“It’s hard to believe your own son would steal from you and sell secrets to the competition,” Addison said. “He wants to see it with his own eyes. He’s probably hoping he’s wrong and this will all be for nothing.”
“The gambling debt didn’t sell it for him?” Tink asked.
They’d started investigating Arthur Nathan Clark IV about two months ago, when his father had noticed money being siphoned out of smaller companies’ business accounts.
“Guess not,” Paige said. “Target two is at the entrance.”
A slightly overweight older man walked through the dining room and joined Arty IV. He waved off the waiter when offered a menu.
Tink couldn’t hear what he said. “Paige, you got comms on them?”
“Yeah, it’s recording.”
The team remained quiet, waiting for the handoff.
“He’s reaching into his jacket.” Angie had the benefit of watching the feed from the cameras they’d installed earlier in the day, thanks to a few hundred slipped to the manager.
Sure enough, Arty pulled a long manila envelope, folded in half lengthwise, from his suit jacket pocket and laid it on the table.
“Wait until Lewis takes it,” Graham said.
As soon as Lewis, their second target, put his hand on the envelope and pulled it across the table, Tink was up. He made it to the table and grabbed the envelope from Lewis’s hand before he could tuck it away.
“Excuse me,” Lewis said with a thick Southern accent. “Who the hell do you think you are?”
“The guy hired to stop you from buying your competitor’s intellectual property.” Tink looked at the other man. “Arty, your father and the Board of Directors would like a word with you.”
Tink knew the minute the wide-eyed man decided to bolt. He sighed. “Runner.”
Arty dodged between tables. Angie hopped down from her barstool and appeared to stumble right before she body-checked good ol’ Arty to the ground.
“Good job, Angie,” Addison said.
Angie flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Thanks. I’ve been practicing.”
Lewis, still in his chair, sputtered, “You can’t prove anything.”
Tink slapped him hard on the shoulder and squeezed. “Sure thing. Mr. Clark III’s lawyers will be in touch.”
He tucked the envelope into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and buttoned it at his waist. Ignoring the stares from the other diners, he joined Harrison and Angie while Nash and Addison spoke with the manager.
“You know you didn’t have to body check him, we can’t arrest him,” he said.
Angie shrugged. “I know, but it was fun.”
Arty looked up from the chair Harrison had helped him into. “You mean…you’re not cops?”
Tink scowled. “Do I look like a cop?”
“Then you’re not taking me somewhere?”
“Why would you think that?” Harrison asked.
Arthur pointed at Tink. “Because he said?—”
“I said your daddy and BOD wanted a word with you.”
“Then I can…I can go?”
