Chapter 2 - A Seat at Carmine’s Table
Harper didn’t sleep that night.
At 7:05 the next morning, a black sedan stopped outside her apartment.
She looked through the blinds.
“No.”
Her mother, Linda, sat at the kitchen table holding a mug.
“What?”
“There’s a car downstairs.”
Linda looked.
“That’s a very nice car.”
“That’s the problem.”
The intercom buzzed.
Harper answered cautiously.
“Yes?”
A man’s voice replied.
“Ms. Davis, Mr. Carmine is expecting you.”
“I never agreed to anything.”
“He anticipated that response.”
Harper closed her eyes.
“Of course he did.”
Linda raised an eyebrow.
“Who is Mr. Carmine?”
“My worst table from last night.”
“Rich?”
“Yes.”
“Married?”
“Mom.”
“I’m sick, not dead.”
Harper grabbed her coat.
“This is business.”
Linda smiled.
“Those are always the dangerous ones.”
Forty minutes later, Harper entered Carmine Logistics headquarters.
Glass.
Steel.
Security.
Men in suits who somehow made office furniture look nervous.
Russo met her downstairs.
“You came.”
“I considered moving to Canada.”
“That would have been inconvenient.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
He led her into an elevator.
Vincent waited in a conference room with six boxes of documents.
Harper stopped.
“You’re joking.”
“I rarely do.”
“These are Hayes contracts?”
“Five years.”
“I have a shift at four.”
Vincent looked at Russo.
“Call the Continental.”
Harper pointed at him.
“Don’t.”
Vincent paused.
“I need that job.”
“You’re going through six boxes of corporate agreements.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re hiring me.”
“I am.”
“You haven’t asked whether I want to be hired.”
Vincent leaned back.
“All right.”
A beat.
“Do you want to be hired?”
“No.”
“Excellent. Russo, show her the desk.”
Harper stared.
“That wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go.”
Vincent’s mouth twitched.
“For what it’s worth, most conversations with me don’t go the way other people planned.”
She remained standing.
“What exactly do you want?”
“Read.”
“And?”
“Find things my expensive attorneys missed.”
“How expensive?”
“Painfully.”
“Then fire them.”
“I’m considering it.”
Harper looked at the boxes.
“What would my title be?”
Vincent considered.
“Contract analyst.”
“I’m not licensed.”
“Analysts don’t need bar admission.”
“My salary?”
He named a number.
Harper thought she had misunderstood.
“Per year?”
“Do you prefer per month?”
“No.”
Russo coughed into his fist.
Harper narrowed her eyes.
“Why me?”
Vincent’s expression changed.
“Because everyone in this building wants something from me.”
“And I don’t?”
“You interrupted me while I was signing a contract because the contract offended you.”
“It did.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Harper sat.
She opened the first box.
“Fine.”
Vincent nodded.
“One week.”
“One week?”
“You review the Hayes files. After that, you decide whether you stay.”
“And if I find something?”
“Tell me.”
“And if I find something you don’t want to hear?”
Vincent met her eyes.
“Especially then.”
For three hours, Harper read.
At noon she found the first anomaly.
“Vincent.”
He appeared at the door.
She pointed at a transfer authorization.
“This warehouse.”
“What about it?”
“The ownership changed eighteen months ago.”
“Yes.”
“To Carmine Harbor Properties.”
“Yes.”
“But this document references Carmine Harbor Holdings.”
Vincent stepped closer.
“Difference?”
“One word.”
“That matters?”
“In corporate law? One word can cost you a billion dollars.”
He sat beside her.
She pulled another document.
“Carmine Harbor Holdings is registered in Delaware.”
“Mine?”
“I don’t think so.”
Vincent’s jaw tightened.
“Who owns it?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
Russo entered.
“Problem?”
Harper held up the page.
“Possibly.”
Vincent looked at Russo.
“Find the corporation.”
Russo left.
Harper continued reading.
Vincent remained.
“You can go.”
“This is my office.”
“This is my desk.”
“You’ve been employed four hours.”
“I adapt quickly.”
For the first time, Vincent laughed.
Not loudly.
Not warmly.
But genuinely.
Harper looked at him.
“That’s unsettling.”
“What?”
“You laughing.”
“I’ll try not to repeat it.”
Twenty minutes later, Russo returned.
His face was different.
Vincent noticed immediately.
“Who owns it?”
Russo placed a folder down.
“Northstar Maritime.”
Harper asked, “And who owns Northstar?”
Russo looked at Vincent.
“Arthur Hayes.”
Vincent became very still.
Harper glanced between them.
“So Section 4 wasn’t his first attempt.”
“No,” Vincent said.
Russo added, “And there’s more.”
He placed a photograph on the desk.
It showed Arthur leaving a restaurant with a man Harper didn’t recognize.
Vincent did.
His eyes hardened.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Harper asked, “Who is that?”
Vincent stood.
“My chief financial officer.”
Harper slowly closed the file.
“You have someone inside your company helping Hayes.”
Vincent looked through the glass wall at the hundreds of employees beyond it.
“Yes.”
Harper lowered her voice.
“And now whoever it is knows Hayes failed.”
Vincent’s gaze returned to her.
“You understand what that means?”
Harper did.
“They’ll start cleaning up evidence.”
Vincent nodded.
“And if they know why Hayes failed…”
His voice became colder.
May you like
“They’ll start looking at you.”
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