Two more employees braked roughly, exited their cars, and ran inside. I didn’t. Because no matter what I did or didn’t do, I would always and forever have this job. It wasn’t nepotism. Itwasn’t because I was the only human in the Vegas area who could figure out her way around a spreadsheet or invoicing system.
It was because my father neededmeto dothisjob. Administrative manager could’ve sounded like a lofty career goal. But it wasn’t.
Grabbing the handle that usually stuck on the heavy metal door, I cringed at the weight. Once I slid inside, I pushed my butt against it to ease all the way inside. As I passed the closed door to my father’s office and heard his chuckling laughter from inside, I flattened my lips and didn’t care who saw me this annoyed.
No. I’m not annoyed.
I’m too far past that now.
I’m just… dead inside.
Because this job would always be mine.
Lucky me.
I reached my office, closed the door, and eyed my desk with disdain. Then I set my brown bag lunch on the edge of the surface and dropped into my chair.
There wouldn’t be any point to dawdling or procrastinating. Like every other day of the week, the same old things would be waiting for me once I logged into the system.
Invoices to review. Payments to verify. And… secrets to take to the grave.
Someone knocked on my door, and before I could reply, the secretary breezed in. “Morning, Elena!”
Forcing on a polite smile, I nodded at her. “Morning, Sadie.”
Without any more fanfare, she dropped a couple of folders on my desk—legitimate invoices—and spun to leave.
“Please close my?—”
She was already gone,notclosing my door. Despite working here for years, despite my kindly asking if she could close my door again, she carried on taking papers to others in the building.
I sighed and searched for the energy to get back up and close the door myself. I didn’t need it closed. I was seldom on the phone. But due to the illegal nature of what my father set me up to do, it seemed like a layer of security to have my office door closed. No one could know what I was doing in here.
Because if anyone found out…
I swallowed and cringed at the nightmarishwhat-ifscenarios that danced in my head.
Cops could come and arrest me as an accomplice to covering up crime families’ businesses and transactions.
Federal agents could rightly accuse me of being complicit in money laundering, corporate fraud, and major felonies.
The worst fears, though, were that the “clients” my father had me handle could try to kill me for all the knowledge I held in doing their private banking. Moving moneywassomething that my father’s firm offered. He consulted plenty of people who needed assistance with managing their wealth—or hiding it with shell companies and complicated transactions that weren’t easily traceable.
That’s not going to happen, though.
I unlocked my screen and ignored the burn of anxiety in my stomach, a curse I experienced each time I started my workday.
So long as I shut up and basically never have a life and avoid making or keeping friends…
The burn of acid ate away at me, making me wonder again if my people pleasing attitude would earn me an ulcer or two.
And so long as I keep my head down and just do what I’m supposed to do…
My back ached from sitting in this crappy chair, all because I was “only” an accountant and I didn’t want to trouble the office manager by asking for a new, ergo-dynamic chair that would help my posture.
It’ll be fine. Everything will be just fine. The same thing every day until I die, fixing up the money that syndicated crime families want to move and hide.
I heaved out another heavy breath. Because of my expertise, my father didn’t have to worry about his firm being caught with financial corruption or any other charges. Even if I was a target in the crimes, it would befine. The access I had to check the payments from the firm to the shell companies we supervised transactions for meant that I was in charge of it all going smoothly and under the radar.
