Page 50 of Factory Controller

I sigh and think she had a point; alone my odds weren’t good.

“We’re in the process of selecting a new auditor and assembling a team to investigate your alleged demise. So nice of you to save us the trouble.”

“You don’t need an agent,” I said. “The audit’s over. Isabella’s guilty as hell.”

“What? Are you sure?”

I barely mention the mystery invoices and rant about the mercenaries and the human trafficking ring.

“It’s every bit as bad as it sounds. Isabella is not only taking the Factory…sorry, the Foundation’s money and embezzling it, but also using it to help fund her criminal enterprise.”

“We figured you had stepped onto something since I know you well enough not to believe you would go running in the jungle by yourself. And then it did seem rather convenient that the woman sent to investigate her for fraud was murdered so soon after setting foot off the plane. Do you have any proof of her wrongdoings?”

“Not on me, but if you check her office, you’ll find plenty.”

“All right. Good enough for me. I’ll call off the search for a new agent and the search party. Sounds like we need a much stronger presence to deal with these armed mercenaries.”

“That’s it?” I ask. “I’m done?”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you fly back home to New York and we’ll discuss it?”

“You’re flying me home?” I ask.

“You’re leaving m—you’re leaving for New York?” Trent asks.

“Who was that?” Andrew snaps. “Are you with someone?”

I heave a sigh. “That was Trent.”

“What’s a Trent?”

“Trent is the asset I was forced to bring onto this case.” I give Trent a smile. “I wouldn’t have survived without him.”

“Fine. I’ll wire you enough money for plane tickets and a new wardrobe.”

“Did you say tickets?”

“Yes, you brought Trent in as an asset. You’d better bring him along, or he might be a target for reprisals.”

“What about passports? We escaped with nothing more than the clothes on our back.”

“No worries, I can fix that too, but it’s going to take a bit more time.”

I chew on this while Andrew puts me on hold. He arranges the transfer, and Trent and I head to the station to retrieve the money.

“Hey,” Trent says as I step away from the airline counter holding two tickets. “Why did you get me a ticket?”

“Um, because those crisp, white sheets are in New York?”

Trent frowns, and I sigh.

Sorry. I should have asked—”

“No, it’s fine. I can’t wait to get you in between those sheets.” He gives me a kiss. “Now come on, let’s go find some new threads. They won’t let us on the plane looking like this.”

HEATHER

Trent and I take a taxi from Macapá International Airport to the downtown shopping district. We stop for some lunch at a café, destroying tamales like they were going out of style.

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