“Trust your gut and take the time you need,” Elena said confidently. “You will crack this. Especially given it’s something you care about.”
“I—” What? “What gives you that idea?”
“Felicity, I saw the TV clip of you attacking the mayor over homeless people’s rights to have pets in shelters and addiction facilities. I’ve only ever seen that look in your eye when your blood’s up. Like the time ten or so years ago when we were on opposing teams, and you were desperately trying to save that heritage paper in Connecticut. Did you know I only kept the paper operating as a going concern because of you? You made some valid points about its historic value to the community that your boss had completely missed. I didn’t even know newspapers still existed that were older than the formation of the United States until you pointed it out.”
Felicity blinked. Wait, she kept that paper going because of me?
“My point is, I knew the moment I saw you launching into the mayor in exactly the same way that this was important to you.”
“Important? Well, no, it was more that it was annoying me the way he was dragging his feet. It was of no consequence to me and—”
“Felicity,” Elena said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Remember who you’re talking to. Would you kindly not spin me bull?”
“Well,” Felicity said, sucking in a breath, “fine. I suppose I care. A little.”
“Good.”
Felicity could hear a smile in her boss’s voice this time, and she decided not to try and figure out why. The woman was perpetually mystifying.
“Do you need me for anything else?” Felicity asked. Her thumb in her pocket traced the plastic cat’s tail curled under its feet. Her nail dug into the bottom of the figurine, feeling something under it. A sticker?
“No, your replacement as chief of staff is somewhat adequate. It’d be nice if Scott stopped smiling all the time, though. His enthusiasm is usually far too much too early in the day. He reminds me of Mad—” She stopped dead.
“Madeleine Grey?” Felicity asked sweetly. She pulled the cat out and turned it upside down.
“Never mind,” Elena punched out far too quickly. “Anyway, I have to go. I’ll sort out Jocelyn Mathers; you sort out that charity. We’ll talk early next week.”
Felicity examined a small disc-shaped sticker, its color matching the cat. How odd. Everything else about the cat was so perfectly designed. Why would they shove something on it? She nudged the sticker with her thumbnail. It peeled up entirely, revealing three words. Her heart sank at what she was looking at. “Elena, before you go…how bad would it be if this does become a police matter?”
A long silence fell, then, “I trust you wouldn’t do that prematurely. I trust you. Remember my edict.”
“Um, if at first you don’t succeed, get out of my office?” Felicity suggested dryly.
“You do realize I said that as a joke.” The smirk in Elena’s voice was clear.
“Oh right, you mean along with ‘Be grateful I don’t know who you are.’” Felicity was capable of teasing her boss, too. Even if this was exactly the second time she’d ever done it in her life, and it was now twice in one minute.
A genuine laugh came down the phone, filling Felicity with delight.
“I never actually said that, did I?” Elena grumbled teasingly.
“I have a source who claims otherwise.” Maddie, of course, and they both knew it.
“She would.” Elena’s tone turned thoughtful. “Back to what I meant to say. I need you to be thorough and exacting in your investigation, but then I want you to do whatever you have to. Don’t second-guess yourself, Felicity. Don’t worry about what I’ll think. Just work out what has to happen, then do it.”
Now that was excellent advice. A weight lifted off her. “Thanks, Elena. I will.”
“Good. I have to go.” The phone went dead.
Felicity didn’t mind the abrupt departure. Elena was Elena. She put her phone away and stared at the words under the sticker etched into the cat’s feet: MADE IN USA.
CHAPTER 11
Clear as Mud
That evening, over an unsatisfactory bowl of ramen noodles, Felicity discovered Shenzhen Industries did not have a single muddy footing in its entire perfectly sound infrastructure.
She’d received a message from the Beijing bureau chief for the Asian-American Journal, one of Bartell Corp’s elite news mastheads. The email included an English translation of a couple of local news stories from the day of the landslide a little over two months ago, which was apparently as bad as it looked in the photo. The problem was, the pictured factory Charles had shown her was not Shenzhen Industries.
She’d been lied to. The question was: who’d constructed the lie?
Had Charles, and by extension Harvey, been duped by the manufacturing company, which was wringing money out of gullible international creditors? Sending them articles in Chinese inventing a hard-luck story on the back of a real tragedy while sticking their hand out for more orders? She shot a query back to the bureau chief.
Is Shenzhen Industries a reputable company, or is it capable of running a con?
The journalist replied almost immediately. The former. They’re gold star.
Okay, but no company was perfect. All it took was one bad apple in a management team up to no good lining their own pockets.
So were Charles and Harvey being conned?
Charles struck Felicity as having a closed, adamant mind about what he knew to be true. People like that were ripe for scams because, once they committed to something, they just kept doubling down even when alarm bells went off because they couldn’t believe what was happening to them.
As far as gullible personality types went, Harvey seemed to be far worse. After a lifetime of caution, he’d committed to his new venture, boots and all. He’d had a bad outcome with the initial order, then rather than negotiate a settlement and walk, he’d slid every one of his chips across the table and gone all in. What on earth was he thinking? The gamble itself was huge and risky, and it was all predicated on some nebulous dream of starting a collecting craze. Who starts a new project for the first time from the position of assuming they’ll hit a home run?
Felicity set aside theory A, the Chinese con, and moved to theory B, the Harvey and Charles con.
The two men could be working together to fleece money from Living Ruff. All they needed was an inside man in Shenzhen, and it was simple: when ordering, you either over-ordered or overpaid on purpose, and the refund would somehow make its way to a different account and into their own pockets. It was not unlike a basic money-laundering scheme.
