2 Executive Retention Read online

Huntington shook his head. "They wouldn't need to. If they were guilty, they could access any file they wanted, at any time."

  I chewed my lip and clicked on the next file in the directory. Dates of hire, sorted. Nothing new there. I had already detected the pattern, but not why it existed. "It would be too obvious if A.J. or Pete changed the files outright," I said. "If they hack in...it may appear they weren't paying attention, but they wouldn't look guilty of embezzlement."

  "They are no more likely a suspect than the other managers," Huntington said. "Or Radar for that matter."

  He was right so I tried a more compelling attack. "Why didn't Pete or A.J. notice an extra fourteen salaries? At the annual salaries we're talking about, the price tag adds up to almost a million dollars a year. When you lay off fourteen people that don't exist, the severance packages had to be around a hundred thousand dollars each."

  Huntington said, "It would be possible for a clever accountant to hide a hundred thousand dollars here and there under layoff expenses." Before I could protest, he added, "But not so easy to account for a million dollars worth of salaries saved. Could all the paperwork have been changed after the layoffs were done?"

  "Technically yes. A hacker can come in anytime he wants." I stared at the monitor wishing the answers would appear. "But if the goal was to save X million, you'd think the savings of fourteen non-existent employee salaries would stand out. Then too, no manager is willingly going to fire his employees. Final choices have to be done at a higher level. There's no office manager for Denton. That means Pete or A.J. had to look at a list of employees, figure out how to rank them and then choose which ones to layoff. Either of them are in a prime position to add fourteen non-existent names to that list."

  "Anyone else could add them. Pete and A.J. don't know every single employee by name," Huntington said. "Neither do the managers. The setup with a San Jose office and a Denton office is perfect for this scheme. Everyone assumed the missing employees worked somewhere else."

  I thought about it, but immediately found another flaw. "But once there is a final list, A.J. has to email the managers to inform them who is getting laid off. He doesn't know who to email for fourteen employees, because those people don't show up on the org chart." I threw up my hands. "There's no way A.J. can ignore the extra names."

  "The names would have to be added after the real layoffs," Mark said.

  "But if that was the case, Pete and A.J. managed to ignore a million dollar savings and a fairly large severance expense."

  I looked first at Huntington and then Mark. Neither confirmed or denied the accusation.

  I pulled up one of the old organization charts and pointed to Ben's name. "Ben got let go during the layoff. Since Pete wasn't in Denton full time, the contractor probably put together a number of the reports on cost saving. He might have been in a prime position to know when it was safe to add fourteen extra names to the layoff list."

  Mark slid his chair closer and looked at the list. "Or maybe he contacted us because the numbers looked off to him, but he wasn't sure why. What about the other managers?"

  "Jacques is the most likely candidate. He lies all the time, has no scruples, and he probably could use the money, but--" I stopped. I hated to admit it. "I don't think he has the brains to pull it off. He's too focused on inconsequential things like Kronology."

  "Maybe the Kronology enthusiasm is a front to cover for his other activities," Mark said. "What about Arnold?"

  "If anyone has the brains to pull it off, Arnold would be the person. He's pretty open about pushing for more money, but," I hesitated. "He mostly seems to do it to highlight himself and his team's accomplishments. Sort of an in-your-face directed at Jacques."

  Huntington said, "Arnold isn't in debt. He lives with his girlfriend, and it's pretty clear she has plenty of money coming in from her law practice."

  I threw up my hands. "There are also other engineers who could pull this off from a hacking standpoint. Bill, Vi and any engineer who has learned hacking as a second career. I don't think it's Bill though."

  "Why not?" Huntington wanted to know.

  "He has a bad dryer. It burns holes in his pants. He is not a man with an extra million to spend."

  Huntington blinked. He opened his mouth and then shut it.

  It's hard to counter burned pants--or explain them, really.

  I typed Ben's name into the file Radar had left for me. With Huntington looking, I added Pete's name and also A.J. No one was above suspicion, but I doubted Radar would be able to start looking at every single account in the company.

  So that Radar would know to look in the file, I changed the name of the file to "Radar." He would be smart enough to track down any computer activity by those listed, but I didn't think it was going to help. Our hacker was smart enough to cover his tracks.

  Huntington smiled. "It's time for a plan, a nice little trap. Maybe we can hire your missing friend Radar to plant a nice electronic trap, a series of invitations to look at our suspect list? We need to lead the hacker in so deep we can get an ID."

  "The last time you threw a party the bad guys didn't show," I said. "Only the innocent were harmed at that party."

  Huntington didn't care for my reminder. "It's all a matter of timing."

  "Maybe, but whoever did it knows we're looking. He can remain completely innocent just by sitting still alongside the other chickens. The money is gone. If the perp sits quietly, we have no evidence trail."

  "Perhaps. How can I get in touch with Radar?"

  I wasn't certain Radar wanted to be involved, but turned back to the file. I added Huntington's name and phone number. Then I typed in, "Make sure he pays you well."

  I was pretty sure Huntington saw that part, but he ignored it.

  "Can we check to see who created the layoff list?" Mark asked.

  That was something I knew how to do. I pulled up the file properties. The date of the last change made to the file was the day of the layoff. Before my eyes scanned all the way through the data, I had already guessed who created the file: Silvanus.

  Chapter 32

  The entire Denton office went home at noon on Wednesday in order to get ready for the four o'clock holiday party. I had no idea what to wear, and I hated leaving the SUV behind because the party was out at Twin Lakes at Pete's personal "get-away." Unfortunately, people of my means did not generally own Mercedes, so in the Civic I went. Pete and company were going to have to accept me in my best pantsuit too, because I didn't feel like wearing a dress in the cold weather.

  Once again, I didn't have a date, even though company rules said we could bring a spouse or significant other. The number one male interest in my life was disqualified, because it had to be bad form to invite a guy doing undercover work for the company to show up openly at the Christmas party.

  Twin Lakes was a beautiful area and Pete could ski in his backyard if he wanted. The drive took just over an hour from Denton, but I noted that if Pete was in a hurry, he could fly in. There was a helicopter and pad off to the left of the house.

  I was running late due to dithering over my clothes. The drive had also taken longer than expected. As I stepped out, I spotted Radar slinking over by the helicopter. Instead of going inside, I wandered over. "I thought you weren't coming."

  "Can you believe this?" he asked, his eyes agog as two eggs in a frying pan.

  "Nice."

  "Nice?" He looked at me. "This is a McDonnell Douglas MD 900 Explorer--a NOTAR." He pointed to the back. "Look back there. No tail rotor. This baby can drop down on you, and make so little noise you'll think it's a lawnmower from next door. It's awesome."

  "Oh."

  He shook his head at my ignorance. "Unbelievable."

  "I take it you've never flown one?"

  Must have been another dumb question. "Are you kidding? Most people can't afford their own helicopter. They are incredibly expensive to maintain. I wonder if it's his or if the company paid for it."

  His sudden disgust was prob
ably the only reason I was able to pry him away and drag him inside. He was wearing a brand new pair of jeans in honor of the party. Although there wasn't a snagged hole anywhere on them, he was pulling at the seam as if his hands were used to picking at the old pair.

  On the sidewalk leading in, we passed between two giant cat statues that guarded the entrance. "Wow, look at these things." The statues were both panther-black, watchful and half the size of the doors. "How does one get something like that delivered way out here, anyway?"

  Radar rubbed two fingers together. "If he let me fly that helicopter, I'd walk them out here in a wagon from Wal-Mart if I had to."

  The inside of Pete's vacation home was no less impressive than the outside. A little uniformed lady allowed us entrance and took our coats. At first I thought Pete had another cat statue standing atop the banister at the head of the stairs, but as I moved away, the little black feline yawned, leapt down and sauntered away.

  Once our coats were properly stowed, the lady led us into the living room where sparkling, repeated French doors lined the outer wall of the room. The partially frozen lake gleamed back at us from the other side of the windows. Pete could bowl from the fireplace to the other end of the room, but if he missed, he would break some glass. The setting sun outside the windows was blocked by clouds that threatened snow. I should have brought the Mercedes.

  Long tables covered with white linen cloths were strategically placed around the room for easy snacking. A magnificently adorned Christmas tree stood in front of a couple of the French doors off to one side.

  I managed to help myself to a couple of crab cakes, veggies, and a sinfully delicious dip of some sort. Vi came over and introduced me to her husband. We chatted for a few minutes before finding ourselves running low on food samples. As we made our way to the dessert table to inspect its decadent treats, Becky waved at me rather more frantically than I thought necessary.

  Before I could make my way over to her, she came running. She yanked on my arm. "Did you know that Jacques had a quadruple bypass?

  My eyes flew to hers. "No…when? Why?"

  "He doesn't look so good, don't you think?" She pointed to one of the overstuffed leather chairs. Jacques wasn't sitting on the chair; he was standing behind it, leaning against it. He had a drink in one hand and some sort of fried cheese or something in the other.

  Jacques did look kind of pasty. "If he were having a heart attack don't you think he'd say something?" I asked.

  Becky opened her mouth to answer just as Jacques rolled sideways against the chair and fell on the floor, spewing his glass of whatever and dropping the plate of stuffed cheese things. He landed on his back like a clumsy drunk.

  A few people thought he was inebriated because I could hear laughter at first. I ignored the snickering and moved alongside Becky. When I knelt down, Jacques didn't do more than gurgle at me and gasp a few times.

  "Do you have nitroglycerin?" I asked, thinking it might have been prescribed if he had heart problems.

  He clutched his chest and groaned, trying to roll away. I don't know where he thought he was going to go.

  I looked up and found Bill staring at us with a look of deep concentration. "Bill, can you find some aspirin? Not Tylenol, but aspirin?"

  Like his gaming name, Wildebeest, Bill cleared the area with a roar. He wasn't a small man anyway and with him bearing down on people as he rushed out of the room, no one got in the way. Radar was suddenly in the space he emptied.

  "We could take him to the hospital in the helicopter." His voice was a reverent whisper. He stared at the floor as though guilty of a crime for suggesting it.

  "Well, don't just stand there," I shouted. "Find Pete and see if the thing has gas in it or whatever it needs!"

  I looked around and spotted Becky still beside me. "Becky…"

  Becky didn't need my orders. I heard Art before I saw him, but Becky planted her big Texas hair in front of him and yelled, "You stand right there. You don't move unless Sedona gives you an order. You don't move! Do you hear me?"

  I should have sent her to the balcony to call for an ambulance instead of telling Radar to ready the helicopter. Crestwood Hospital could have heard her bellow all the way in Denton.

  Bill clomped back and handed me a bottle of coated aspirin. Even though we were in the midst of an emergency, I noticed that Bill had also bought a new pair of pants for the party. They weren't ironed and had probably not been washed yet, but they weren't burned.

  "Jacques, you've got to chew these," I instructed. "Now. You can't swallow them, chew them." I forced two between his lips and wondered if I should give him three. Jacques wasn't a skinny man, which was probably part of the reason for the heart condition in the first place.

  He made weak chewing motions.

  Bill, being Bill, grabbed the nearest tablecloth from the fancy feast. It became quickly evident that Bill was no magician. Food went everywhere, glasses broke, plates clattered, and he hadn't even managed to work it completely free.

  "Stop," one of the little uniformed ladies yelled at him. "Clean linens!" She wove her way forward, flagging him with a stack of neatly folded tablecloths.

  Pete touched my shoulder and knelt down. "The chopper is ready, but we need to move fast. It's almost dark, and it could snow at any moment."

  "We can carry him in this," Bill said, as he unrolled a tablecloth.

  Arnold grabbed another cloth from the uniformed lady and disagreed. "No, we should tie them together. Look," he started demonstrating. "If we tie them together they will be twice as strong. We could double them like this." He started to take the tablecloth from Bill.

  Bill protested. "No! Then we'll have nothing in the middle, and he'll fall right out. That design won't work, I tell you!"

  "Go, let's go!" I shouted.

  Art leaned over and put his face next to mine. His mouth was working up and down, his hands fluttering in little circles. "Nitroglycerin is only for the pain. It doesn't actually do anything about a heart attack. I'm sure of it. I remember from my studies."

  "Great, Art, thanks." I didn't point out that Jacques hadn't had any of the stuff anyway.

  Vi grabbed a corner of another tablecloth, and she, Becky and I carefully rolled Jacques onto it. Bill and Arnold shouted about distributing mass and whether it was best to carry him with his head elevated or lowered.

  Becky and I grabbed the ends near his head. Vi and the uniformed lady went for Jacques' feet. I don't know what Becky was thinking. Maybe it was because Jacques was so heavy or maybe it was the season, but like Santa Claus, she flung one end across her back to put her weight under it.

  That would have worked except Becky was a good foot taller than me. I was still playing slip and slide with my corner. Before I knew it, Jacques tilted, and all the weight was on my end.

  Bam!

  Jacques rolled out with a big splat, hitting a slick of spilled vanilla pudding. His mass, that Bill and Arnold had been so worried about, forced that pudding right out from under his belly in large spatters. His face landed in the banana bread, and if he didn't die from the heart attack he was likely to expire from suffocation by banana bread. I didn't know how I was going to explain to the hospital that a bunch of engineers thought banana bread up the nose was part of CPR. Maybe I could introduce them to Art, and they would understand.

  "We could use some help here!" Becky let lose with her request and everything in the room except the vibrating windows came to a halt. "Get him on the tablecloth. This one," she yelled before anyone could argue. "Now, y'all heft him up there!"

  Suddenly twelve guys were holding up various parts of Jacques and the tablecloth. "Yeehaw! Now, we go!" Becky marched right on out in front. There wasn't a single murmur from the carriers either.

  If it had been springtime, maybe Pete would have had a golf cart or some sort of riding lawnmower that we could have used to get Jacques to the helicopter. Instead, the group carried him until we got to the landing pad. Arms and legs were everywhere for a fe
w moments while we tried to figure out how to stuff him inside.

  Radar was already in the helicopter working the radio. I could hear him asking for clearance to land at Crestwood Hospital. He seemed to have worked it out by the time we shoved Jacques into the back area. There were two seats in back, but sitting Jacques upright wasn't a good idea so we laid him down and half secured him with a couple of wide luggage tie straps. Becky climbed right in with Jacques and sat herself in one of the seats. Jacques' head was near her feet so she put her hand smack on his neck artery to monitor his heartbeat, assuming we hadn't killed him.

  I looked around for Pete since I assumed he was going to help fly, but he wasn't there anymore. He must have backed off with the others after loading Jacques. I hopped into the empty front seat and strapped myself in. "How long have you, uh, been flying?" I yelled at Radar. He didn't look more than maybe twenty-five years old.

  Ooh, out came the engineering grin. I regretted the question. He ignored me and concentrated on the digital displays and got the helicopter airborne. He headed us straight over the lake before angling up. Even without the clouds, darkness was rapidly approaching. After we were well clear of trees and mountaintops, Radar pointed to headphones, and I put them on. He gave me a full grin and pressed a transmitter button so I could hear him. "My dad started me flying when I was sixteen. He did air service, tours, whatever he could to keep flying."

  "You know how to fly in snow?" It looked impossibly bleak out.

  "Gosh, I guess."

  I didn't bother to look over. The "heh, heh, heh," laugh came out and then some nasty air hit. He either tilted the thing on purpose into a turn or we were rolling sideways and about to die. Either way I had to fight my stomach.

  "I forgot he had that heart thing," Radar transmitted. "He told me about it when I first showed up."

  I looked over my shoulder, but it was really impossible to tell how Becky and Jacques were doing.

  It didn't take long before I could see the lights of Denton peeking in and around dark objects that were muffled in what I considered heavy snow. Because of the flurries, the buildings appeared to be moving, getting bigger, then smaller with odd angles. It didn't help that my stomach was lurching all over the place.