost the piece of paper. Since he was always calling Haley for help in that regard, over time she had learned them all—the passwords for his home computer, his office computer, for his online banking and bill paying programs as well as his Apple accounts. She knew Dan's passwords as well as she knew her own, but when she tried plugging them in here, one at a time, none of them worked.

After the last one failed, Haley sat staring at the machine wondering why Dan had used a different password. Clearly whatever was on the drive had been important to Dan—important enough for Millie to make an unscheduled trip north to take it to the bank. Now with both Dan and Millie gone, what was Haley expected to do? Without knowing what was on the drive, was she supposed to turn it over to the SEC? And what about that homicide cop, Detective Drinkwater, if he came back around asking more questions? Was it possible the drive could have something to do with Dan's murder? And if she failed to turn it over to Detective Drinkwater, would she be guilty of withholding evidence—possible evidence—in a homicide investigation?

Haley was still sitting staring at the words “Password Required” when Carmen knocked on the door and then poked her head inside. “Someone to see you,” she said.

“Who?”

“Ali Reynolds from something called High Noon Enterprises.”

Haley didn't know Ali Reynolds personally. She knew
of
her, of course, because Ali's parents were Bob and Edie Larson, and they bragged about Ali constantly. Haley could imagine any number of possible unpleasant topics that might be ripe for discussion, but since Carmen had come to get her, Haley couldn't very well dodge the issue by claiming she wasn't in the office.

“Okay,” Haley said. “Tell her I'll be right out.”

She was about to remove the drive when another thought occurred to her. The SEC had already taken Dan's computer to Phoenix, examined it thoroughly, and presumably copied everything they wanted. Why not keep a copy of whatever was on the unnamed drive right here, hidden in what was essentially plain sight, on a computer that had already undergone official scrutiny?

She scrolled down the directory to the unnamed drive and hit Duplicate. It took longer to copy the files than Haley expected, but eventually the bar on the screen finished filling. When it did, she removed the drive, adapter and all, and went out to see what Bob and Edie Larson's daughter wanted.

J
essica sat in her idling car in the far corner of the lot outside the bank, listening in. Once Haley was on the move that morning, Jessica had gone to an auto parts store to buy an AC adapter and to a hardware store for a power strip in order to make her listening station work in the VW. After Haley exchanged a few words with someone who was apparently a bank manager, there had been nothing. When Haley emerged from the bank sometime later and headed into the restaurant next door, Jessica still had no idea if she had the SD card in her possession.

When the restaurant door opened next, Haley appeared, this time carrying a stack of pizza boxes. Other than the cold pizza the night before, Jessica had eaten nothing, and seeing the pizza boxes was a reminder. Still, she wasn't willing to lose sight of her quarry, not even long enough to dodge into a gas station and pick up some coffee.

Haley drove straight back to the insurance office, and Jessica did the same, parking this time among the cars clustered in front of a hardware store at the far end of the strip mall. When Haley went inside the building, Jessica heard a flurry of voices. There was a buzz of talk about using the break room or eating at desks. Haley's purse landed with a thump, and then there was general chatter, but no matter how much Jessica strained to listen, there was no sound of Haley's distinctive voice.

She sat there, listening and worrying. Jason had been completely unnerved by what had happened in the gravel pit, and she couldn't help worrying about leaving him alone at the safe house in Peoria any longer than absolutely necessary. If she didn't get the card back this afternoon, she'd have to give up and trust that the encryption on the card would be enough to hold off all comers. If Jason's complex escape hatch of safe houses and offshore accounts came to light, everything he'd put away would be lost to him and to her as well. Jessica had worked security for many unsavory characters, including some time spent in the employ of the kingpin of a Mexican drug cartel, but this was her first ever chance at a major score, one that, by her estimates, could leave her fixed for life.

There was a sharp rap on the window next to her head, loud enough to cut through the murmur of conversation coming into her earbuds. Startled, Jessica pulled the earphones out and saw an older white-haired woman standing next to the car, motioning for Jessica to roll down her window.

For a breathless instant, Jessica was afraid Haley had somehow caught on to her, and she almost reached for her weapon. Jessica forced herself to relax before rolling down the window.

“Don't you know that you're not supposed to let your car idle like that?” the woman demanded. “It's bad for the environment.”

Jessica almost laughed aloud in relief. “I'm working,” she replied. “I need the engine on to keep my equipment powered up.”

“You could always go to the library, you know,” the woman said. “It's just over there. I'm sure they'd let you plug in whatever you need.”

As the busybody stalked off, shaking her head, Jessica caught sight of two new cars pulling up and parking in front of the insurance office. One was an SUV, a silver Cayenne, and the other a bright red Prius. While she'd been sitting there, Jessica had seen one would-be customer after another approach the office and immediately be turned away. The new arrivals, however, a tallish blond woman and a short dark-haired one, went inside and didn't come back out.

Reinserting her earbuds, Jessica went back to listening. “Ali Reynolds,” a voice announced. “And Camille Lee. We're with High Noon Enterprises, and we're here to see Ms. Jackson.”

“She's in the back right now,” someone else said. “I'm not sure if she's up to seeing anyone right now.”

Out in the car, Jessica's hair almost stood on end. High Noon Enterprises had been called in on this? She knew High Noon's name as well as their reputation. Lance Tucker, the brilliant young hacker who had successfully infiltrated the dark web, worked for them. Jessica had used the dark web sourcing extensively in putting the safe house network in place. If High Noon somehow gained access to the memory card and broke the encryption . . .

T
he office seemed to be in a state of chaos. Bankers Boxes—some empty and some still brimming with files—littered the room. Two desks had been pushed together to create a worktable, half of which was covered with partially empty pizza boxes. The pizza party seemed to have ended. Most of the people in the room had gone back to work. The only person still seated at the impromptu dining table was a wizened little old lady. Her long white hair was pulled back in a thin ponytail. A snazzy neon-green walker was parked within easy reach directly in front of her chair.

She greeted Ali and Cami with a welcoming smile. “I'm sure she'll be right out,” she said. “By the way, I'm Carol Hotchkiss, Haley's grandmother. Help yourselves to some pizza, if you'd like. There's more than enough to go around. And I'm sure someone would be happy to bring you some coffee.”

Ali had missed breakfast. By now, just after noon, pizza sounded terrific.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a chair and a slice. “Don't mind if I do.”

“What about you, Ms. Lee?” Carol asked.

“Call me Cami,” she said. “I already had lunch, but I'd love some coffee. Don't have someone go get it. I can see everybody here is busy. Just point me in the right direction. Coffee, Ali?”

“Yes, please.”

As Cami went in search of coffee, Carol Hotchkiss turned to Ali. “You maybe don't remember me,” she beamed, “but I certainly remember you. At the time when Haley first came to live with me, you were already out of college and no longer waiting tables in your folks' restaurant. Going to the Sugarloaf on the weekends was always a special treat back then, and Haley adored your mother's sweet rolls. As a matter of fact, Haley and I had breakfast there just this morning, although I have to say, the Sugarloaf isn't quite the same without your dad in the kitchen and your mother behind the counter.”

Ali smiled. “No,” she agreed. “It's not.”

“I don't generally come to work with Haley,” Carol continued, “but we had a bit of a problem back at the house today, and Haley didn't want to leave me there alone.”

“A problem?” Ali asked.

“A break-in, actually,” Carol confided. “Not really breaking and entering, I suppose, because nothing was actually broken, but while we were at breakfast, someone came into the house and went through our things.”

“Was anything taken?” Ali asked. “Did you report it to the police?”

“Report what to the police?”

Ali looked up to see a late-thirtysomething woman emerge from a private office at the back of the room. There was enough of a family resemblance that Ali recognized at once the new arrival had to be Carol's granddaughter, Haley Jackson. Ali could see that although Haley had gone to some lengths to repair the damage, she had obviously been crying.

“The break-in,” Carol Hotchkiss answered.

“I thought we agreed we weren't going to talk about that.”

“We agreed that we wouldn't report it,” Carol said, “but I didn't know that meant we couldn't talk about it. By the way, this is Ali Reynolds. Her parents used to run the Sugarloaf Café. Ali and her husband, B. Simpson, run a cybersecurity company called High Noon Enterprises.”

Haley held out her hand to Ali. “We must have met somewhere along the way, and I do know your parents, of course. And this is?” she asked, looking at Cami.

“My associate, Camille Lee.”

Haley took a seat at the table and selected a piece from the dwindling supply of pizza slices still in the boxes. “Sorry about the mess,” she said. “Pizza is usually confined to the break room, but today, with all the uproar, I decided to make an exception. Now how can I help you? Is this about your dad?”

“What about my dad?” Ali asked.

Haley shrugged. “I knew that he was taken into custody yesterday because I saw him in the back of a patrol car, but I never in a million years thought he could have done something like that.”

“That makes two of us,” Carol Hotchkiss sniffed. “How Eric Drinkwater could think your poor father capable of such an appalling thing is more than I can understand.”

“Thank you,” Ali said. “You're right, they did take him in for questioning, but they released him last night. Originally we thought High Noon would be doing investigative work for Dad's legal defense team, but evidence has surfaced this morning that suggests someone else is responsible.”

“Who?”

“I'm not sure. I'm not close enough to the investigation to have that information,” Ali said, avoiding Cami's raised eyebrows. “You might ask Detective Drinkwater. He should be able to tell you more. Right now, though, I'm hoping High Noon will be able to help with regard to the Ocotillo Fund Management issue.”

“Help how?”

“We have reason to believe that Jason McKinzie has fraudulently siphoned funds away from the company's investors for his own use. There have been reports that he left the country on Friday night and has gone to ground in Mexico City. Before leaving town, he signed all the documents necessary for the bankruptcy proceedings. High Noon's goal is to locate and retrieve as many of those missing monies as possible so they can be returned to the original investors.”

“You really think you can retrieve some of those funds?” Haley asked.

Ali nodded. “The last few months High Noon has been working on rounding up monies from a cult-based human trafficking case in Colorado City. We've had considerable success there, by the way. Bad guys think that if they hide money in offshore accounts, no one will be able to find it or seize it. That's often not the case.

“As far as OFM is concerned,” she continued, “the way things stand right now, investors will be lucky to get pennies back on each invested dollar. If we can track down McKinzie's hidden assets, we may not be able to make those investors whole again, but we hope to leave them in better shape than they would be otherwise. People are counting on having those retirement funds available.”

“That goes for my girls and me, too,” Haley said, glancing around the room. “Our 401(k) program is tied up with OFM. That's why I'm sure Dan couldn't possibly have been mixed up with whatever Mr. McKinzie was pulling. Most of us have worked here for years. Dan wouldn't have knowingly betrayed us like that, and if he had seen any of this coming in advance, surely he would have given us a chance to pull our money out of harm's way.”