of his applications for the various licenses were turned down for some reason?”
“From what I heard, he’d been fully approved.”
“Could you have heard wrong?”
Bill shrugged again. “Anything’s possible.”
She nodded. She needed to get hold of Flint Collins’s files.
“He came to you knowing he had to contend with trust issues and was armed with a plan that benefits Owens Investments,” she said. She wasn’t sure how to interpret that yet. Had he seen that he could make more siphoning off money from her father than he would on his own?
“He’s a smart businessman.”
“So, are you okay with keeping him on or will you be letting him go?” She couldn’t allow him to think it really mattered to her. Or that she intended to push her weight around, beyond efficiency expertise.
If Bill planned to fire Collins right away, she’d go to her father, have him handle the situation. She hoped it didn’t come to that.
“Of course I’m keeping him on,” Bill said. “He’s making us a boatload of money. But I don’t trust him and I’ll be watching him closely.”
Her father had a good man in his Director of Operations. Smiling, Tamara told him so, thanked him and promised to do all she could to stay out of his way.
Shouldn’t be hard. She had a feeling Flint Collins would be taking up most of her time.
Maybe an efficiency expert wouldn’t be able to find whatever he might be hiding, or anything he might be doing to rip off her family, but a daughter out to protect her father would.
By whatever means it took.
Tamara was certain of that.
* * *
For a man who liked to plan his life down to the number of squeezes left in his toothpaste tube, Flint figured he was doing pretty well to be at his desk, with his computer on, twenty minutes after leaving Bill Coniff’s office.
His “inheritance,” the tiny being who was now his responsibility for life, lay fed, dry and fast asleep in the car seat–carrier combination, her head securely cushioned by that last little gift from the caseworker. He’d placed her on the table across the room, but sitting at his desk, he wasn’t satisfied. The carrier was turned sideways. He couldn’t see her full face to know at a glance that her blanket hadn’t somehow interfered with her breathing, say if she happened to move in her sleep.
Clicking to open his client list, he crossed the room and adjusted the carrier, turning it to face his desk. Looked at the baby. Noticed her steady breathing.
She had the tiniest little nose. Probably the cutest thing he’d ever seen.
She was going to be a beauty.
Like their mother...
He planned to keep her under lock and key. Away from anyone who could attempt to hurt her...
Taken aback by the intensity of that thought, telling himself he wasn’t really losing his mind, he returned to work. Found the client file he wanted. Opened it.
On Friday, before his world had completely crumbled, he’d made an investment that was meant to be short-term. A weekend news announcement had caused the stock to plummet, but it would rise again, for a few days at least, before it either plummeted long-term or—as he hoped—held steady. He figured he’d have five days max. Preferably three. The risk was greater than Howard would want, but the potential return should be remarkable enough to secure his job, at least for now.
As long as the risk paid off.
Flint clicked on certain files, clicked some more. Looked at numbers. Studied market movement. It occurred to him that he should be nervous. If he’d invested at a loss, it could potentially mean his job. He knew Bill had been about to fire him when fate had sent in the consultant Howard had hired.
He wasn’t nervous. Flint took risks with the market. But only when his gut was at peace with them. His financial gift was about the only thing he trusted.
Glancing up, he checked his new responsibility. He could see movement as she breathed. Stared as a fist pushed its way out of the blanket. Who’d have thought hands came that small? Or that people did?
She looked far too insecure on that big table made for powerful business deals between grown men and women.
Market numbers scrolled on his screen. They were still going up. But they could take a second rapid dive; his guess was they would. And soon. They’d already climbed higher than he’d conservatively predicted, but not as high as he’d optimistically hoped.
Pushing back from his desk, he crossed the room again, lifted the carrier gently, loath to risk waking his charge. With his free hand, he pulled a chair back to his desk, positioning it next to his seat, along the wall to his left. Away from the door and any unseen drafts. Satisfied, he settled the carrier there, glanced at his computer screen and pushed the button to sell.
At a price higher than he’d hoped.
Five minutes later, the stock started to drop.
He still had his touch. And a fairly good chance of securing his job. Even Bill couldn’t argue with the kind of money he’d just made.
* * *
As was her way, Tamara studied before she went into action. She didn’t take the time she would later spend going over individual accounts, one by one, account by account, figure by figure. But when she approached Flint Collins’s office late Monday afternoon, she not only knew every piece of information in his employee file, but she was familiar with every account he’d handled in the nearly eight years he’d been working for her father.
Aside from the part about suspecting that he was stealing from them, she was impressed. And more convinced than ever that if anyone could succeed in taking money from Howard without his knowing, it could be Collins. The man was clearly brilliant.
He’d been a suspect in the drug production and distribution that had put his mother in prison; he’d also grown up with her criminal history. According to a pretty thorough background check, the only consistent influence in his life had been his mother—in between her various stints in jail.
The first of which had come when he was only six. She’d been sentenced to three months. Tamara had seen a list of his mother’s public criminal record in his file. Probably there because of Flint’s ties to her latest arrest. She’d also seen that the woman was only fifteen years older than her son. A child raising a child.
Funny how life worked. A young girl who, judging by the facts, had been ill-equipped to have the responsibility of a child and yet she’d had one. While Tamara...
No. She wasn’t going backward.
Passing Bill’s open door, she waved at the director who was on the phone but waved back. Smiled at her. And her heart lifted a notch. She’d managed to get her way and not make an enemy. It was always good to have a “friend” among the people she was studying.
A
