Page 51 of The Wrong Side of the Law

“You say that like there’s something…” I let the words trail off, shaking my head. “You know what, never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Emily smiles broader than ever at that, showing plenty of brilliant white teeth.

“Rita knows everyone,” she says. “And more importantly, Rita knows everythingabout everyone. If a thing is happening within a hundred miles of here that affects any sort of business or commercial property or lease or sale, Rita knows all the details.”

“She’s got some pretty good people skills,” I say, “and she could probably make a good run at a political career if she wanted to, I’ll grant you that much. But there’s no way she could possibly know as much as you say.”

“First off, she’s been kicking around the idea of testing the political waters for a year or so, now,” Emily says. “And second? I mean it. She literally does know everything. Let me give you an example.”

“I’m all ears.”

“Last summer, before I went back to school, I was looking at the mutual funds that the estate had invested in, figuring out how they worked, and I set up a little fake stock portfolio to play with. I wanted to see if I could make any money at it. I just kept getting frustrated, because I’d pick wrong and lose money or sell too soon or whatever. But Rita, she was looking over my shoulder the whole time, and finally after a week or so she pointed at three stocks and said to get those. The next day, a few more. This continued for a week, and sure enough: suddenly my fake portfolio went from ten thousand in Monopoly money up to about fifty. By the end of the month?” Emily leans toward me, placing her hands on the table next to mine, our skin barely touching. “Almost two hundred thousand dollars.”

Our heads are so close that I can feel her breath warm on my face. No, dammit, it’s my imagination again. But it’s not justmyimagination, I don’t think: Emily’s eyes suddenly go wide; she pulls back quickly, her cheeks pinker than before.

“That’s-” I have to clear my throat before continuing. “That’s pretty impressive. Why doesn’t she do that for a living instead of real estate? She’d probably own Florida—literally own it, all of it—inside of five years.”

“I know, right?” Emily’s voice wavers, too. “That’s what I told Rita. She said that she’d thought about it, but that insider trading is frowned upon, and she didn’t want to be roommates with Martha Stewart at Club Fed.”

“Insider- wait, what?” I said, suddenly mystified. “How could she possibly be insider trading?”

“I told you.” She’s gotten over the awkwardness. “Rita knowseverythingthat affects any sort of commercial property. She explained to me why she picked each one of those stocks and it absolutely blew my mind. I don’t remember all of them, all of the details, but one sticks out. Last summer, Ford announced the new assembly plant in Orlando?”

“Okay, yeah.” I sit back.

“Three full days before it was even a gleam in anyone’s eyes, she told me to buy stock in several specific companies. Construction. Steel fabricators. Companies that provide mobile office space. Water cooler rental companies. Um… what else?”

Emily frowns again, fidgeting with her pen.

“I don’t know,” I say. “You haven’t told me yet.” I’m fascinated in spite of myself. It’s not the subject, so much as the speaker’s pink lips and bright blue eyes.

“A whole bunch of things, but that’s not the point.” Emily glares at me, but there’s no heat in it. “The point is, she knew that some specific overseas parts suppliers and car distributors had signed leases and contracts—not yet announced leases and contracts, mind you—on warehouses and transportation into and out of Port Everglades. That told hersomethingwas happening. Looking at the list of companies involved, that said Ford. Car distributors getting transportationtoPort Everglades from someplace undisclosed but still in Florida, and car carrier ships out of Port Everglades, meant that Ford was going to build an auto assembly plant here somewhere. There were some other things, too, but she knew that plant was going to come to Orlando before any of the details of any of these things were announced.”

“Huh.” I sit for a moment, still processing the logical leaps and intuition it would take to organize that level of deductive reasoning.

Emily smirks at me from across the table. She’s fidgeting with her hair again, dammit. I wish she’d quit doing that.

“Told you so,” she says.

“Okay, then. I’ll grant you the point. If there’s anyone who can figure out Birchall-Jones’ local involvement here for us without raising any red flags, it’s probably going to be her.” I chuckle at a new thought. “Of course, if she’s as omniscient as you say, she’s probably going to walk in here ten seconds from now and hand us a fifty-page typed, double-spaced report.”

Emily purses her lips, cocking her head to the side, frozen in place. She holds the pose for long enough that I raise questioning eyebrows and open my mouth to say something, but she wags a hand sharply to cut me off.

Finally, she speaks.

“Three… two… one.” Emily glances at the door, then back to me. “Nope,” she sighs in mock-sadness.

“It was worth a try, though,” I say, before we both fall into easy, relaxed laughter.

“I’ll talk to her,” Emily says. “If there’s any way she can help, she will.”

“Good. Just,” I hesitate, hating to break the comfortable spell, but knowing I have to. “Just remember, please remember: you’re not doing this in an official capacity, and I have to—no,wehave to—maintain a complete separation between you and… and…”

Just because I need to say it doesn’t mean it feels good to grind her face in it again. Fortunately, she doesn’t force me to.

“I know,” Emily says quietly. Her smile and laughter had lit up the room when we were talking about Rita, but that’s all faded, now. “And I can keep things clearly divided. You don’t have anything to worry about, not on that. But still…” Emily’s voice trails off.

“But still… what?” I say, unwilling to let the silence grow too long.

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