26. SARA

I sure hope this isn’t the stupidest idea I’ve ever had in my life.

Luckily for me, I’ve set the “stupid idea” bar pretty high in my life, so chances are good that this isn’t the stupidest of them all. How comforting is that?

But it’s all I could think of to loosen up Chance’s tongue, or, barring that, maybe Tre’s. If I don’t have something to show Quentin soon, I could be in real trouble. If his behavior up to now is any indicator, I don’t want to deal with him if he gets any more annoyed than he already is.

It doesn’t help that I’ve been waiting outside his office for over half an hour now. His receptionist started flashing me sympathetic smiles every ten minutes or so.

“Just a conference call,” she whispers confidentially, as if he were there in the room with us or something. “Any minute now.”

I swallow a sarcastic comment and smile back.

The extra minutes give me some time to consider what I have planned. From my conversations with some of Chance’s fellow vets, I’ve gleaned that he and Sully were in Iraq right before they started the expansion phase of Atlas. Could there be a connection between that and the capital infusion?

It’s thin, but at least it’s something to tell Quentin.

A few minutes later, I notice the receptionist is starting to look a little twitchy. Her eyes keep darting to the clock on the wall and then around the room.

“Everything okay?” I ask.

She gives me a pained smile. “Just need a break, if you known what I mean.”

I shrug. “Go then. I’ll be fine here on my own.”

“It’s just that Mr. Pearce doesn’t like me being away from my desk…”

I struggle to keep from shaking my head. He can be such a petty little man sometimes.

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” I whisper.

The relief on her face is obvious. “Thank you,” she says as she gets up and clutches her purse. “I really appreciate it.”

She shuffles off stiff-legged down the hallway, making me wonder just what the hell is knocking at her door. I decide I don’t really want to know.

A few moments after she leaves, I glance at my watch: I’ve been her forty-five minutes now. My patience wore out about five minutes ago.

To hell with this. I’m going to open his door and sit down in his office. Maybe if he sees me he’ll finally wrap up this all-important fucking conference call.

As I turn the handle and crack the door, I hear: “…tired of you constantly breathing down my neck. You’ll get the dirt on Talbot when you get it, and not before. Is that clear?”

My eyes widen as I see Quentin with his back to the door, pacing with a Bluetooth headset attached to his ear. I quickly and quietly retreat and close the door behind me before he can turn around and catch me.

What was that about? Does someone else have a stake in the Atlas deal?

I glance down the hallway: no sign of the diarrhetic receptionist yet. My gut tells me to take advantage of the situation, so I reach into my purse and pull out my mobile. I call up an app that I got from a less-then reputable source and plug in my earbuds.

The jagged little Bluetooth logo comes up with a list of devices to pair with. Using the app, I pair with the one named Pearce. How could such a smart investor be so dumb about basic communications security? I normally use this to eavesdrop on drug dealers and other folks with less-than-stellar intellects.

“I’m not sure I like that tone,” says a man with a thick Long Island accent. “We’re partners, Pearcy. Partners don’t talk like that to each other.”

“Then feel free to kiss my ass and walk away,” says Quentin. “And don’t call me Pearcy again if you know what’s good for you.”

The other voice chuckles. “You’re threatening me? I think you got that backwards, my friend.”

“Then let me disabuse you of that notion, little man. I’m about as scared of you as I am of Chance Talbot, which is to say not in the slightest. You’d do well to remember that. And if you have trouble, I’ll be sure to ask your uncle to remind you.”

“Oh, eh,” says the other voice. “No need to get him involved.”

“Then kindly go piss up a rope until I feel the need to call you.”

The line goes dead just as the receptionist strides back into the room. Her hair is a bit askew, making me wonder again what she had to go through in the ladies’ room.

“Just got an urgent phone message,” I say as I pull out the earbud, “Please tell Mr. Pearce that I had to run and that I’ll catch up with him later.”

“Are you sure?” she asks. “You waited for so long. I’m sure he’ll be done in just another minute.”

He’s already done and I need to get out of here before that door opens.

“Don’t worry,” I say, heading into the hall. “I’m used to waiting a long time for no reason.”