"How many people have this kind of access?" I ask.
"Maybe a dozen. Senior members, people who've been with us for years."
"I need names," I say.
"I'll have them to you tonight."
I end the call and stare down at Hannah and Mila who are now talking about the flowers that are in full bloom all around the garden.
The domestic scene should feel wrong. Hannah is here because she's leverage, because her father's situation requires insurance. She's not a guest or a girlfriend or a potential stepmother for my daughter.
But watching them together, seeing how naturally they fit, how Mila lights up around her... it's getting harder to remember why that should matter.
"Papa!"
Mila's voice carries up from the garden. She waves up at me.
I wave back, noting how Hannah's expression changes when she realizes I'm watching. The openness disappears, replaced by irritation. She knows what I represent in her life.
Good. One of us should maintain perspective.
I turn away from the window and call Bogdan, needing to set wheels in motion. I have no doubt he’ll uncover the rat. I want to be ready when he does.
"Cousin," Bogdan answers. "How's our houseguest settling in?"
"Fine. I need you to do some additional investigation."
"Into Quinn?"
"Into Quinn's associates. Alexei thinks there might be someone else involved."
A pause. "What kind of someone else?"
"The kind with access to our systems. The kind who might be using Quinn as a fall guy."
"Interesting theory." Bogdan's tone is calm. "Any particular direction you want me to look?"
"Start with recent hires, anyone with financial access who might have a grudge. And Bogdan? Keep this quiet. If someone inside the organization is involved, I don't want them spooked."
"Of course. I'll have something for you soon."
The next morning, Bogdan arrives earlier than usual, his expression grim as he enters my office. He jerks his head toward the door. “Downstairs.”
I immediately get to my feet. I knew he worked fast but this was truly impressive.
I followed him through the heavy steel door that led to the basement. The place was soundproof. Cement floors. Cement walls. Cold. Damp. And everything a dungeon should look like with chains fixed to the walls and several very small cells.
And in the hot seat, which often is very literally hot when the battery cables are hooked up to it, is a man.
"Meet Pavel Komarov," Bogdan says without preamble. "Computer specialist. Very talented with financial systems."
I study the young man, noting the way his eyes dart around the room like he's looking for escape routes. "Mr. Komarov. I understand you've been busy."
"I—I don't know what you're talking about."
His accent is thick, distinctly Russian. He’s tied to the chair, and it looks like Bogdan has roughed him up a bit. Whatever Bogdan told him on the way here, it was enough to scare him badly.
"The Cayman accounts," I say quietly. "The shell companies. The five million dollars that disappeared from our books."
