“No. I never saw this version. Total idiocy. I never knew my name was inside any legal document.” I bite the inside of my lip and mutter, “Especially one from two years ago.”
“Someone has been at this for two years?” He flips through more of the pages.
“Someone anticipated it might be a problem. OrImight be a problem.” How could someone I know and work alongside make me a scapegoat? Underneath all my anger and confusion is a deep well of hurt. I stare up at the open roof trusses above me. The rough-sawn boards are stained a dark brown, almost black. I imagine coming back here during Christmas, wrapping the rafters with twinkling lights. “Don’t we lose a lot of heat without any insulation up there?”
“Yeah. Do we care right now?” He gently pinches my chin.
“No, sorry.” I close my eyes. My mind is spinning and not about the right things. “I think someone—or multiple someones—set me up because they figured out a quick way to get what they wanted—money, information... I don’t know, something. Could the ETFs not being included in the securities lending contract with our custodian be one of many ways our ETFs have been excluded from betterarrangements?” Dave and his reluctance to help us with sales should have tipped me off.
“I put my money on money.”
“Probably, but there’s not a lot of it to be made. Payments based on actual securities being lent out from the ETFs have still been received. Alyssa thinks we have falsified reports that indicate we are making deals outside of our custodian. The rates may not be optimal, but we’re getting some revenue. So, there’s got to be more than just money, some other advantages. I think they got greedy. I just don’t know for what. I also don’t think they expected this to go on so long.”
“Why would you think that? Are there other proposed agreements?” He picks up the draft agreement Alyssa and Temor analyzed.
“Not that I’ve found. It’s just a sense, I guess. When I was an advisor, I’d see clients hang on to positions way past when they should have sold. The risk far outweighed the reward, but they’d get greedy or unwilling to drop a loser.” I make a few notes in my spreadsheet.
Clint puts all the papers back down on the polished concrete. “Doesn’t the board hold some responsibility in not following up with you on any of what you were supposedly doing with the securities you were lending?”
“Yes, they should have asked. I wonder if whoever set this up is counting on them being focused on our success. But when Betsey got close... they started tracking me and Erika as insurance. Then they fired Betsey and used me to keep her away. Maybe they didn’t count on her determination to get to me.”
“Ready to contact her? She might know who’s behind this. Who Candy is really working for.”
“Maybe.”
“Mom, I’m hungry,” Reid whines as he stalks into the main room.
I open my arms, and he slides in. I kiss the top of his head.
“At camp, we had a good-night snack before bed.” He starts to pull away.
“Hmm. Yes, I can see how you could get used to that.”
Clint walks to the farthest cupboard. “I think I have some of that fun popcorn that you can heat right over the stove, and it puffs up.”
“Cool. And I want to know who won. Can I check?”
“Sure, honey.” I slide off my stool. “I’ll help you make the popcorn, and Dad can see if he can get us some Wi-Fi. But first”—I give Reid another squeeze—“I’m going to change into my pajamas. Seriously, Ella is my hero for giving us her car and grabbing our bags.”
Erika walks into the room. “Enjoy the perks. My status will be dirt by next week.” She grabs a novel from the corner bookcase and curls up in the nook.
My heart thuds. Even if, or when, we figure this all out, Erika is still going to have to account for those tests.
Accountable.I press my hand against my chest and my finger automatically seeks the chain at my neck. Although none of us deserve to be targeted, we all did things for which we’re accountable. Sliding the gold fastener to the back of my neck, I fist my cross, and Oma’s warm home floods my mind. Twice in two days. I used to think about her all the time, but now one afternoon stands out. I’d just clicked shut her heavy oak front door when I heard her call out to me. The smell of vanilla and cinnamon had me licking my lips as I slid open the pocket doors to her dining room.
“Liebchen, join me.” Oma patted the seat next to her as I eyed the plate ofZimtsternebetween us—the icing dripping off each point. “You may have one after.”
My backpack slid from my shoulders as I ran my thumb along a deep gouge in the old walnut table.
“You won an award today?” Oma asked.
“Yes. For getting the most pledges.” I straightened in the hard-backchair, my eyes still darting to the star cookies, each as big as my hand and almost too warm to retain the icing.
“Your paper. Let me see.”
I sucked in my top lip as I dug between my brown-paper-bag-covered textbooks.
She silently read my stapled packet and then looked directly into my rounded eyes. “Tell me.”
