Chapter 2 - THE COMPANY I NEVER CREATED
I left the ballroom twenty minutes later.
Not dramatically.
I told Larkin I needed air.
He followed me.
Thomas tried.
Larkin stopped him with one look.
The hotel terrace overlooked Midtown.
Cold wind hit my shoulders.
I preferred it.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
Larkin leaned against the stone railing.
“I don’t know everything.”
“That is not comforting.”
“I’ve been investigating internal transfers for six months.”
“Why?”
“Money is disappearing.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-two million.”
My stomach tightened.
That was not bookkeeping error money.
“That’s why you invited me?”
“Partly.”
I turned.
“So Thomas was not planning a humiliation?”
“Oh, he was.”
Good.
At least one thing remained simple.
Larkin continued:
“But I wanted to see who reacted when you entered the room.”
I stared.
“You used me as bait.”
“Yes.”
The answer came too quickly.
My anger sharpened.
“Do you enjoy honesty only after doing something manipulative?”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn’t know your identity had been used.”
“You knew enough to bring me into a room full of criminals without warning.”
“Yes.”
I laughed once.
“Excellent leadership.”
He accepted that.
Another surprise.
Then I showed him the P. Woods Consulting card.
“Who has access to my employee records?”
“HR.”
“Who controls HR?”
“Thomas.”
There it was.
We both knew.
Not proof.
Pattern.
I pulled out my phone.
Delaware business search.
P. Woods Consulting LLC existed.
Formed eleven months earlier.
Registered agent:
Blackstone Corporate Services.
Manager:
Penelope Woods.
Address:
A mailbox in Wilmington.
I had never been to Wilmington.
Then I pulled my credit report.
Nothing obvious.
Business registrations do not always appear there.
I searched UCC filings.
One result.
P. Woods Consulting had pledged assets against a line of credit.
Lender:
Harbor State Bank.
Borrower:
Penelope Woods.
Balance:
$2.4 million.
My vision narrowed.
“I owe two million dollars.”
“No.”
Larkin’s voice became cold.
“You don’t.”
“Someone using my name does.”
“Yes.”
“That distinction will comfort the bank.”
“I’ll fix it.”
I turned toward him.
“No.”
His expression changed.
“You don’t get to fix me.”
“I meant the fraud.”
“Same habit.”
He said nothing.
Good.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One photograph.
My office cubicle.
Taken from behind.
Me working.
Caption:
KEEP SMILING TONIGHT.
Another message:
IF YOU LEAVE BEFORE MIDNIGHT, EVERYTHING IN YOUR NAME GOES TO THE FBI.
My hands went cold.
Larkin read over my shoulder.
“Who has your number?”
“Everyone at work.”
“Show me.”
I handed him the phone.
His face went still.
Then:
“You’re not leaving.”
I stared.
“Poor phrasing.”
His jaw tightened.
“Penelope.”
“I decide whether I leave.”
“Someone is threatening you.”
“And someone used my identity for twenty-two million dollars.”
“Which is why—”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“For three years, every man in your organization assumed I was too boring to matter.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“I’m starting to think that was useful.”
He almost smiled.
Then I said:
“I’m going back inside.”
“Why?”
“Because whoever sent that message wants me afraid.”
I looked through the glass doors toward the ballroom.
“And if they think I’m still the gray little secretary, maybe they’ll make another mistake.”
We returned.
At 11:41 p.m., I found the first one.
A seating chart lay abandoned near the event coordinator’s table.
Beside my name:
TABLE 14.
Crossed out.
Reassigned by hand:
TABLE 3.
Who sat at Table 3?
Hollis Crane.
Vivienne Cross.
Two shipping executives.
And Thomas.
Someone had deliberately moved me beside every company connected to the missing money.
Then I noticed the handwriting.
I saw it every morning on approval sheets.
Thomas’s.
May you like
He had not invited me to embarrass me.
He had seated me beside the people he planned to make believe I was his partner.
