This Year's Black (Killer Style 2)

“And you were able to figure all this out in what, forty-two hours, when we have some of the best accounting staff in the industry and they’ve never noticed a thing?”

She shrugged, but stood her ground. “They weren’t looking for someone doing them wrong. They were double checking that every check request came with an invoice and that the amounts matched. The culprit is familiar enough with Dylan’s inner workings to be able to produce the verification needed and controlled enough to keep from getting greedy.”

“You call 4.7 million not greedy?”

“Considering the damage he could have done? Yeah.”

“He?” Dread curled up in his stomach like a lead cat.

“Yep, all of the check requests have the same signature.”

“Whose?” Just getting out the single word hurt.

“The one person that no one would ever question.”

In a heartbeat, the room went from climate controlled to Florida in August. “That’s ridiculous.”

She flipped open the manila envelope lying in front of him. His lungs closed, leaving him stock-still in his chair and hearing only the blood rushing in his ears.

“Go on. Look.” She tapped the paper.

He hated her at that moment because he didn’t need to look to know whose signature would be slashed across the papers. “I’m sure there’s an explanation.”

“Let’s go find out what it is.”

The challenge hung in the air between them, a red flag in the bull fighting arena.

“George is my mentor, my boss, and the man who gave me a chance when even my own father had given up on me. That’s not the kind of man who steals from his own company.”

Her jaw clenched and she looked over his left shoulder as rain pelted the windows. “People cheat and lie about who they really are all the time.”

It didn’t make sense.

It couldn’t make sense.

“He’s got more money than God and he controls eighty percent of Dylan’s Department Store stock. His name is on the damn building for Christ’s sake. Why would he even need to pull a stunt like this?”

“Because as it stands now, the store only has another five years before the vultures start circling.”

He slammed his palms on the desk and shot out of his chair. The need to protect his mentor’s reputation beat a fast rhythm through his veins. “Now you’re just talking crazy.”

“No. I’ve studied the books. You need this merger.”

“Of course we do, it’ll open up the international market to our brand.”

“And you need the cash infusion or trouble is imminent.”

“Trouble?”

“Yeah, the kind that usually involves contract renegotiations at best and bankruptcy judges at worst.”

“That’s crap. You’re wrong about George.”

“Maybe.” She crossed her arms and glared down at him from her standing position. “But I’m not wrong about these numbers or the signatures. They aren’t forgeries.”

“How do you know that?”

“Detailed comparison under a microscope. There’s no sign of a forger’s tremor, unevenness in pen pressure, or patching.”