Chapter 3 - What Selena Found
For several seconds, Dempster Flores said nothing.
That was worse than shouting.
Selena watched his face become unreadable.
“You investigated my company?”
“It wasn’t personal.”
“That sentence has never made anything less personal.”
Despite the danger outside, irritation sparked through her fear.
“My company was hired by an insurer examining cargo-loss anomalies. Flores International appeared in the data.”
“And what did you find?”
Selena hesitated.
Dempster noticed.
“Selena.”
“Twenty-three suspicious routes.”
His expression sharpened.
“Which ports?”
“Newark. Baltimore. Savannah. Two in Miami.”
Dempster turned toward the window.
“That’s impossible.”
“I checked them four times.”
“I’m not saying your mathematics are wrong.”
“Then what?”
“Those routes were closed three years ago.”
Selena stared.
“They’re active.”
“Not under my authority.”
A security man entered.
“Mr. Flores.”
“What?”
“Visitors identified themselves as attorneys representing Mr. Serrano. They’re requesting a conversation.”
“No.”
“They say they have documents concerning Ms. Roundtree.”
Dempster’s gaze hardened.
“Get them off my property.”
The guard left.
Selena grabbed her clothes from a chair.
“I’m going home.”
“No.”
Her head snapped around.
Dempster immediately corrected himself.
“I strongly recommend that you don’t.”
“That sounded very different.”
“I know.”
“I need my laptop.”
“You said the model isn’t there.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then what do you need?”
“My mother’s recipe box.”
He stared.
Selena almost enjoyed his confusion.
“My father taught cryptography at Columbia before he died. He thought cloud storage was an invitation to be robbed.”
“So?”
“The final encryption key is written inside something that looks like my mother’s peach-pie recipe.”
Dempster slowly nodded.
“That is either brilliant or insane.”
“My father considered those synonyms.”
The first real smile touched Dempster’s mouth.
It changed him.
For one dangerous second, he looked less like the man newspapers feared and more like someone Selena could imagine laughing with.
She disliked how much she noticed.
An hour later, she sat in the back of an armored SUV beside him.
Two vehicles traveled ahead.
Two behind.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered.
“This is Tuesday.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Then Wednesday is ridiculous.”
She looked out the window so he wouldn’t see her smile.
Her Queens apartment building was surrounded by police when they arrived.
The front door had been forced.
Inside, drawers were emptied, cushions slashed, photographs broken.
Selena stopped in the doorway.
Her life had never looked expensive.
Secondhand sofa.
Books stacked beneath the windows.
A dining table she refinished herself.
Plants she routinely forgot to water.
But it had been hers.
Now strangers had ripped through it.
Dempster stood behind her without touching her.
“I’m sorry.”
She walked toward the kitchen.
The recipe box was gone.
“No.”
She opened cupboards.
Nothing.
“No, no, no.”
Then she noticed the refrigerator.
A magnet shaped like a yellow taxi sat upside down.
Her father had taught her something else.
If the apartment was ever searched, move the taxi.
She turned it over.
A tiny strip of paper was taped beneath it.
Three words.
CHECK THE FLOOR.
Selena looked down.
One floorboard near the pantry was raised.
Inside lay the recipe box.
She laughed with relief.
Then Dempster suddenly grabbed her.
“Down.”
Glass exploded.
A bullet tore through the kitchen window.
Dempster pulled Selena behind the counter as another shot struck the wall.
His body covered hers.
Outside, men shouted.
Security returned fire.
Selena’s ears rang.
Dempster’s hand cradled the back of her head.
“Are you hit?”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
“Are you hit?”
“No!”
Blood ran down his forearm.
“You are.”
“Glass.”
Another shot.
Dempster pressed her lower.
His face was inches from hers.
No arrogance.
No flirtation.
Only concentration.
And something else.
Fear.
Not for himself.
For her.
Minutes later, security announced the shooter had fled.
Dempster stood.
Selena saw the blood soaking his sleeve.
“You need a hospital.”
“I need to get you out.”
“You’re bleeding.”
“I’ve done both before.”
“Congratulations.”
She grabbed a dish towel and wrapped it around his arm.
He looked down at her hands.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
“No one orders me around in my own security incident.”
“Someone should.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
Selena hated that sound too.
Mostly because she liked it.
They returned to Alpine.
In Dempster’s study, Selena opened the recipe box.
She entered the hidden encryption key into an isolated computer.
Her model loaded.
Lines of transactions filled the screen.
Dempster stood beside her.
Selena filtered the Flores routes.
Shell companies appeared.
One after another.
Dempster’s expression darkened.
“I know that company.”
“Which?”
He pointed.
CROWN MERIDIAN HOLDINGS.
“My father created it.”
“Your father?”
“He died twelve years ago.”
Selena searched associated directors.
The newest corporate filing appeared.
She froze.
Dempster leaned closer.
“What?”
Selena pointed to the name.
ALIDORO WRIGHT — AUTHORIZED FINANCIAL CONSULTANT.
Dempster went perfectly still.
But Selena noticed another name beneath it.
One that made him grip the desk.
MATTHEW FLORES.
Selena looked at him.
“Who is Matthew?”
Dempster’s voice became almost inaudible.
“My brother.”
“The brother who disappeared?”
“Yes.”
Selena stared at the filing date.
It was only three weeks old.
She whispered, “Dempster…”
He was already reading it.
His missing brother wasn’t listed as dead.
He wasn’t listed as inactive.
Matthew Flores had electronically signed the document twenty-one days earlier.
Dempster looked at Selena.
May you like
For the first time since she met him, the most frightening man in the room looked shaken.
“My brother is alive.”
