But it’s okay if I have a relationship with Jacob. I’m not investigating him. In fact, he’s helping with things.
I don’t know whatever this is with him. I don’t know where it’s going. But it feels good.
I’ll hang on to that.
On my way out, I smile at Aimee and say good night. She grins at me as I go and winks.10JacobThe thing about white-collar crime is there’s nothing sexy about it.
It’s esoteric in the sense that it’s mainly numbers on paper. Yes, it’s stealing, and it’s arguably more fucked up than other kinds of crime, because it affects a lot of people. It can bankrupt companies and destroy lives.
But there’s nothing exciting about it. So whatever Darin is doing won’t exactly make the papers or end up in a movie.
Which makes my job harder. Because it’s mostly just looking at numbers.
I take a few days to dig. I pull documents and spreadsheets. I pull way more than I could ever use and try to find as many unmarked and strange accounts as I possibly can. I manage to point out a few, but I know there have to be even more. Documenting errors could account for the lack of information on a few of these, so I need to be sure before I start accusing him of anything.
The Friday after Val’s little act of devotion, I send her a text.Me: My place, tonight.
Val: Oh, yeah? Got some interesting plans?
Me: Just about the hottest thing imaginable.
Me: A bunch of printed-out documents and spreadsheets.
Val: Talk dirty to me, Jacob.
Me: Pivot table.
Val: Yessss
Me: Payroll slips.
Val: Oh, Jacob. Stop. I can’t take it.
Me: 1099 Forms.
Val: I’m in heaven.
Me: See you tonight.The driver drops her off around seven. I have some takeout for us and all the papers and pages spread out over several different tables. She comes in wearing tight black yoga pants, a sweatshirt, and glasses.
I laugh when she steps off the elevator.
“What?” she asks.
“You’re dressed for a sleepover.”
She frowns and looks at herself. “I know I’m not in work clothes but we’re doing research, right?”
“Right.” I pour myself a whiskey. “Well, you are.”
“What do you mean, I am?”
“I mean, this is your investigation, fed.” I gesture at the pages. “Get investigating.”
She gapes at me. “You’re not going to help.”
I lean up against the couch and sip my whiskey. “Maybe. We’ll see how badly you need it.”
She rolls her eyes and adjusts her glasses. “See, here’s the thing about me,” she says, walking to the first table and glancing through the pages. “I was hired by the SEC not to be some kind of super spy, but because I really like numbers. Like, really, really like them. I’m kind of sick actually.” She picks up a page and stares at it. “I could do this all night.”
“You have no clue how hot you are to me right now.”
She gives me a wry look. “Keep it in your pants.”
“No promises there.”
She smiles a little then looks back at the paper. Slowly, she sinks down into a chair. “Got a pen? And a notebook or something. And can I write on these?”
“Hold on.” I find a pen and a hotel notepad. I hand it over. “Write on what you want, they’re all copies.”
“Great.”
She starts scribbling right away, basically forgetting all about me.
So I sit and eat. She doesn’t seem to notice. I watch her for a while, eating slowly, drinking slowly.
She’s in the zone, She wasn’t kidding about loving numbers. Once she was sitting down and looking at the stuff in front of her, it was like the room disappeared. It was like I didn’t exist anymore.
I don’t know if I should be jealous or incredibly turned on. I think it’s a little bit of both, if I’m honest with myself.
She notices me watching her after maybe an hour of paging through documents and spreadsheets, making notes on her little pad, and adjusting her glasses. “What?”
“Nothing. Just admiring a master at work.”
“I haven’t done anything. Yet.”
“I have a feeling that if there’s anything to find in there, you’ll find it.”
She sighs and sits back. She takes her glasses off and shakes her head. “Problem is, you’re incredibly disorganized.”
I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, it’s not bad,” she says quickly. “But if I were to do it, there’d be some secondary sorting qualifications. Right now, you’re just sorting by names and dates and file type. You don’t bother adding any other details, like amounts or size of fund or even who the manager is.”
I frown. “We never needed to do that before.”
“You never had to find someone laundering money through your company before, either.” She shrugs a little. “It’s just all a mess is what I’m saying.”
“I put together our system, you know.”
She smiles and walks over. She leans down and kisses me then pats me on the cheek. “And it’s a good system. I’d just make it better.”