Strike Me Down - Mindy Mejia Page 0,6
products for sale, social media voting for fan-favorite contenders, and a surprise experience we haven’t even unveiled yet.”
“So, where’s the trouble?”
I took a breath. “The prize money … it’s gone.”
“Withdrawn?”
“Apparently it was never funded. We had enough in the bank at the beginning of the year, but it’s all been spent. The accountant is worthless—sorry—and said we’ve run over cost on our new clubs, which is bullshit. Ten thousand here or there, maybe, but this much overage is impossible.”
“You’re missing twenty million dollars.” Nora said. “And you need to find it by … ?”
“Next Friday.” A surprised noise came from Rajesh’s side of the table, and I became aware of the rest of the people in the room again. Nora flashed Corbett a look, flaring so quick I almost didn’t catch it, and the Irishman’s eyes fell back to his coffee. Jim Parrish’s jaw tightened one screw click, the tiniest adjustment. There were things swimming under this conference table, dark forms I couldn’t see the shape of, but I felt the ripple of their current.
“We can stall the winners on their payout for a few days beyond the end of the tournament, but not more. Our reputation is too important to jeopardize.”
“Mr. Abbott, our next opening for new engagements doesn’t even begin until August. We pride ourselves on timely investigation, but—” Rajesh spluttered.
“We’ll pay the premium for immediate service and provide any access you need: on-site, remote, software, hardware, twenty-four-hour support for your people. Please, we have no other options. The event is sold out, but we’ve sunk that revenue—”
“Cash, not revenue,” Nora corrected.
“—back into the tournament. The stadium rental, the setup, tech, and staffing. We’ll barely break even. We have to find that money.”
“How much is your line of credit?” Corbett asked.
“I told you, Strike is self-determined. We don’t rely on anyone but ourselves.” Which was why asking for Parrish’s help was this hard.
“So, no insurance, then.”
“Property and casualty, of course, alternative risk—but nothing that would cover this.”
Corbett twirled his pen, obviously checking some box in his head between idiot and bankrupt. Maybe bankrupt idiot. None of them understood that financing and insurance, public stock offerings, all of that corporate dealing was the opposite of what Strike symbolized. We had fought our way from the ground up. We didn’t take handouts. And we’d always solved our own problems, until now. Rajesh opened his mouth, but I held up a hand.
“I have a … suspicion … about where the money went.” The partners waited, postures straightened in rapt attention now, the lure of twenty million dollars brightening their hunter eyes. “As I mentioned, my wife and I both have a fifty percent stake in the company, equal authority to open accounts, initiate transactions, approve transfers.”
I paused, my eyes straying to the PowerPoint slide still glowing on the wall. The Strike logo. Everything we’d worked toward for twenty years.
“Are you saying you suspect your wife—Logan Russo—of embezzling the money? From her own company?”
I blinked away from the screen. “It wouldn’t be about damaging Strike, not to Logan. She doesn’t think the way you or I do. It’s hard to explain, but she’s a celebrity, a fighter. Everyone in the world knows her, but no one is allowed close enough to get under her guard.”
“Aren’t you?” Corbett asked.
“Our marriage has always been … complicated.” My gaze didn’t stray anywhere near Nora’s side of the table. “It’s impossible to know, sometimes, where our personal lives end and the company begins. But things have deteriorated in the last year. Something happened recently that she’s blaming me for. And this is her primal response, to hit me where it will hurt the most.”
“Mr. Abbott,” Nora said, interrupting the Irish partner, who looked like he wanted to question me further. “If we accept the engagement, we’ll be conducting the investigation with absolute impartiality. The evidence alone will inform our conclusions, and not anything said here. Your personal opinions are merely that. We’ll be the ones to determine the truth regarding what Ms. Russo—or anyone else at the company—did or didn’t do.”
There was a fire in her eyes now, illuminating her immaculate professionalism and reminding me, for no tangible reason, of my wife.
“You’ll find out for yourselves.” I swallowed, appealing to the room at large. “She’s been sabotaging Strike from the moment she announced this tournament to the world.”
THE BIG ONE
January 25, 2019
I’m going to get personal today, guys. It doesn’t happen often, but today’s a milestone and you’ve shared so many of them with me so