Strike Me Down - Mindy Mejia Page 0,37
group assigned to payroll hadn’t found any unusual activity. No fake employees or fake gym locations, which were the two most popular spins on payroll fraud. Nora put a mental cross through payroll. No twenty-million-dollar hole there.
Beta Games was still their strongest lead on the tournament angle. Strike had paid them over five million dollars this year for a mysterious product called only vStrike. No one had found any detail beyond that and Gregg himself had acted cagey on the subject, but even if this vStrike thing was completely fraudulent, that was only five million. She still needed fifteen more.
The team assigned to new club construction were having even less luck. Strike’s main contractor—Magers Construction—was closed for the entire Fourth of July week. Taking their children to parades, probably.
Daisy and Darius pulled sections of her hair through flat irons and chatted about something that could either be a dress or an inspirational memoir. Both possibilities seemed equally likely. Nora opened the document where she’d started compiling fraud profiles and scrolled through Strike employee names until she found the one she was looking for: Gregg Abbott.
She paused, her finger over the cursor. What had she even learned this morning during their interview? He’d talked a lot, filling in some of the details about Aaden and how Logan’s preoccupation with the young fighter had caused the rift in their marriage, but what did any of that have to do with the prize money? His disclosures had included everything except a straightforward answer.
Just as she did with Darryl Nolan, Nora had researched Gregg, trying to build a profile for the man. He traveled frequently, visiting Strike’s network of clubs and suppliers, but his expenses were surprisingly trivial. He either drove or flew coach everywhere, stayed in budget hotels, and ate mostly at convenience and grocery stores, often listing competitor protein bars for the breakfasts on his expense reports, with side-notes such as “causes bloat” or “peanut butter sawdust.”
He had no criminal history, served on the Minneapolis chamber of commerce, and drove a ten-year-old SUV. His credit report showed a few revolving balances, nothing out of line, and the most debt he and Logan carried was on their riverfront penthouse overlooking the Mississippi. On paper, he was the exact opposite of the greedy CEOs like the Madoffs or the Lays, taking nothing from the company, not even recognition.
Darryl Nolan had accused Gregg of overspending. He clearly didn’t spend on himself, but costs for the company’s sake were no less damaging. He’d been so proud of Strike’s expansion, so oblivious to the risks involved in self-financing. Was it possible this whole case boiled down to mismanagement? Gregg had jumped to point a finger at Logan, but it was always easier to blame someone else for your own mistakes.
The other fact she knew about Gregg Abbott was one she couldn’t write in the file: Atlanta. The pieces of their first encounter were starting to come together. Unhappy with Logan’s choice, Gregg had gone to recruit his own candidate for the next face of Strike—a bubbly, blond, on-brand face—and while he was there, he’d found a distraction from his imploding marriage. If he’d kept that secret, what else could he be hiding?
“There.”
Nora blinked as one of the twins whipped the bib off and prodded her to stand. They made her walk back and forth and turn in every direction, while they exchanged looks of pronounced satisfaction.
“Can I go now?”
“Honey, don’t you want to see yourself?”
Her reply was a beeline for the studio door. Ducking into the skyway, she flattened a hand over her hair, which felt strangely liquid, and tried to ignore the looks people gave her as she passed. A Strike receptionist who’d checked Nora into class countless times over the past six months stood up straighter when she walked in and blushed while asking her name. When Nora gave it to her, her eyebrows creased slightly, as though confused she didn’t recognize it, but she bowed and waved Nora inside.
Nora felt equally confused as she entered the main gym. The space had been completely transformed. Two columns of body bags flanked a red carpet that stretched from the ring on one side of the room to a bar on the other. Spotlights grazed over at least a hundred heads and a driving bass thumped underneath the threads of conversation and laughter. Waiters circulated with trays of appetizers and drinks while a photographer snapped shots of people striking their best kickboxing poses.
She immediately moved as far