Page 141 of Moonlighter
“Right,” Alex agrees. “He wanted a meeting, but he didn’t say why. Not until he showed up in August.”
“August?” I ask.
“The…” Alex checks her phone. “Nineteenth. He turned up here in front of Rolf’s desk, asking to meet with me. I gave him five minutes, tops. That time he said that changes were coming to Shenzhen, and that the old providers would become less reliable. Rolf was there, too.”
Max crosses the office to open the door. “Hey, Rolf? Come here a sec?”
“What’s up?” the young man says when he comes in.
“Remember in August, when Xian Smith just showed up one night?” Alex says. “Do you still have your notes? We’re trying to remember exactly what he said.”
“I dunno?” he says with a shrug. “I can check.”
“Would you?” Alex says.
“And how’d the guy get in?” I ask, holding up my own visitor’s pass. “Couldn’t have been easy.”
“Oh,” Alex says softly. “I wondered that, too. Rolf! Didn’t you call downstairs and ask about his security pass?”
“Sure I did,” Rolf calls back from his desk. “But they never got back to me.”
“Follow up, would you? The date in question was August nineteenth.”
Alex and Max and my father go back to making notes about Xian Smith. But I’m getting hungry. Which means Alex must be starved. “Should I run out for tacos?” I offer.
“No!” Alex yelps. “I invited you to have a nice lunch, and we will have a nice lunch. Three courses. Linen napkins. No gunfire.”
“We’re almost done here,” my father says. “Just as soon as your assistant gets that name from building security.”
Impatient now, I get up and walk out of Alex’s office. Rolf is tidying up his desk. He takes a framed photo of an elderly woman and slips it into his jacket pocket. “Can I help you?” he asks in a tone of voice that manages to convey that he’d really rather not.
“Any word from building security? I could go downstairs and ask them for you.”
“They’re calling me right back,” he grumbles. “Give it a minute.”
“Fine. And then where am I taking Alex for lunch?”
“Hillstone on Third Avenue,” he says. “Table for two in back, nowhere near the window.”
“Okay. Let us know when you’ve got that other information.”
“Christ, I wouldn’t want to hold up your reservation. Let me call ‘em back.” He grabs the phone and begins stabbing the buttons.
I leave his grumpy ass and go back into Alex’s office.
“Exactly how many people knew about your lunch with Xian Smith?” my father is asking Alex.
“I told my security team. And I told the same two executives I named before—my chief technology officer and my CFO.”
“That’s all,” Max says slowly.
“That’s all,” Alex agrees.
There’s a tap on the door frame, and then Rolf pops his head in. “I have a name.” He swallows visibly. “On August nineteenth, a visitor’s pass for Xian Smith was authorized by Peter Whitbread.”
“Whitbread,” Alex breathes. “You have got to be shitting me.”
“Your general counsel?” my dad asks. “That makes no sense.”
