Jack still couldn’t quite breathe easily.
“Your sister’s quick action really made a difference in this case,” Bruin said. “Authorities were able to dig into the investigation while Fischer’s trail is still relatively fresh. With your dad’s condition, Fischer probably thought he’d have a lot more time before you resorted to legal action.”
“Or, he didn’t think he was suable while he was in international waters.” Tully, the forensic accountant, gave her suit jacket a prim tug. “Judging by his embezzlement scheme, he’s not the brightest crayon in the box.”
“True,” Bruin agreed, “which is lucky for everyone on the right side of this. We’ve submitted the paperwork needed to freeze his bank accounts. It will take a few days for that to be processed. Then there’s a waiting period before the funds will be returned to Pinnacle’s bank account.”
Jack’s chest finally unlocked. He exhaled and sat back. “Jesus, that is such good news. How long is the waiting period?”
“One month,” Tully answered.
Jack’s stress returned like the flick of a switch. “We’ve got payroll coming up in a few days, and Jen and I are tapped out.”
“Your father had insurance for exactly this kind of situation, and your sister notified the carrier as soon as the company’s CFO told her about the missing funds. I’ve shared our investigative findings with them, which has enabled them to clear the claim. They should cover most of the essentials to keep Pinnacle going until we are able to legally seize the money.”
Jack dropped his head and closed his eyes. “Thank God.”
“We’ve put a watch on Fischer’s accounts,” Bruin said. “Any movement will be reported to the authorities.”
“I tracked Fischer to the Caribbean.” Stuart Klein, the investigator, was a former military intelligence officer, and he looked the part, muscular and clean-cut, with the posture of a steel rod. “I’ve put out a BOLO with all law enforcement entities in the region, focusing on ports of entry. When he surfaces, we’ll go after him.”
“What about Alex?” Jack asked. “I hate having him on the payroll. He’s always had his father’s back. He shouldn’t be allowed to stay at the company, especially not in a managerial capacity. For all we know, he’s feeding his father information that could interfere with all your work.”
“If you fire him without documented cause,” Bruin reminded Jack, “you’ll be looking at a lawsuit.”
“What about suspending him? Putting him on a leave of absence? The supply costs on this latest job are sky high, and he handles supply acquisition.”
“I noticed that too,” Tully said, then glanced at Bruin. “Theft and/or money laundering could be a possibility.”
“Give me a couple of weeks,” Klein said. “I’ll find enough to get him out. Talk to your IT guy and tighten surveillance in the office and on the construction site. My team will take care of it after hours.”
When the meeting was over, Bruin walked with Jack toward the building’s exit.
“How is Jon?” Bruin asked. “Is he going to recover, or is this the beginning of a slow decline?”
“It’s going to take time.” Jack’s focus returned to what really mattered. “But we’re hopeful.”
On the drive home, he found himself checking his phone for communication from Miranda, only to remember they hadn’t exchanged numbers. “I’m such an idiot.”
Just as he turned the corner into the subdivision where he’d grown up, Luke Bryan’s “Country Girl” came on the radio. Jack was transported back in time, to the sight of Miranda and Violet, the other female bartender, lighting up the dance floor to this very song. The memory was so vivid, he could still see her long dark hair swinging out behind her, hear the quick tap of her cowboy boots on the wooden floor, imagine that smile lighting up the dim bar.
By the time he pulled into the driveway, Jack was smiling, and his heart felt the same spark it had when Miranda had first held his gaze at the bar.
Even if he didn’t understand it, Jack couldn’t deny there was something really special there. He’d go back.
He shut down the car, and silence flooded the interior. Knowing the ghost of his father waited inside dimmed the flash of happiness brought by thoughts of Miranda.
He closed the front door and heard the television playing in the family room. He made his way that direction and found his father in the same place Jack had left him, sitting in the recliner that had been the bane of his mother’s existence and the subject of many a family joke. Despite the television playing a World War II documentary, one of his father’s favorite interests, Jon stared blankly out the window.
His father had been a young, fit, vibrant seventy-two-year-old when his wife had passed away. Jon had nursed her to the grave, then sunk one foot in beside her. After fifty-one years of marriage, Jack didn’t blame him. And he missed her too. They’d been the best parents a kid could ask for. He didn’t mind stepping up to take care of his dad for a change. He just wish he didn’t feel so helpless.
“Hey, Dad.”
His father’s watery blue eyes tracked in slow motion until they finally paused on Jack. A smile flickered across Jon’s face, then disappeared, and a bit of a confused stare followed. His father clearly didn’t recognize him.
“Well, hey there.” He sounded utterly destroyed, his voice as thin as his skin was pale.
“How are you doing?” Jack asked. “Bet you’re ready for some dinner.”