I gave the other coffee, banana and apple to the homeless man and looked up Eliza Moss’s company on my smartphone. She worked just a block away.
I decided to make a detour there before facing any more complications at the office.
Chapter 9
SO FAR, I HADN’T found much on Eric Moss, CEO of Contigo Valley. The name sounded more like an orchard than a development and training organisation. From a quick search, again on my phone, there were no public scandals. Moss had never married.
I headed into the Market Street building, scanned the directory and took the elevator to the thirty-fifth floor. Inside double doors to the left was a glass desk with a twenty-something woman poring over photo proofs.
Behind her was a giant canvas print of female rock climbers, giving those below a hand up.
The young woman looked up.
‘I’m here to see Ms Moss.’
‘You must be the private detective.’ She gave a megawatt smile as she came out from behind the desk. ‘Eliza’s working in the conference room. At the end there. You can’t miss it.’
I moved to where she’d pointed. In the room, two women sat at one end of a long wooden table surrounded by computers and diaries. The one at the end spoke assertively into a phone.
‘There is no way the budget can reach to ten! Eight thousand or we’ll have to cancel.’ After a pause, she nodded and gave the thumbs up to her colleague, who smiled. ‘Ramone, you are a genius. I’ll make sure all our members know how incredible you are.’
I wondered if Ramone would stay in business long if he dropped his prices so easily.
Off the phone, the pair high-fived and paused when they saw me.
I entered the room. ‘Craig Gisto. Jack Morgan said we should speak?’
The negotiator tapped the other lightly with a finger. ‘Can you give us a few minutes?’
‘Of course.’ The colleague collected some paperwork and excused herself. ‘If you need anything …’
‘We’ll let you know.’ Eliza remained sitting and gestured for me to have a seat. There was no hint of despair or anxiety about her father.
‘Thank you for coming. Jack speaks highly of you.’
‘He mentioned you were concerned about the whereabouts of your father.’
She stroked the face of a diamond-encrusted watch on her left wrist. The only other piece of jewellery was an infinity ring on her right hand.
‘He is supposed to have resigned – by email – last Friday and hasn’t been seen since. He would never leave Contigo. He turned it from a handful of search-and-rescue volunteers into a multibillion-dollar organisation with an international reputation.’
I studied her face as she spoke. Blonde, shoulder-length hair with a cowlick on one side of her fringe, pale green eyes, enough make-up to look natural but highlight her fine features.
The woman from the front desk interrupted us with a document in hand. ‘I’m sorry, but the florist wants to know – Singapore orchids dyed blue or violet?’
Eliza Moss waved her in.
‘Blue.’ Eliza initialled the page and clicked off her pen. ‘We recruit for over a thousand companies, working to increase women’s representation at executive and board levels.’
‘Dyed orchids?’ I asked.
‘We’re holding a major charity fundraiser at the Park Hyatt tonight and I need to make sure it’s a success. A l
ot of people are taking note of how we do.’
Being the boss meant travelling a fine line between delegating and micromanaging. I wondered if she was an overly protective daughter or justified in raising the alarm.
‘Is it possible your father simply went away for a few days? Wanted to have some time out after making a rash decision? Or maybe spend time in a new relationship?’