Page 154 of Flint’s Strike

“Fair. But we have the inspection dates. We know who they’re payin’. We’re only looking at maybe six weeks of financial data per building.” I stare at his array of highlighters. “And you get to color code everything.”

That returns the spark to his eyes. Nate picks up a light blue pen and points it at me. “Welcome to the color-coding side, Parker. We have cookies.”

By the time six p.m. rolls around, my shoulders are screaming. My eyelids are made of sandpaper, and the conference room looks like a tornado rolled through a paper mill.

“Gotcha,” Nate mutters. On the wall monitor, he highlights three separate transactions. “The investment group that owns the Aldrich building cut three checks made out to cash eight days before their inspection. Seventy-five thousand total.”

We’ve only made it through two of the seven companies. With forty-one buildings, forty-one inspections, and forty-one inspection dates, this could take us a week. Longer, if the last twenty-something buildings on the spreadsheet also have issues.

Our warrants were very specific. All incoming and outgoing transactions for all company bank accounts for specific date ranges only. We asked for eight weeks surrounding each inspection date. Six weeks before, two weeks after. Only half of them listened. Two of them sent over years of financial data, including tax returns, canceled checks, photocopies of ledgers, and receipts for everything from office furniture to vending machine services.

I called it malicious compliance. Nate called it thorough. Until he opened the first box and found ten years’ worth of petty cash receipts and a dead moth.

“Log it and move on. Unless you want to finish this in the morning?” I lug another box off the floor. “We could pull in the two new guys to help.” A cloud of dust escapes when I lift the lid. Great. More receipts we don’t need. “Show them how glamorous this work can be.”

“I’ve got another hour in me.” Nate scribbles something on the legal pad at his elbow. “But after that, yeah.” He stretches his arms overhead, and bends backwards over the chair. “You gotta wonder… Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just do the work? Aldrich was what? Gaps in the firewalls and a water pressure issue? How much would it have cost to do it right?”

He’s got a point. “Eliot would know.” I start digging through the mess on the table, hunting for my phone. A stack of bank statements goes back in its box, then a handful of receipts, then an honest-to-God old-school checkbook.

Nate arches a brow. “You just want an excuse to call him.”

“Maybe. Or maybe he’s just the best person to ask.” I find my phone behind a half-empty box and dial while Nate goes back to his spreadsheets.

He picks up on the third ring, but doesn’t say a word. I can hear him breathing. But there’s something off about the sound. It’s too fast. Uneven.

“Eliot?”

Another breath. This one is rougher. It catches in his throat.

“Eliot, talk to me.” I’m on my feet, eyes sweeping the conference room for my bag. Something is very wrong.

“The fire…Zack…” A raw, anguished sound tears from his throat. “Kensington.”

“Kensington? What’s Kensington? What does it have to do with Zack?”

“I can’t… They did this, Parker…”

Nate presses my keys into my hand. I didn’t even notice he’d gotten up. “Kensington is on the spreadsheet,” he says quietly. “Paper mill. It burned down seven years ago.”

Oh, God. I cover the mic with my hand and look up at Nate. “He was there. That’s the fire that almost killed him.”

“Go. You need me, you call.” Nate holds out my bag, his dark eyes bright with the start of tears. “For anything, Parker. I mean it.”

I nod, clutch the bag to my chest, and run for the door. “Eliot? Are you at the office?”

“Y-yeah.”

“I’m coming. I’m already in the car. Ten minutes, okay? Maybe less. Just…stay with me.”

The call switches to Bluetooth as I start the engine. But pulling onto Grand, I remember what time it is. Rush hour.

Fuck!

The Department of Public Safety has strict rules about running the lights and siren. I think about the consequences for exactly two seconds before I decide I don’t care.

Chapter Sixty

Parker