Strike Me Down - Mindy Mejia Page 0,33

not until the woman standing in front of me unearthed millions of dollars.

“Of course.” I finished the email, then frowned. “How did you find me?”

“Your assistant.” Nora glanced around and leaned her briefcase against the lion’s flank. “She said you were waiting for someone, and to tell you that ‘her flight is slightly delayed.’ I hope that might give you a few minutes to chat.”

“By all means, let’s chat.” I waved to a nearby couch and forced myself to sit. Somehow it was easier with Nora Trier at my side.

After confirming no one was within earshot of us, she quickly summarized her team’s progress before diving into specific questions.

“Payroll appears to be one area of abnormally high expense. In the beginning of the year, you paid at least five-figure bonuses to everyone on your management team.”

“We have the best people, and we give them the best.”

“Do you consider yourself and Logan to be the best, also?”

I tracked the guests streaming through the lobby, avoiding Nora’s steady gaze. “That question sounds like a trap.”

She pulled up some numbers on a tablet and passed it to me. “The two of you both took zero bonuses. Whose decision was that?”

“It was mutual.”

“And contrary to every other company on the face of the planet, your salaries are less than your senior managers’. Even Darryl Nolan outearns you.” Her tone was professional, but I sensed derision beneath the words. She must have spent some time with the accountant already. “Logan has an expense account for the kind of incidentals that come with being the face of the business—apparel, sports doctors, rehab, skin treatments. You, however, draw no fringe benefits beyond what the rest of the company enjoys.”

I looked at her and couldn’t help smiling. “Having trouble casting me as a Bernie Madoff or Kenneth Lay?”

She reclaimed her tablet. “You certainly don’t appear to be reaping extravagant perks from your job.”

“Oh, but I do.”

I didn’t even know if I could explain it, how it felt to have created an empire from nothing, to hustle and brand and market and position until I didn’t even know who I was without this company. My name was meaningless, but every household in America knew Strike. We rose up by becoming the fuel for an entire country’s rise. And we’d doubled down again and again, reinvesting every raise and bonus and profit for twenty years until our rise seemed unstoppable. If that wasn’t extravagance, I didn’t understand the meaning of the word.

Nora switched tactics. “Darryl indicates seeing a pattern of overspending. Beyond payroll, the anomalies appear to be new club construction and a newer vendor, Beta Games, who has received millions in Strike payments this year.”

“Strike is an urban experience and all of our clubs are built into existing buildings. That comes with increased costs—renovation, special codes, protections, and historical societies. A project as simple as plumbing or soundproofing can quickly cause unexpected delays and expenses.”

“And Beta Games?”

The work Beta Games had done for us was one of the best-kept secrets of the tournament. I wasn’t about to spoil it now, with only hours to go before we unveiled it to the world. “You said Parrish is coming to the opening events tonight?”

“Yes, we have a box.”

“Then you’ll see our investment in action. Look for an area called vStrike.”

She made a note and then hesitated, checking again to make sure no one lingered nearby. “One final item and I’ll let you get back to your day. At the meeting last Friday, you made an accusation.” She let the reminder settle between us before lowering her voice further still. “Do you have any evidence to support your suspicions?”

I stared at the statue of the resting lion, guarding the entrance to the hotel. Did I have evidence Logan had sabotaged our company? That she wanted all of this to come crashing down on our heads?

“You saw the blog post where she introduced the tournament.”

Nora nodded.

“We’d had Strike Down in the works for months already, but it was a standard event with prize money. No one ever suggested giving the company away. Not until Logan announced it to the world.”

I remembered, with vicious clarity, exactly where I was when I’d read her post, my skin still burning from the island sun where we’d spent her fiftieth birthday. Phrases jumped off the screen. I’m handing this company to you … to become the next face of Strike. I’d gaped at my phone, caught mid-stride in the hallway outside my office, when several managers accosted