Chapter 29
The Saints were meeting to review Luke’s findings and Angel decided to make a visit to Colonial Financial Group. Ever since had Monty told her of the possibility of her investments being tainted by someone at CFG, she had grown more furious.
Walking in, she told the receptionist she needed a moment of Scott’s time and she would not take no for an answer. Sitting on the leather sofa in the waiting room, she tossed her hair over her shoulders, righteous indignation flowing through her veins.
A minute later Cindy appeared. “Ms. Cartwright, Mr. Robinson isn’t here yet. Is there something I can help you with?”
Angel pondered for a moment before hoisting her purse up on her shoulder. “No, I suppose not. I really need to speak with him, though, so if you can tell him to call me, I would appreciate it.”
Cindy moved closer, her eyes darting over to the receptionist filing her nails. “Let’s go into the back,” she whispered.
Angel, sensing Cindy did not want to speak in front of the receptionist, nodded and followed the other woman down the hall to a conference room.
Shutting the door, Cindy said, “I’m sorry, but I have a feeling that receptionist was hired by Scott, after Marcia died, for her bra size rather than her intellect. I don’t trust her at all.”
Smiling at the description, Angel relaxed slightly. “Look, Cindy, my accounts don’t match up and I brought this to Scott’s attention the other day and have heard nothing back. With my friends having died recently and this place being investigated as well, I want him to know that if he cannot explain things to my satisfaction by the end of the week, I’ll be pulling my investments out and going with another brokerage firm.”
She saw Cindy’s face fall and softened her next words. “I’m sorry, Cindy. I really am, but I swear something fishy is going on here and my investments are not play-money for me. This is what runs my business.”
“No, no, you’re exactly right,” Cindy assured her. Sighing deeply, she looked into Angel’s eyes and admitted, “I think my days here are numbered also.”
“Is Scott getting rid of you?” Angel asked, incredulous. It appeared to her Cindy was invaluable.
“No, not overtly. But I’m miserable with Marcia gone,” Cindy said, her voice cracking with emotion. “And I agree that there’s something fishy going on. I had hoped to stay long enough to figure it out.”
“Was Marcia working on it?”
Cindy’s eyes darted back to the door and she lowered her voice. “I don’t know. If she was and she suspected something, she didn’t confide in me, but…I have my suspicions.”
With that, Angel said, “Well, pass on my threat to Scott. I want to hear from him as soon as possible.” Shaking hands with Cindy, she made her way to the front door and out to her car.
Once more, from a window in the building, angry eyes followed her as she departed.
*
That afternoon, Jack and Monty, bolstered by Luke’s findings, were escorted into the CFG conference room where they found Scott and Roy waiting for them.
“We moved several appointments around for you, Mr. Lytton,” Scott said, frustration on his face. Roy’s eyes shifted between the others at the table, allowing Scott to speak for both of them.
“Then we’ll make this brief. As of this morning, we have ascertained that Colonial Financial Group has invested clients’ money into at least one phony company that we have determined. We have sent our findings to the FBI, who at this moment are looking into your company as a whole.” Monty slid a folder in front of the two men sitting in front of him.
Scott reared back, his face expressing complete shock. Monty kept his eyes on him, having agreed with Jack beforehand that he would be watching Roy.
“This…this…there’s no way…it…” Scott stammered, his eyes roving over the papers.
“Oh, Jesus,” Roy moaned, slumping in his seat. “I knew something was wrong. I just knew it.”
Scott shot his eyes over to Roy. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Roy, deflated, just sat staring at his hands in his lap. “So close. So close to retiring.”
“Mr. Johnston, what was wrong?” Monty asked, now looking between the two men, both appearing equally stunned.
“I’ve been slacking a bit this past year. Not paying as much attention as I should to my clients. Marcia wasn’t giving me any new ones since I planned on retiring and the ones I had were doing okay. I delegated some of the work to the assistants, figuring it would help them get ahead.”
“So?” Scott spouted. “That’s not unusual. Broker assistants often do that.”
“One day Marcia marched in and went straight to my file drawer. She rummaged through it for a moment and then pulled out a file. Theresa Constantine. She promptly told me that she was taking the account over and she would have Cindy go into her account online and switch it over to her.”
Rubbing his hand over his face, he continued, “I was pissed at the time. I mean who wouldn’t be?” He looked up at the other three. “It was insulting, but that was how Marcia was. If she wanted something, she just took.”
“So were you willingly and knowingly placing these women’s investments into a phony company?” Monty asked.
“No!” Roy shouted, sitting up straight in his chair. “If there was something wrong, it wasn’t my doing.” Looking over at Scott, he accused, “What about you? She took the baker’s account and that other woman away from you.”
Scott looked askance for a moment, then admitted. “It was a lot less dramatic than yours. She just came in one day and said she wanted to look over her friends’ account since she hoped to expand the business one day. I gave her the files and about two days later I noticed that my online files for Ms. Cartwright and Ms. Mavery were now missing and she was listed under Marcia’s name as one of her clients.”
“That didn’t piss you off?” Roy asked, anger written on his face. “Or was the fact that you slept with her make it all okay for you? She gets your client and you get the fuc—”
“Shut up!” Scott yelled. “It wasn’t like that at all. We slept together one time. That was it. And it never affected our relationship in this office. Not then. Not after. It was a one-time thing, over and forgotten.”
Roy huffed, his face still angry as his eyes roved over the papers in front of him. Looking at the company name, he said, “Is it Corsten Defense Technology Industries? I’ve never heard of them.”
Scott leaned over the table, eyeing the copies of the three women’s account portfolios. “Huh?” He scanned the information then pulled out his phone, looking the company up on the internet. “They don’t exist,” he stated.
“Jesus, Scott. How’d you get to be the president after Marcia died? Did you screw your way to the top? Of course it doesn’t exist if it’s a dummy company,” Roy argued.
Throughout the exchange, Monty and Jack eyed the interaction between the two men, with occasional glances between themselves. These two are too stupid to come up with this plan, Monty thought and, from the expression on Jack’s face, he felt the same.
Pointing to a signature at the bottom of each page, Monty asked, “If neither of you were aware of the company, then why did you sign off on the forms?”
Scott and Roy leaned over the papers once more, examining them, and then both answered almost in unison. “That’s not my signature.”
“The broker assistant would handle some of the transactions for us. That’s common practice. But we were supposed to sign off on everything,” Roy said, his pudgy face pale and sweating profusely.
Monty and Jack looked first at each other and then to the two men in front of them. “Then who signed for you?” Monty growled, his fist hitting the table.
Once more the two men spoke in unison, “Cindy.”
“We need to speak to her immediately,” Monty demanded.
Scott, his complexion pale, responded, “She’s not here today. She left earlier saying she was sick.”
*
Angel spent the morning bustling around the kitchen with her staff, arranging the area to her satisfaction. She was able to discern conversations more clearly, but if there was too much background noise, her hearing was stiff muffled. Her staff quickly became used to speaking directly to her. They made a practice batch of cupcakes and enjoyed them out in the shop. The young artist, hard at work, finished the small mural on the back wall. The painting of an old man from medieval times at a stone oven pulling out a flat wooden paddle with bread loaves on it, now graced the wall. Painted in muted colors, it did not immediately jump out at patrons. Instead, it was evident to those who sat near the back or were curious enough to walk toward the wall to stare at the painting.
He finished in the early afternoon, taking his check and a box of ACH cupcakes away. Helen laughed as he left the bakery. “I swear, I think he’s happier with the cupcakes than the money.”
A large batch of muffins was next out of the oven and they opened the front door, offering them to the pedestrians walking in, with shouts of, “Grand Opening on Saturday.” Many of the homeless persons who had come to her other shop found her new location and she offered them a muffin as well. The shop swirled with customers wanting a free treat.
Marc hustled inside as soon as he saw people entering, cursing under his breath for not knowing she was going to have the shop doors open at all today. He watched, eagle-eyed, assured the customers were in just the shop and her employees were the only ones in and out of the kitchen. As soon as the muffins were all gone, Angel and her staff headed back into the kitchen to begin their cleanup as Marc checked to make sure the front door was locked, after visually sweeping the entire bakery, before taking his position across the street once more.
Looking around in satisfaction, Angel smiled as she dismissed her staff for the day. “Okay, guys, we’ll spend tomorrow baking and get things into the refrigerator to be ready for the soft opening the following day. And then, of course, next Saturday will be the grand opening of our new location!”
Helen and the others cheered as they offered hugs and congratulations. Angel walked to the back door, letting them out. Moving around the kitchen, she trailed her fingers along the gleaming stainless steel appliances and counters. Yesterday the smell was paint, cleansers, and even the cardboard boxes containing supplies. Today, the smell of chocolate, vanilla, and lemon filled the air.
She walked into the shop, noting the spotless display case. And tomorrow it’ll be filled with cupcakes. She continued her perusal as she wandered around the white tables, covered in pink tablecloths and glass tabletops. Beautiful! She smiled, remembering her promise to Felicity’s children that the first party hosted in the new ACH would be with their friends in honor of the help they had given.
Stopping at the back wall, she stared at the new mural. Her hand lifted to the figure, her fingers splayed over the design. The artist captured the calm expression on the face and Angel heaved a deep sigh. Marcia, Betty, Theresa…I did it. No, she thought, remembering the encouragement of the other sisters whenever she talked about her dream. We did it.
She checked the lock on the front door and, looking across the street, she saw Marc in his SUV and she gave a little wave to him. She knew he would stay until Monty came to pick her up later.
Walking back toward the kitchen, she came to an abrupt halt. Standing in the kitchen doorway…was Cindy. And in her hand…a gun.
*
Monty and Jack rushed out of Colonial Financial Group, jumping into Jack’s SUV. Calling Marc, he was assured Angel was safely inside the bakery and the doors were locked. Marc told him he was heading around to the alley to recheck the back.
Then, calling Luke, he bit out, “Find out everything you can about Cindy Bartley. She’s behind the discrepancies and probably the dummy corporation. We’re heading to her house now.”
With Luke working his magic, the two raced toward Cindy’s apartment. Arriving at the modest brick building, they moved along the outdoor walkway until they came to her door. When she did not answer their knocks, Monty picked the lock while Jack kept watch. Within thirty seconds, they stepped through the door.
Monty looked around the living space as soon as they entered. Neat, clean, with nothing out of place. The magazines on the coffee table were stacked and angled perfectly. Pictures on the mantle and end tables were all of Cindy and Marcia or Marcia by herself. All of them.
Jack moved to the right, down the hall to the one bedroom. Returning a minute later, he reported, “She’s not here, but then, I swear it looks like this place is a mausoleum it’s so neat.”
Monty turned and looked at Jack. Neat. The workroom at CFG. The offices at CFG. Stalking into the kitchen, he threw open the cabinets. Every can, every box…stacked perfectly. It was her all along!
Whirling around, he said his thoughts aloud. “It was Cindy, not Marcia. Cindy made sure Marcia’s housekeepers kept things pristine. She was in Marcia’s house, keeping the house, including the kitchen cabinets, this orderly.”
Monty rushed past Jack as they ran from the apartment, calling Marc. “Get inside the bakery! Our suspect, Cindy Bartley, may be inside somehow. ETA is five minutes,” Monty barked, disconnecting.
Jack ran behind him, calling Luke, ordering him to get hold of Mitch and then the other Saints.
Arriving, Monty noticed the front door locked and lights off inside the bakery. Marc ran from around the corner, his weapon drawn. “Goddamn back door is locked and I can’t get Angel to answer.”
“Fuck!” Monty swore, his mind rushing around, not focusing.
Pulling out his phone, Jack called Tony Alvarez’s Security Agency and had them pull up the live feed from the cameras inside. “Got it,” he said, disconnecting a minute later. Turning to the group, he confirmed, “Two women in the kitchen. One with a gun.”
The sound of squealing tires on the street was followed by the pounding footsteps of the Saints. Running over, they surrounded Monty, both in support of him and to be briefed. Before they could begin, Mitch arrived with a contingency of police as well as FBI.
“What’s upstairs?” Monty asked, thinking of her old shop with the apartment above the kitchen with stairs leading down.
“No access,” Marc said, with the building’s owner on the phone.
“If they’ve moved into the kitchen, we’ve got to get into the front door,” Monty said, forcing his mind to clear of all but the rescue. Successful rescue.