Chapter 3 - The Fallout at Mercer Ridge
By Monday afternoon, the financial scandal had graduated from private country club gossip to front-page news across the Pacific Northwest business journals.
CALDWELL DEVELOPMENT GROUP UNDER FEDERAL INVESTIGATION FOR PENSION FUND EMBEZZLEMENT.
The headline in the Seattle Post-Intelligencer was accompanied by a high-resolution stock photo of Cassandra stepping out of a King County courthouse earlier that morning, her white designer pantsuit now rumpled, her face partially hidden behind oversized sunglasses as flashbulbs exploded around her like miniature lightning storms.
At the aerospace engineering facility where I worked, the atmosphere was a bizarre mix of hushed whispers and profound professional respect.
My supervisor, Dr. Elizabeth Harmon—a formidable aerospace pioneer who had designed guidance systems for NASA’s Mars orbiters—stopped by my workstation just after lunch. She placed a steaming paper cup of black coffee beside my keyboard.
“I see you’ve been busy outside of working hours, Minnie,” Dr. Harmon said, leaning against the edge of my partition. Her sharp, intelligent eyes twinkled behind wire-rimmed glasses.
“It was a weekend project, Elizabeth,” I replied, not looking up from the telemetry model I was debugging.
“A weekend project that just happened to take down one of the most corrupt real-estate cartels in the tri-state area and recover millions in stolen retirement funds for local teachers and first responders,” she noted, taking a sip from her own cup. “The board of directors at Aerospace Dynamics called my office this morning. They were wondering if your analytical skill set could be applied to our internal supply chain security protocols.”
I looked up, surprised. “You want me to audit the supply chain?”
“I want our systems locked down so tight that nobody—not even a flashy developer with a rented yellow Lamborghini—can siphon a single nickel without your telemetry models screaming red alert,” Harmon said, smiling faintly. “And by the way, the executive committee wanted me to pass along their congratulations. Word gets around fast when you save the pension fund of half the state’s civil servants.”
“Thank you, Elizabeth. But I’m mostly just glad to get back to the satellites.”
“Well, before you get too cozy with your satellites, you have a visitor waiting in the ground-floor lobby,” Harmon added, turning to walk away. “A man who looks like he hasn't slept in three days and is wearing a very expensive suit that is currently soaked in drizzle.”
My stomach tightened slightly. “Calvin?”
May you like
“That would be my guess,” Harmon said over her shoulder. “Security tried to turn him away, but he dropped your name. Do you want me to have building security escort him off the premises?”
“No,” I said, standing up and smoothing down my blazer. “Let him up. It’s time we had a conversation on my terms.”
