Vindictive Heir

CHAPTER 5

Addler

The supply room offers up a stack of storage boxes. I grab one then flip through to find a lid then head to Bill’s office. Images on one side of the flat cardboard show the directions on how to fold the flaps into a box. Fucking fantastic. Never expected to do origami at the office, but I’m determined to funnel legit cash flow when it comes to personal finance.

The books show we’ve gotten premium price for our cattle for generations. At some point, someone might get curious. If they dig deep enough, there’s a chance it could mean trouble. I’d rather avoid federal prison, if at all possible. While every generation has set up contingency plans, I’d hate to be the last de Marco at La Escuadra when the generations have fought so hard to grow the legacy.

The shriek of cardboard against cardboard makes me grimace. With the box in hand, I go around the desk to Bill’s personal items. The old man’s been a staple in the area since before I was born. The sheriff’s patch he wore with such pride for decades sits in a frame at the corner of the bookshelf. Hell. I run my thumb along the fine wood, likely something he made himself.

It’s my fault he doesn’t wear this anymore. One night, too much to drink, too hot a temper, and the memory of Elena’s tits. Where would I be now if not for him? The man walked away from his career so I wouldn’t fuck up my future.

My phone rings, pulling me from the memory. Maybe it’s Elena calling to say why the hell she isn’t here. But the screen flashes Derrick’s name. Disappointed, I press the button to answer. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies through the static coming across the line. “Sorry, we’re having a storm up here. Power’s out in North Houston, and downtown’s getting battered, so I figured I’d check in before things get worse.”

“We’re getting some of that here, too.” The wind wooshes through, slamming against the side of what’s little more than a glorified mobile home to prove my point. “Got anything?” I do my best to keep the apprehension out of my voice. I’ll have no issue dealing with whoever’s screwing over the company. I just don’t want it to be Bill. He may have ended up in a tight situation with Isabela getting sick, but he could have come to any of the de Marcos for help.

“Nothing,” he replies with disappointment. “The guys in the control room were logged in. The pumpers on night shift did standard data entry. The guard at gate three was surfing some pretty fucked-up porn sites. And one admin was coding invoices.”

Elena, I assume, went home and kept working. That doesn’t surprise me. Likely she didn’t want to fall behind, or she could have a deadline to get the invoices processed. Either way, it’s my fault she was working so late.

“Did you go in after all?” he asks.

“Yes. I spent yesterday afternoon going over invoices with Elena.” An image of her sitting across from me at the conference table pops into my head. There were a couple of times she was focusing on me, and it wasn’t just waiting on me to review what she put on the screen. “We’re supposed to continue today and maybe through the weekend.”

“Look at you, actually doing work.” He laughs.

I shake my head. The asshole knows what buttons to press. Still, I enjoyed myself. I’m not sure it’s the fact I was working or because I was spending time with Elena…twisting the screws to get under her skin. “I remember ending up getting stuck with you in a kitchen and doing dishes as your grandmother cracked the whip.”

“Oh man, that’s the stuff of my nightmares,” he agrees. “The day-to-day of my childhood.”

Despite not knowing each other then, or being from the same area, we shared a lot of the same family values. Probably why we became such good friends.

“I spent time running a chuck wagon to my grandfather’s standards, so go shovel that shit somewhere else,” I remind him. We laugh at the memories.

“Did you find anything?” he asks.

“Nothing so far. I checked the list of projects against what you gave me, and everything matches.” I’m sure he expected that as much as I did. “The equipment listed in my contract is accounted for on the material transfer sheets I went over this morning.”

“But are you sure everything’s actually there?” he asks, doubtfully.

“I’ll spot-check the area this weekend on the way to and from the office.” It shouldn’t be hard to verify the heavy machinery is onsite, since there’s no shelter to put them under.

“I guess it’s a good thing there have been no surprises so far,” he says thoughtfully.

“You’re sure you have that much money missing?” I ask again.

“Unfortunately, yes. The books don’t add up. The problem is the billing codes changed, so I can’t follow the accounting.” He ends with a frustrated huff.

“What do you mean they changed?” I ask, interrupting him. “Is someone altering the books?”

“The company revamped the coding to streamline the process. Apparently they had way too many codes to work with,” he explains.

“Fucking fantastic,” I mutter.

“What makes it worse,” he continues, lowering his voice, “is that they made the changes at different times, so you check one area, it changes on a certain month. You pick up another, and it’s a different cutoff. You have people who messed up codes along the way, or they moved and didn’t realize the new location was on a different timetable.”

“Oh hell, who thought that up?” It makes sense to a certain point. They have a lot of people to train, so they go area by area, but that sounds crazy. You’d almost think they were purposely making things difficult.