But even gladiators took the night off every now and then.
She glanced down at the reports on her desk. Cathy had done exactly what she’d asked. She had the accounting reports for the last few quarters. Now there was a mystery she wanted to solve.
Something was up with the accounting. Perhaps it was nothing more than a mathematical error or the misapplication of funds to one account or another, but there was a million dollars missing. It had been taken out in small figures. A hundred here, nine hundred there. There was a requisition for a seventy-five-thousand-dollar piece of medical equipment, but she couldn’t find the delivery receipt. It all added up to one big suspicion. Becca intended to figure out where it had gone.
She gathered up the files. She’d had them printed out because she didn’t want anyone to know she was looking into it.
Her cell rang and she sighed in relief. She didn’t have to think about it for another couple of minutes. Her dad. He called as she was finishing up work every day he wasn’t in surgery. She put her earbuds in and answered the call.
“Hey, Pops. What’s going on?” She grabbed her tote bag and shoved the paperwork in.
“Hi, Peanut.” His warm voice came over the line. “Are you on your way to the subway?”
“I’m walking out now,” she replied, doing exactly that. “We’ve got a good ten minutes. How was your day?”
He started to talk and she locked her office, ready to head home.
Paul Huisman strode down the steps of the building that bore his name. Not his truly, as his father and grandfather would remind him, but rather of his family. He himself hadn’t proven that he was worthy of the name yet. As though a medical degree from Harvard wasn’t good enough, there was some other elusive thing he needed to find in order to make his family proud.
He’d done everything they’d asked of him. He’d gone to the right schools, done his residency at the best hospital, married the woman they’d asked him to, and produced a genius-level child, and they’d still given the position he’d worked for all his life to a woman ten years younger than him.
He hated Rebecca Walsh with a passion, and he was going to finally do something about it.
Perhaps what his family had been waiting for was a show of ruthless will. They were about to get it.
A limo pulled up in front of the building and he sighed. Hopefully it would move along quickly because this was the best place to catch a cab. He couldn’t stand the thought of getting on the subway. Being stuck in traffic would be far better than sharing space with the riffraff.
He would hire a car and driver, but his fucking father had cut him off after Miranda divorced him. One more failure in his family’s eyes. He couldn’t help it that the bitch hadn’t been able to handle his work schedule and needed some desperate, clingy man to make her feel alive.
He was going to ensure that the woman didn’t emasculate his son. He wasn’t sure how to do it, but he couldn’t stand the way Emmanuel whined and cried and was scared of his own shadow.
The door to the limo came open as a perfectly good cab drove by, ignoring Paul’s outstretched hand.
The driver of the limo was a big man whose tailored black suit looked barely large enough to encase his muscular body. He wore a black hat and hustled to move around the car. “Dr. Huisman?”
He pulled his hand back down. “That’s me.”
“My employer would like to have a moment of your time.” The driver wasn’t Canadian. Not at all. That accent was pure Boston, and not the educated kind. He’d spent years in Massachusetts studying, and he knew a Southie when he heard one.
“Your employer is?” If his father had sent a lawyer, then he’d likely discovered the plot against Rebecca Walsh and his whole life might end here and now. Nausea threatened. He had no idea what his father would do if he figured out how he’d planned on getting rid of his golden girl.
Still, he managed to remain calm. Perhaps his father had somehow discovered the missing money and tied it back to Walsh and wanted to discuss how to fire her. If he could get the bitch thrown in jail, it would be all the better.
The driver opened the door and he glimpsed a man he’d never met before. Definitely not a lawyer. Lawyers wore suits, not skinny jeans, short-sleeved button-downs with bow ties and suspenders. The man in the limo looked like he’d walked straight out of a hipster modeling session right down to the IPA he held in his right hand.
“Hello, Dr. Huisman. Why don’t you let me give you a ride,” the man with the dark hair said. “We can talk along the way. I believe we have some mutual interests, and you’ll find we can help each other out. You’re interested in eliminating Rebecca Walsh so you can take her place, correct?”
Fuck. This might be a trap, but he was going to have to find out where it led. Someone definitely knew about his plans. He had to get into that limo if only to find out how much this stranger knew. Besides, he wasn’t sure the massive driver would take no for an answer. He glanced around to see if anyone was watching.
“Dr. Huisman, we’re totally safe. I assure you I know exactly where Dr. Walsh is, and she won’t be a problem. If you’re worried about your father, I can tell you exactly how to handle him. Did you know he’s got a mistress in Montreal?” the man asked.
He eased into the limo, the nausea more than a mere possibility now. Bile rose hard and fast, and he only barely managed to swallow it down. “My father always has a mistress. My mother doesn’t care. No one does. Don’t you think if I could unseat the man, I would? But no one prioritizes morals anymore as long as the foundation brings in money and continues to be respected. The cancer team won a Nobel Prize last year. Do you honestly believe the fact that my father cheats will overshadow his recruiting abilities?”
The door closed behind him. He didn’t see a weapon on the man, but the very fact that he knew about his plot to regain his position was far more frightening than any weapon that could be used against him.
The mystery man offered him a beer. “It’s a little hoppy, but I like the way it finishes.”
“I don’t drink.” Ever. He wouldn’t allow himself to be out of control. He’d watched his own brother drink his life away.
The man simply put the second beer down and took a swallow of the first. “Your loss, man. They only offer this sucker once a year. I find the seasonal nature enhances the experience. Anyway, I’m sure your father’s other mistresses were lovely women, and anyone could understand how a powerful man needs his indulgences, but they usually become less willing to overlook an affair when a powerful man has one with a Chinese operative who’s known for specializing in corporate espionage.”
He felt his body still in utter shock even as the limo pulled away. “What?”
The man across from him looked thoughtful. “Is it corporate espionage? I think so. I mean I know it’s a research group and it’s supposed to be nonprofit, but the very word nonprofit is an oxymoron. I like that word. I always have. I genuinely look forward to using it in sentences. As I was saying, you’re all funded by corporations. They give you money so they can have early access to the data and research. It’s like that everywhere now, even here in Canada. I won’t even get into the States. We’re kind of the Corporate States of America when you think about it, and that’s a problem for me.”
“I’m sorry, you’re American?” The words weren’t quite penetrating his brain. His father’s latest mistress was a spy?
Could he prove that?