Page 5 of The Money Man
“Not a problem. It will make me sound important to get a phone call on the weekend,” Alice said. “My side of the conversation is going to sound like your business will fall to pieces without my immediate intervention.”
Natalie laughed and turned on the blow-dryer.
At ten o’clock sharp, Derek walked up three steps to the small porch of Alice Thurber’s town house, which evidently doubled as her office. Two pots filled with red geraniums splashed color against the gray brick facade. An ornate brass door knocker gleamed against glossy forest-green paint. Ms. Thurber kept her place nicely maintained.
Guilt sent a pulse of pain through his already aching temples. Even though he’d spent the entire limo ride out to Cofferwood working on the Argon project, he didn’t have time to spare for a minor bookkeeping problem, no matter how much he wanted to solve it. He should have let Leland and Tully handle this, as they’d wanted to.
But neither he nor an associate he’d enlisted to give the numbers a first look had been able to find any errors in Ms. Thurber’s work. Except for the inexplicable discrepancy between what she had added up and what the bank statement showed. Now not only was he hooked on the intriguing puzzle but his pride was involved. If KRG couldn’t solve a small-town bookkeeper’s problem, he shouldn’t be handling foreign-currency hedging for Argon International.
So he was going old school by looking at the hard copy—possibly down to the level of reams of receipts—where he was sure the issue would become obvious. Then he could return to his office with a clear conscience and a sense of satisfaction.
As he rang the doorbell, he was considering another possible strategy for Argon. When the door swung open a few seconds later, he was startled to find a striking young woman eyeing him with a wary expression.
“I’m Derek Killion,” he managed to say as he took in a luxuriant mass of hair spilling over one of her shoulders and huge velvet-brown eyes behind fashionable wire-rim glasses. He’d been too rushed to look at the background information Barbara had gathered on the bookkeeper, so he’d been envisioning an older woman with a bun and bifocals, probably based on her rather prim, old-fashioned first name.
“I’m Alice Thurber,” she said as she extended her hand. “I appreciate your interest in my little problem. I’ll admit that I wasn’t expecting an in-person visit from a founding partner.”
Derek refocused, taking her hand and finding her grip firm and warm. “I wasn’t expecting to come either. I thought the problem would be easier to solve.” He realized how that sounded and offered a rueful smile to go with it. “My pride is smarting.”
However, it was too late. Alice’s elegantly full lips pressed together in a stern line.
“Come in,” she said, her tone somewhat frosty. She stepped back to invite him into her foyer, a small space containing a half-round table of varnished walnut and a portrait of a woman in elaborate Victorian attire whom he felt he should recognize.
“That’s Ada Lovelace,” she said.
“Ah, the pioneering computer programmer,” he said. “I knew I’d seen her before.”
“You know about her?” Alice sounded astonished.
“Just that she’s credited with creating the first computer program and was one of the very few well-known female mathematicians of her time.”
Alice unbent enough to give a little nod. “She was the daughter of Lord Byron. Her mother had Ada educated in math to counteract what she saw as Byron’s poetic madness.”
“She thought numbers would cure insanity?”
“She believed math encouraged rational, orderly thinking. Don’t you agree with her?”
Alice stood with her hands on her hips. She wore black trousers and a white blouse, but the bland clothing could not hide the rather sumptuous curves of her figure. Another surprise.
She continued to look at him with one eyebrow raised and a challenge in her eyes.
“Of course I agree with her,” Derek said, irritated by his wandering mind. “I work with numbers all the time.” Numbers were how he’d justified his career choice to his father. Numbers were what he had immersed himself in when his fiancée broke off their engagement. Numbers defined his life. He pushed aside the odd introspection her question had evoked. “In fact, let’s take a look at the ones we’re having an issue with.”
“Would you like some tea or coffee before we start?” Alice asked.
“No, thanks. I polished off a large coffee in the car.” While he wrestled with Argon’s vastly larger numbers.
She headed up the polished oak stairs and he followed, enjoying the way the wool of her trousers pulled taut over her nicely rounded bottom as she climbed.
He frowned. It was not professional to picture black lace bikini panties under the fabric. He needed to get to those numbers to keep his mind orderly and rational, like Ada Lovelace’s.
When they reached the top of the flight of stairs, Alice led him into a light-filled room fitted with sleek cream-colored office furniture as well as two high-end ergonomic chairs. He’d expected something much less modern and sophisticated because he’d made more incorrect assumptions based on her name, her location, and the fact that she worked for small businesses. This was why he and his partners needed the SBI: to keep them grounded.
He glanced around the room, thinking he wouldn’t mind working there himself. Neat stacks of papers were spread out on the work surfaces. Those included a couple of card tables, the only jarring notes in the well-laid-out space. She swept her hand around the office. “Each one of these is a different client’s paperwork from the month when the discrepancy occurred. Where do you want to begin? First or last in?”
“First.”
She shifted a laptop from her desk to a card table and then rolled one of the chairs up as well. “Here you go. Sparkle, a special-occasion clothing boutique. A discrepancy of $2.59 six months ago.”
